[Musebox] - Resurrection

[thekittenqueen]

Continued from here.

Margaery knew Littlefinger and what he was capable of. The man had the good sense to avoid the former queen and alert her to his presence. He had always been a shrewd figure and likely understood that if Margaery knew he was about, she would likely have several stories to share about him. He was hardly the sort fit to spend time with Sansa and his influence on the young woman was pronounced. There was a quality to her that was no longer as compassionate as before. She was self serving, seeking power with reckless abandon, all with unclear ends. She had a smile now that could not be trusted, seemingly masking thoughts beneath the surface. While Margaery had missed her friend, it was with grim understanding that she recognized that her friend was gone. Someone else had taken her place.

It would take time for Margaery to learn all of the noble lords that served the Starks. Her education had included the make up of each of the bannermen to the great houses of Westeros, but that knowledge had been lost along the line, disappearing like a stone dropping beneath the surface of a pool. There had been greater thinks occupying her mind and, only now, did she realize that she had become lax with her skills for the game.

As much as she didn't want to, she would need to spend time below with the men and the forces of the Stark army. It would grant her the chance to observe and analyze those that gathered about her lover. She could read into the hearts of men and would find the means to learn their motivations, singling out those who could be trusted and those who couldn't. It was dangerous, as all of her scheming had once been, but there was more to lose now. It was no longer her life or her family's, it was a life she shared with another, the other part of her.

She feels the warmth he exudes and curls around it, basking under his affection and the glow of their earlier efforts. Despite the swirling lust, she found herself floating along the surface of bliss and contentment. It had been so long since such feelings coursed through her, for a moment, she had nearly mistaken them for something else. He carries her gently against the tide of her apathy and sorrow, drawing her back under the warm sun until she is thawed and alive once more. His arms shelter her, a tree in the midst of a rainstorm. He is her godswood and she would be devout to him in all ways, worshiping at his feet as they rutted like beasts, drawing their power from a more ancient magic. It was magnetic and addictive, but it was the source of her life now.

She considered his words, curiously trying to put a name to all that she felt. It seemed like a useless struggle, but there was something she wished to know. She was aware he shared the frenzied longing of her body, but there was something else as well, something rooted deeply inside her, past her heart and soul. She was bound to him, but didn't know how best to explain it. "I stir more than your cock, I believe?" Margaery asked, placing her hand over his heart. "It's more than that and I think that it is something..." it wasn't love. The word was paltry and pale compared to this, but how else could it be described? Such names didn't exist on the tongues of man. "Do you understand what it is?" She couldn't go into detail if he didn't. It was something that was simply known.

"Davos," her smile became one of amusement. "I think he is afraid of me or rather, doesn't know how to respond to my presence. I am too much a reminder of Stannis for him." He had at least been polite and kind, as had Tormund, though the Wildling didn't seem to have an idea of how to speak to her or how to behave. She wasn't a shield maiden and she imagined that he didn't want to frighten her off. They had good hearts and she hoped to open hers to them, if it ever truly could be.

"I speak of it because you might have to make the offer yourself." Margaery whispered, running her fingers through his hair. She hated to interrupt their love play with talk of politics and marriages, but there was no other time that they would be alone like this. Her opinion and advice would be dismissed by his men and she would gain their ire for interfering, but at least here, there was no one she would have to argue against. Jon would understand why she was offering it and how she might know better than the rest. She had three politically arranged marriages, after all. "If you make the offer, you will not make them feel as though they have to beg for aid. You are the stronger force with the larger kingdom." It would at least save them face before he flaunted a lover around his court.

Politics were left behind as their urges screamed back to life. Her hips subconsciously rolling against him as she sought the same friction he had wanted before. The stimulation against her sensitive sex bringing soft moans from her lips, as tender and gentle as a dove's coo. "I wouldn't deny you, as I might very well do the same." She was never a woman of such force before, but her body now cried out to be. She wanted to to pull him against a wall, free his cock from his breeches and rut happily for all to see. Modesty and decorum were simple, pretty words for those that didn't know what they wanted or how to enjoy it. She wasn't such a maiden anymore, she was as wild and untamed as he was and the desires they shared demanded immediate attention.

Yet she instead chose to toy with him, forcing him to remain seated and stationary as she explored her body with a cloth. The act of washing herself turning sensual and erotic as she cleaned away the places he marked her with lips, teeth and seed. She was wiping away the slate, indicating he would have to start all over again. "Am I yours?" Margaery asked with a wicked smile. "It seems that there are no signs left that I am." She was playing with fire and longed to be consumed by it, her flames and his inferno, swept up into the maddening blaze until she was burnt and broken by their passions.

He obeys her instructions, much to her chagrin and amusement. Given their earlier efforts, she had imagined he would break right away, but Jon seemed to be a man of remarkable will power. For the sake of pushing the game further, she moved close to him. Turning her back, she offered him the cloth. "You will have to wash where I cannot reach, but you cannot move from your chair or touch anywhere else." This would be enough, she was certain of it. She was pulling a string taught and sooner or later, it would snap in half and the force between them would smother them both.

Comments

[starkish]

As she doles out advice, it strikes him just how well-suited they truly are; he has no training, and more, no patience, for the subtler points of politics. A court like King's Landing was something he'd never truly been prepared for. His Lord Father had no taste for politics of that sort and Jon doesn't either. It's just his luck that Margaery, though, is extraordinarily skilled in just that area; he can lead men to war, bind together the Northern houses, negotiate loans and weddings, but these subtler, shadier aspects are something he can't do... and she can. She may never be his wife, may never be able to call herself Lady Stark, but to Jon, she's the very beating of his heart, a part of him that can not be separated, regardless of how hard anyone may try. To do so would be to shatter him into a hundred pieces, each one as sharp and brittle as a shard of glass.

"You do." His hand covers hers, pinning it to his chest, fingers curling into the gaps between her own. "You make me sing, Margaery. Every inch of me, blood and bone, heart and cock, body and soul itself, sings for you. When you're near, it's a song of desire and contentment; when you're far, it's a song of long and need." What they share is so much more than love or lust; they are mere parts of it, fractions of a whole that goes beyond understanding or words. There is no word for it. There is no concept to describe it. It simply is. "As much as a man can, I do." Hand tugging on hers, Jon presses a kiss to the palm of her hand. "You are mine. And I live for you. That is all anyone else every need know."

Not that they would share it with everyone. Or most people. The court would know that she shared his bed before long, but they wouldn't know the truth of their relationship. If their enemies knew the depths of their bond, Margaery might very well become more of a target than she would be once knowledge of her survival became commonplace.

"Most likely so." Jon's laughter is soft and most certainly amused. "Give him time. A man doesn't go from smuggler to hand of the king unless he's capable. He gives sound advise." Sounder than many of his lords, truth be told. Stannis had been an ally, and a grudging one, at best, but at the very least, he can claim to understand why the man kept Davos so close at hand.

"I can still hope it doesn't come to that, can I not? Marriages bind houses together, true enough, but there are other ways as well." The words feel feeble as he speaks them. They are. The chances of a solid alliance coming from anything but marriage are slim and he knows it. Jon knows he has many flaws, but he's never been one to deny the truth when it's clear to him. He shakes his head, dispelling the momentary self-deception with a quiet sigh, and nods, mind mulling over her words while his fingers trace the curve of her lips and the shape of her cheek. They talk politics, but he wants to keep touching her as they do. It's a need, just like breathing, and inside him, his desire for her is waking from it's slumber at a rate that approaches the impossible. "No, you're right, Margaery. If it comes to that, I shall journey to Dorne and make the offer myself. I will not make them beg." In truth, Dorne may very well be their best chance for a marriage that will accommodate their particular... arrangement.

Even thoughts of Dorne and the quagmire of politics that would necessitate such a marriage weren't enough to dampen his ardor. Like oil being lit by a candle, his lust roared through him, filling him with those very same instincts that left him marking her skin with his seed just moments prior, and left him wanting to do just that. "Good." The grin that spreads across his face is the very mirror of wolf's and the darkness that gathers in his eyes is reminiscent of those ancient, dark pools of steaming water in the heart of Winterfell's godswood. "You had best do so. We do not speak in hypothetical. I have no qualms about letting others see just what sort of claim we have on one another." Jon had never been quite so bold, quite so shameless when he'd been a man, but it's different now; if his body cried out for hers, if his cock throbbed for release and her cunt clenched with a need to be filled while they dined among his bannerman, he would find nothing abhorrent with lifting her from her place and onto his shaft instead. He would play their political games, but, with Margaery, he would satisfy his desires and instincts and needs while doing it.

For all that, though, he was still capable of patience and restraint if it suited his whims. Playing this game of hers, intriguing as it was, certainly counted as one of those whims he would follow... for the moment. If the rules of this game had been up to him, he would be touching himself while watching her, but he's agreed to her terms. The way she cleans herself becomes a show, deliberately designed to ensnare him, to make his arousal swell larger while preventing him from doing anything about it. His fingers clench at the arms of the chair, cock straining between his legs, twitching as it tries to grow harder and can't, all while he watches her with hot, dark eyes that promise that when she's done having her fun, the way he fucks her will leave her screaming and howling with pleasure. "You are. It is not a bite mark and traces of my seed that makes you mine, Margaery." They both know it to be true. "If it pleases you, once you are cleaned, I shall make some marks that you can't easily wipe away. The kind all of court will see."

This game she's playing will end only one way and the both know it. As she moves closer, the distance shrinking between them as quickly as a setting sun dipping beneath the horizon, Jon can feel instinct straining against restraint, desire warring with his control; it's a wrestling match of a different kind and all he can do is nod when she presents her instructions. He takes the cloth, of course, and starts high, cleaning the skin between her shoulders with surprising gentleness. Slowly, purposefully, he works his way down her back with broad strokes, cleaning each swathe of skin, from the back of her neck down to the small of her back and beyond, all the while leaning forward, hot breath blowing against her spine. Each moment that passes is one more without relief; each moment is one that leaves him a little less of a man, a little more a raging whirl of primal need and other, older things.

In the end, it's when he reaches that boundary where torso ends and her rear begins. One glance of her ass and the game is done. He casts the cloth aside and takes her by the hips, hissing softly, "We're done. Your game is over, Margaery. Get on you hands and knees. Now."

[thekittenqueen]

It isn't lost on her how perfectly compatible they are. Jon was a natural leader, the sort of man that others would want to be king. He could lead an army and preside over a court with authority, something that Joffery and Tommen lacked. Unlike Renly, however, Jon was willing to fight alongside his men and do more than just enjoy the pageantry of the monarchy. He bore all the qualities that the previous kings in her life lacked. More than that, he welcomed her advice and presence, heeding her warnings as though she were one of his councilors.

It would lead to resentment, she knew that much. With her presence in his bed, she was already walking a thin line. Others would be affronted by the flaunting of propriety. Sansa would begrudge her one time friend for usurping her place at Jon's side and his advisers would view her as an interloper, overturning their policies. It was a dangerous game, one that she had only just lost in King's Landing. Was she willing to risk her safety again? There was no guarantee that she would survive this next time.

These questions swarm her mind when he takes her hand, speaking the words that were engraved n her soul. It was as though he peered into her heart and spoke aloud what she had only just realized herself. He was the sun, the light in her life and the breath in her lungs. She needed him as much as she needed the beating of her heart. He set her afire and returned her spark of life. Without him, she was nothing more than stone and ice, the ashes of a rose that once bloomed beautifully. He was more than a man to her, he was the part of her that had been missing from both this life and her previous one.

"You are mine," she whispered the words fervently, cupping his cheek with her free hand. She pressed her brow to his, staring into his eyes. It was more than words of desire she gave him, it is all she was. "I wasn't alive until now, not even before the Sept. I didn't know that until I saw you seated at my bedside." It was only then that she was born truly.

"You can hope so, my love. You should brace yourself for reality." Once they were slightly sated (as well as they could be), they would need to make more solid plans. She would even venture below for the first time since she woke in Winterfell. This matter was too important to ignore. "But I don't wish to think about another woman in your bed. Not at this moment. We will let Arianne Martell intrude afterwards. This day and night are ours."

Gods but they had no shame with each other. Simply the thought of being bent over his desk or tactical map had her humming with need. She didn't care if the entire Stark household witnessed it. What was the harm in him claiming her so openly? What did they have to hide? She was his and he was hers. Let them seek gratification whenever the need arose. "Only so long that I may sit upon your lap during a feast and ride you fearlessly. When we hunger, you may have me, no matter the place or time."

She grinned, feeling his dark eyes on her, locked on her movements and form. "I should like to be marked in such a way." She responded, shivering at the thought. Gods, he didn't need to touch her, the caress of his stare was enough stimulation. His mere presence was enough to heighten her arousal and drive her into a near frenzy. The game may be designed to push him to his limits, but it was working as effectively for her as well.

She had been so focused on his gaze and the feel of the cloth, straining for even the smallest brush of his skin, that when his hands find her hips, it overwhelms her. The tight grip and the fervency in his touch causes her to moan. Part of her wanted to deny him that command, wanting to see his face when he was inside her for the first time. But she had set the tone of the game and couldn't find it in her to do anything but get on her hands and knees. She wanted to be rutted with and she wanted it now!

She sinks to the floor, lifting her rear higher, allowing him a view of where his tongue had been before. "Hurry," she whispered, her breathing harsh and ragged. "I need you now."

[starkish]

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."

[thekittenqueen]

After what had happened to Robb, it didn't take much insight to see that Jon's bannermen and advisors were anxious to see that he didn't make similar mistakes. They didn't want to be ignored or cast aside, forgotten in a moment of lust and bad judgement. They had all seen the costs that such things could bring and having only just won back the north, they would be hostile to anyone or anything that could threaten it's safety. Margaery could represent that danger and she didn't doubt that many would begrudge her place by Jon's side. She had a target on her back now and there would be more danger than she had anticipated. Northern men were a fiercely loyal lot and she knew that they would never forget.

Sansa, however, was a different matter. It was less about her family and more about the usurption of power. In a way, Margaery could understand her. She had been helpless for so long, used as a pawn by the Lannisters and Baelish. Now that she was Lady of Winterfell, she held on to it with a grip of iron, fiercer than a she wolf with her cubs. This was her world and Margaery was slowly becoming an interloper. It was telling that her friend's visits lessened with the more time Jon spent in Margaery's rooms. Though, a part of her wondered what Sansa would do once Jon married. She wouldn't be Lady of Winterfell then, no matter the role she played in gaining back their home.

With or without these risks, it was inconceivable to pull away from Jon. They were sealed together, their passions bonded by the fires of desire and need. They were expertly made for each other, as though they were crafted like a sword of Valeryian steel. She couldn't imagine being severed from him, seeing only a black ether that she would be lost to, more frightening than death and emptier than the void itself.

The sudden rush of tenderness was a balm for the ravenous lust that coursed through her soul. She clinged to Jon, kissing him gently, soothing away any lingering fears they might have. They had spoken the words several times, made vows and promises, but this felt like so much more than that. Almost a union of their spirits and heart, as though they were more than wed. "You are all I have left in this world and all I ever want. I don't care for the rest." Her name, her home, it mattered so little compared to the feel of Jon's arms around her. "I give it all up, if only so I can be yours and never leave your side." Her lips met his, emotion welling up in her fiercely. She could feel tears in her eyes, stinging her as they rushed to the surface. She was drowning in love for him, or whatever the name for this feeling was. It was something deeper and more mysterious from the death they were pulled from.

And all at once it was overpowered by the white heat of lust and desire. The simple image of fucking him in front of the court had her moaning, her sex heated and aching for him. The guards would know by now as it was, what did it matter if all the rest witnessed them? To ignore this hunger would bring nothing but physical pain and frustration. She needed him as desperately as she needed air. She could simply not stop breathing, just as she could not simply ignore her desire to be fucked and claimed.

She lost her humanity somewhere between his touch and his demand for her to be on her hands and knees. She had teased him, claiming that they would play at being animals, but in reality, they became animals around each other. The sudden swipe of his tongue had her growling, bristling with the rush of lust and white hot hunger. She clenched her hands together, only to suddenly feel the sharp bite of his teeth.

She cried out, bucking against him as her body battled between pain and pleasure. Gods, but was there a difference anymore? "Yours. Only yours." She whispered the words as she turned, grateful that he would not be looking at her back when he penetrated her for the first time. Even in the height of her frenzy, she wanted to spare him the sight of her scars. She wound her legs around his waist, pulling at him to move closer. "Gods, I need you. Please, Jon."

[starkish]

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.

[thekittenqueen]

Her life had been nothing but a continual denial of herself, pushing her ambition and family to the forefront. She chose not to love, not to want anything beyond what would ensure the Tyrell's survival as well as elevation to power. She had lovers in her youth, men that helped teach her what she enjoyed and wanted, as well as the opportunity to test and strengthen her sexual appeal. She needed it to attract and bind her husband's loyalty to her. It had been the focus of her life, ended only when the Sept went up in flame and her family ceased to exist.

On waking, she found herself in a different world. Who she was, what she wanted, she didn't know for the months of her recovery. Others spoke about the way the world had changed and how power had shifted hands. Her visitors were trying to urge her back to life, seeking to pull the woman she was out of the ashes and embers. Yet she didn't have the heart (or was it simple exhaustion) to tell them that the woman she appeared once was nothing more than a role she assumed. That ambition had dissolved away, melting in the face of heated hatred. She couldn't turn back her mind and find that same passion again.

It wasn't until she found Jon that she understood who she was and what she desired. It was as simple as a spark falling from a flint. She went from death to life in one instant, surging forward in his arms. All it took was a simple utterance of desire and the world began to turn again. The ghosts of her past disappeared, allowing her to wake, as though she had been in a long sleep. Now, she was consumed with a hunger, starved to sate herself from what she had been deprived of for so long.

She had never found herself envious of a rival before. Even Cersei hadn't inspired jealousy. Whatever fight they had, it was simply a matter of survival. But now, against Sansa, she understood what it was to do battle. They would be at odds, she knew this instinctively. Margaery was infringing on her territory and like a she wolf, she would bit and attack fiercely. Rather than back down for the sake of friendship, Margaery would return that fury rather than give up Jon.

She couldn't stop kissing him, giving herself over to the unrestrained bliss that he offered her. Their bodies and souls entwined, holding close to what they needed to survive. Her hands held firmly to his back, running across his skin tenderly. She hadn't had the time to admire his form, not when lust had held her in a vice grip. For a brief moment, she could properly worship him. "Can you imagine if we did go across the Narrow Sea? We could have a simple house, a simple garden and a large bed. It would be our paradise." She whispered, breathing in the smell of them. "No past, only a future with the two of us."

It was a beautiful image, but they could never seize hold of it. It was as much an illusion as peace in Westeros.

There was no peace in her body. She doubted she could ever be sated by him. Much like a mosquito bite, she could scratch it once before it flared back to life more demanding and distracting than before. Once they fucked, there was no doubt in her mind that she would be begging for it again soon after. They were meant to be joined and their bodies needed the other to make it through the night. A part of her wondered if they would wake from their sleep, needing to fumble and fuck beneath the sheets before falling asleep, still connected. Their poor servants would soon learn how insatiable they were, just as his court would. The first moment he took her before them all, it would set the tone of what this love affair was.

Sparks of light and colors appeared before her eyes, draining away the room and the world around him. The moment he was buried within her, surrounded by her tight heat, it felt as though the air had returned to her lungs and her heart had begun to beat. The sensation of him was greater than anything she had experienced before. It was the fruit of the gods, a glimpse of the afterlife that she had been denied. Her body fell silent, truly at peace to finally be united with the other half of her soul. All she could do was stare up at him in amazement as her sex adjusted around him.

She ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the calm before the storm. One second of gentleness before suddenly her lust came roaring back to life, screaming in her ears and pushing her forward. It felt like a single second before her hips rocked up, her legs tightened around him. She moved desperately against him, encouraging him to rut her quickly and hard. "Gods!" It was all she could manage to cry out, followed quickly by his name. There were no other words, no other thoughts that could adequately describe the moment. It was more than perfect, it was bliss.

[starkish]

All that he remembers from his stint amount the dead is the deep, endless blackness that had surrounded him. It was darker than any night, a true black where nothing existed -- not sight, not sound, not taste, nothing at all. It had held him, part prison, part embrace, and yet when the fire of Melisandre's god has reached out and grasped his soul, plucking him back to lands of the living, it had willingly given him up, the darkness sliding off of him like droplets of water after a bath in the pools in the godswood. That darkness had scared him more than anything that had come before or after.

He hadn't understood it then. Jon hadn't the tools or the experience to know why he'd been wrapped in a cloak of nothingness upon his death. Now, though, he has clarity. The reason is there, right in front of him, an understanding gained that could not have been comprehended before: he'd died without her. She was the other part of him. More than his other half, more than his soul mate, more than any paltry concept of men could give meaning to: they were wrapped up in one another, fully entwined, a tangle of threads and ribbons that made a single entity. When his body had died, he'd hovered on the edge of existence itself, soul in capable of doing anything but waiting.

Then he'd been brought back and, months later, so had Margaery. Not in the same way, not quite, but similar enough... it was their shared experience, death shaving away the parts of them that kept them away from one another, that had brought them together. While his life after his resurrection had been bleak, what had come before it had hardly been joyful. Joyless was more accurate. Now he's find his joy and no one, not Cersei, not Arianne, not Sansa, will take her from him. The world has it's priorities, and they're certainly important, but Jon has his as well. Everything about her is his single priority, the directive that his soul must follow, and he will do what he must to see that priority fulfilled.

With those thoughts swirling in his head, he welcomed the worship she heaped on him and returned it with equal zeal, arms simply wrapped around her waist, holding her tightly, refusing to let go, while his mouth laid his prayers on her skin. Every patch of it he could find, he pressed soft, reverent kisses to, searing the fact that she was his goddess as much as his lover into her flesh. Her cheeks and her lips, her neck and her shoulders, her collar and her chest... kisses dotted her skin like the roses from Highgarden would dot their gardens. "Wouldn't that be perfect?" He wants it. If he could have that for the price of Winterfell, if giving it to Sansa would make that happen, he would give it to her in an instant. His lips are soft on hers as they kiss again, a final moment of tenderness, and his smile is gentle as he peers deep into her eyes, forehead resting against hers. "They say we Northmen melt if we leave the North, but I think your presence alone would preserve me, Margaery. I know it would. We could have everything we truly want."

Truly, it would be something out of a dream; unfortunately, Jon has found that what happens in dreams usually remain there.

Even if that would never be a reality, though, there was still contentment and pleasure to be found in their life here. If chance had somehow plotted to bring them together in their previous lives, before death had ever tainted them, his desire for her would have been as fierce as the sigil of his father's house. Jon would have found every excuse to take her, to find ways to sneak her back to his rooms during the middle of the day, to spend long nights seeking pleasure with her... but they're together now and his want is magnified ten fold without the chains of life and society to temper his need to fuck her. The barriers that would keep his lust in check were no more and he knew, with some certainty, that their mornings would begin the same way their evenings would end. Once he took her for the first time, he would seek that same pleasure again and again, always wanting more, always craving her, and never finding himself tiring of it.

The truth of that is proven in the instant that his cock fills her. The pleasure of being joined with her, of finally being one body as well as soul, is the kind that scorches away thought and word and consumes everything but that one feeling; his body is filled with it, a blistering inferno of wholeness and completion and... and... and... words fail, but the end result is a spark of pleasure that cracks like lightning, that warms like the fire in a hearth, and that leaves him craving more. For a moment, he's stunned, unable to see, unable to speak, unable to breath, and then... he's chasing that feeling again, dashing at a full sprint as desire and need replace it as the primary feeling that rules him.

Her hips push against his, deepening his penetration of her, pulling him deeper inside of her. A rough groan slips past his mouth, that sensation of being fully inside her, deep as a man can go, fanning that ember of pleasure that remains in his belly, but it's not enough. Not by half. Instinct moves him. He stares at her, eyes the color of smoke and just as hot, mouth searing hers with a kiss as his hips move, jerking to the wild beating of his heart. His thrusts are deep, true, but frantic, each one coming in rapid succession from the one before it, the sounds of fleshing smacking against flesh filling the air as much as their cries and shrieks of pleasure do. "Margaery," there's no shame in him as he shakily moans her name, one hand palming her rear, while the other finds a breast and gives it a quick squeeze, "Fuck me, love, that's... that's perfect...!"

[thekittenqueen]

It still mystified her that Jon had died and been brought back to life by some mystical means. She had seen the proof of it, even having traced her fingers over them and placed kisses along the scars. Yet, it defied reason to know that his brush with death went so much deeper than her own. Yet...how else should it be? How else would he understand her so well. What happened to her might not have been actual death, but it nearly was. She had hovered between the two planes, not yet slipping away, but not holding firmly to life. It had changed her, marked her soul and no man would be able to understand or see the deep changes it made in her.

Only Jon could. He still carried the shroud of death around him, his eyes as deep and dark as a tomb. Those first few days after she had woken, simply feeling Jon's presence had been enough to calm her, chasing away the specters that followed her like shadows. The past was burned fiercely on her skin and seemed inescapable. The maester, Sansa and Jon's men had assured her that they would get revenge, that she would recover and grow strong again. So many pointless statements that failed to take into account that it was impossible for her to go back. Who she was had burned away while her body had survived.

Jon understood and simply spoke to her of small things. She couldn't remember what was said, but she could remember how comforting and soothing he was. That feeling emenated from him still, rising to the surface as he kissed over her body, caressing her with lips and hands. She shivered, clinging to him so closely that she believed she could crawl inside of him and reside in his heart.

The image of their small home in Lys or Pentos or Braavos brought a smile to her face. She nuzzled into him, dragging soft kisses over his shoulders and neck. "You wouldn't melt." She promised him. "You would be a winter rose in my garden, growing strong and free from the cold." She teased him, winding her fingers through his hair as they stared deeply into each other's eyes. "There are no morals there, not the same as there are here. No one would question us when he took our pleasure in the open air. We could exist in our world without interruption." In a sturdier place than behind her door.

She couldn't imagine this passion existing in the past. Had she met him before the Sept, it was unlikely that she would have paid him much mind. There might have been desire and a wish to fuck freely, but ambition had been her singular concern. She had given up so much for it, it stood to reason that this bond she shared with Jon would have fallen by the wayside as well. The mere thought of that causes her to grip him harder, letting tenderness shift to near frenzy and fear.

No! No, she couldn't have done that. She wouldn't cast him aside and resign herself to a meaningless, cold existence. How could she breathe or function without the feel of Jon inside her? How would she have managed without him rooted in her heart? She couldn't comprehend it, but the mere idea was enough to frighten her to the point of near tears. It shamed her that a simple contemplation would be enough to jolt her in such a way, but it was the reality of losing him. It would destroy what was left of her.

Their joining was like stepping into the presence of the gods. She never believed in the divine before, but the moment his cock pushed through her folds, she understood what true faith and true magic were. She could hardly put words to it, only know that it was more than simple fucking. She knew that from her previous life. This...gods, it was something rare and precious and fragile, but surging with a strength she never imagined could be possessed before.

As he starts to move rapidly in her, it's all she can do to keep up with him. Her legs begin to strain at the tightness with which she holds him. Her back aching against the floor but largely ignored. Instead, all she could hear was the hammering of her heart, the sting of their skin slapping, and the sound of their moans echoing through the room.

Somehow, she manages to find that impish spark in her once more. "It's you who is supposed to fuck me." She teased him, dragging her nails fiercely down his back. Leaning close to him, she bit him savagely on his shoulder, marking him as he had done with her moments before. "Harder." She whispered harshly.

[starkish]

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."

[thekittenqueen]

She could remember the moment that she opened her eyes in her room and saw Jon seated next to her. It hadn't occured to her until now, but there had been something that shifted within her. As though a part of her opened, turning to face him like a jasmine blossom opened to the moon. She recognized him as kindred before even knowing what that would mean or how thoroughly broken she was. For such fatalistic meeting, it had been such a quiet event, but how else should it be? Death was a silent companion, arriving far sooner than you expected it and often times too soon. She and Jon were death's children, they came into each other's life with little fanfare and recognized each other without full acknowledgement.

What did he think of her in that moment? What had she thought of him? As he pressed kisses to her hair, er mind wound its way back to that day, still hazy and lingering in darkness. He had been her first sight, her guide and guardian in the new world she found herself in. It was almost as though he had been waiting for her, arranged by fate and destiny. It was not something that she would have put stock in before, but it was hard to ignore that their paths were meant to intertwine. They were made to be the other's and would find their way to each other, no matter the distance or the obstacles. His death, her death, it wasn't enough to stop them, it only prepared them for the other.

"You already are," she returned to him, coaxing him with tender kisses. "Am I not your prized possession? I thought I was yours?" She let the image of that sweet dream linger for a moment longer in her mind. That beautiful home where they could be free to fuck and lavish each other with all of the emotions that swelled their hearts. But she was not a creature to give herself completely to dreams. Practicality had always reigned over her, it was no different now.

Only it was accompanied with one caveat. There was no practicality in this desire she held for him. Madness was at the root of it all, madness and pure animalistic frenzy. Yet as a fire could not contain its heat, she could not contain her need for Jon. It was either she let it out completely and let it burn the both of them or turn to ash from the inside. She had to follow that madness to its end, even if it meant they were sprawled over his tactical map, pushing the others from the room with their cries.

The room was a blur around her. The speed with which he thrust within her dulled her senses until they were only focused on him. She could hear the slapping of their skin in the distance, the sound of a woman moaning without shame, crying out his name and knew it was hers. She could feel the heat in his eyes, as though he could penetrate her further through his gaze. She never believed that bedding a man could be so intense, but here was the proof of it. They hadn't managed to make it to the bed and they had sated their earlier hunger with simple touches and caresses. Now, they were clinging to each other, rutting like beasts in the height of heat. There was little doubt in her mind that once he had spilled his seed, he'd flip her over and begin again.

"You didn't mishear me, but if I fail you, I expect to be punished by my king." She chuckled breathlessly, the air fleeing her lungs rapidly as her hips rocked up wildly. "No...not my king, punished by my mate!" That was what he was. Kings, kingdoms, lords and ladies, they were miniscule and she couldn't bear to compare him to such paltry things. "You are my wolf and I am your she wolf." They certainly were howling like beasts.

"Now?" She whispered, knowing that she was close to breaking. Even with him buried deep within her, she still was playing her games. It was torture for them both, only meant to sweeten the eventual explosion when he broke through her restraints. But as much as she wanted to play and toy with him, she couldn't keep control of her body. A few more thrusts, a few more kisses against her breasts and a few more moans from her lips and she felt herself trembling in his grasp, howling from the intensity of it all. Her body crushed beneath the weight of her climax. "Gods, Jon!"

[starkish]

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.

[thekittenqueen]

She had believed at the time that she was being punished for her actions and ambitions. That she lived but her brother and father died had seemed an unpardonable sin. How else could it be interpreted but as some divine retribution for her decisions? She would have to suffer alone and carry the weight of all she had known, knowing that it was through her choices that her family paid the price. It had left her defeated and depressed during those early weeks after waking. She had wanted to perish, taking little food and refusing the milk of the poppy, no matter how much pain she was in. It at least meant she could feel something other than guilt.

It was Jon though that managed to coax her. She would take the milk of the poppy in his presence and slept when he was nearby, if only because his presence was the one soothing element in her life. If he had food brought to her personally, she would accept it and eat a little. While she could not speak fully, she would manage a few words for him as well. It was because of Jon she lived and it was Jon that gave her life meaning. She hadn't survived because of some sort of punishment from the gods, she survived to be his completely.

She placed a tender kiss to his lips, offering him more than what words could say. She could not adequately describe what he meant to her and how deeply those feelings ran, but she could offer the gesture nonetheless. They might not ever have that dream world, but they had this and it wasn't nothing. It was more than she ever thought to be possible.

The rumblings of desire were like the shaking of the heavens. It was a deep torrent that swept her away from reason, mortality and morality. She needed him and craved him in all aspects of herself. Body, heart, soul, mind, they reached out for him, dragging him close and never relinquishing him to the world. It didn't matter where or when, if her body demanded him, even the smallest hint of arousal, she would open herself to him like the doors of a castle's hall. She would follow him wherever he went, whether it was a simple visit to another castle or into battle itself. It was impossible to separate now, they were too entwined. To even try would cause them to crumble and break as firmly as a mirror.

In his arms and with him thrusting inside of her, she felt as though she were soaring. The room was nothing more than the shadows cast by the sun and the cold around them disappeared into a brilliant heat. His body moved in a desperate rhythm, creating a storm in her that could never be quelled, but only weathered through the constant pursuit of mild satiation. It could never be achieved, but the attempts would at least partially quiet her body. A momentary peace before it raced to life again.

She gave a yelp at the sudden impact of his hand against her rear, the pain only blossoming into further pleasure. She seized forward and dragged him into a hungry kiss, muffling her moans against his lips. She nipped at him as they pulled apart, the need to breathe and raggedly draw air into her lungs outweighed her hunger to kiss and bite and suck. "Is it possible to disappoint you?" She asked, arching her back into him. "I would die a thousand deaths before I give you cause to be angry or disappointed in me. Plunge a blade into my heart should I ever fail to bring you less than you deserve."

She had no words to respond, following his command and collapsing into a shattering climax. For a moment, she forgot she had limbs or bones. Her mind seemed to break, feeling only the rushing pleasure and the rhythmic movements of his cock. She knew she was crying out, feeling the reverberations of her voice off of the stones. She didn't even realize how deeply her nails had dug into his back, piercing the skin as she held on to him with all of her strength.

He followed after, pausing the world in its spinning, making time itself stand still. The missing link in her formed and took root, settling as deeply inside of her as his seed.

She collapsed against the ground, uncertain of whether she would ever catch her breath. She panted harshly, her gaze still blurry and her body humming with energy and excitement. Gods, but that was a revelation. Her hands slacked, letting go of his skin and gently running over the expanse of his back. Her heart thrummed in her ears, racing uncontrollably. The tension in the air lessened, but only slightly.

"Gods," she managed to whisper.

[starkish]

Profound loss, like the kind Margaery had experienced, would spend years staining a person's life. Jon had never met her family. Loras and Mace were men he knew only by word of mouth, and even then, only a few paltry rumors had come north to the Wall during his time as Lord Commander. Yet there had been a point in his life, not so long ago as all that, where he'd believed that nearly his entirely family perished, gone in the way of the Targaryens. For a long time, while his injuries still pained him and milk of the poppy clouded his mind, he'd dwelt on the news Maester Aemon had given him -- Robb and his Lady Mother slain at the Twins, Winterfell burned, Bran and Rickon disappeared just as Arya had -- and wondered if the god were punishing him. It had been an absurd thought, but with his wounds aching, living reminders of the betrayal he'd just wrought, it couldn't help but bubbling up.

The news that Sam had given him had alleviated some of the suffering, but he'd still lost a brother. Now, he's lost two and a father as well. It had been one more connection between them, one more way he could understand her, even if nobody else seemed to be able to do so. Jon's grief had been the silent kind, the kind that would shy away when soothing words were uttered and would return in force shortly after; only time had been able to dull the edge. What Margaery had needed was not the false sympathy of schemers or the soft, quietly deceptive words of politicians, both designed to speed her healing so they might use her, but time and someone to care for her, to let her grief run it's course while simply being there. He'd brought her food, brought her drink, brought her medicine, and brought her conversation. And then, after all was said and done, he'd brought her something else as well, something simple and fundamental -- he'd brought her himself and given it to her, knowing that it was something that could never be undone.

What she offered, Jon accepted gladly. As soft and gentle as the motion of her lips against his might be, there was an intensity there that could not be understated, the feeling that existed at the core of that kiss more than enough to make his heart tremble and clench. When the kiss broke, his eyes shone with emotions, as vivid as any mural, and his lips were curled just slightly, a smile there as he touched them, as if in awe. For years beyond counting, he would have believed himself lucky to have something a tenth as potent and consuming as the swirl of love and desire that reside in him now.

As capable of gentle touches and tender kisses as they are, such gestures are a reflection of their humanity, of that part of them that knows speech and mercy and all those things the beasts don't have; they straddle the line between the two, though, and move from one to the other with simple easy, as though all it requires is stepping through an archway. The heart and the mind had their requirements and the soul and body have theirs. No longer bound by society, no place was too public or sacred for him to give his body it's due; if his body desired her, he would take her under the shade of a Weirwood itself, in front of the gods, again and again and again, until some level of satisfaction could be obtained. Here and now, in this moment and in this place, with her body heaving underneath his from the ferocious intensity of his fucking, with the sight of her and the sound of her and the feeling of her filling his senses beyond capacity, his desire grows with his pleasure, an exponential growth that knows no ceiling. With each moment that passes, he'll want her more and more and that desire will never stop growing until the moment of their death.

"No," his laughter is throaty and wild, voice rough from the constant stream of loud groans and sharp gasps. "Not for you. You can never disappoint me, love. So there will never be need to punish you. Only to reward you." She arches against him and, once more, Jon accepts what she gives him, filling a palm with a soft breast, filling his mouth with a taut nipple. Teeth tug and mouth suck in that untamed, unrestrained way, as if the very concept of gentleness no longer exists for him, as he purrs his approval softly, the quiet sound at odds with the frantic, desperate sounds of two lovers at the very edge of their sanity.

The moment between her release and his seems to stretch into eternity, the extra tightness of her cunt and the excess of pain from nails digging into skin multiply his desire many times over, body quivering as he approached that precipice at agonizing slowness. Even as pleasure explodes from within him, as he's filled with a scorching heat that threatens to fully consume him, there's still a part of him that's dully aware that it's not enough -- that he still wants more. That holds true with each pulse of seed, with each shameless sigh of her name, and it holds as strength flees him and he's left incapable of movement.

"I know." His voice is breathless as he chuckles, head resting just so on her chest, cheek pressed to the small between her breasts and eyes boring into hers. For the moment, his fingers rest on safe places, one set on her hips, the others on her shoulder, and he take a long, contemplative moment to simply watch her, eyes soft, before shifting just so, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her chin. "That was... beyond anything I've ever felt. Gods, but that was amazing. I can't imagine going back after that."

[thekittenqueen]

Beyond life and beyond death, there existed this passion that defied explanation or understanding. It had been forged by something more powerful than the gods and resided in a realm that Margaery might never have imagined or known about until she had come to Winterfell. She had been reforged and left behind the woman she had believed she knew. Whoever Margaery was before this moment, she was gone now and could never find her way back. The path had grown over and been consumed by this pulsing desire and need. There was only Jon, he was set before her like a mirage in the distance. She possessed him wholly, but she would never have him enough that she could be sated (if it were ever possible.) Each time she neared the point that she believed she could be, it slipped out of her fingers and disappeared over the horizon.

She would never stop chasing this feeling, no matter the place or time, no matter who might be in the room. She was on a journey, all roads leading to Jon and the culmination he brought her body to. It was more than simple fucking, it was worship to a more ancient god and a more powerful existence.

She lazed in his arms, her body still humming and that clawing lust still grasping in the back of her mind. She could at least rest a moment and reclaim her breath before it consumed her again and drove her into a near frenzy of madness. For a brief time, she could simply hold Jon in her arms and stroke his back gently, marveling at the hardness of his muscles, yet the softness of his skin. She could feel his heart pounding against his body and the sweat that rolled from his limbs onto the alabaster plains of her form. This was contentment, no matter how momentary it was.

Her blue eyes found his, still darkened to the color of a midnight storm. She could hear the rattle of the shutters, the winter wind trying to make its way inside. Her fire sputtered, interrupting the sounds of their heavy breathing and the soft footfalls in the distance. The world returned around them, intruding on their solitude and paradise. The word would spread soon, if it had not done so already, that Jon and Margaery were lovers. Her reputation would be slighted now and she'd be viewed as little more than a whore, but she found she couldn't care. She had been called that before with little cause. There was nothing that made it so now, only that she had given herself to Jon. His men wouldn't understand, Sansa wouldn't as well. How could they? They could whisper what they pleased and they could advise Jon to send her away, but she knew absolutely that she would never leave his side. Her nights were his, as were his days hers.

"There is no going back," she assured him gently, feeling nothing but tenderness as she stared down at him. "You are mine and I intend to keep you all to myself." No matter what his councilors would demand, he would never belong to another woman. "Do you still intend to remain in my chambers for the day and night?" She grinned, hoping to keep him and explore the multiple ways their bodies might come together. She was filled with him still, but there was an emptiness inside her where he was a second ago. He had a promise to keep, as did she. She would ride him, as he wished. They would play like beasts before the fire and they would break her bed under the sheer weight of their hunger. Yet they would not leave her chamber, not until a full day had passed. Food may be brought to them, if they craved it. They would keep their own fire roaring and they would care and dress each other, if need be (though she doubted clothes would remain on their body for long.) No one would be allowed into this room.

"In all of your visits, I never knew or suspected that this was how it would end for us. I simply assumed I would go on as though I were in a fog. One touch and one whisper of desire and I came to life, fully and completely." She would never be able to express or offer him the full extent of her gratitude, but she could at least show him by living completely for him.

[starkish]

In the back of his mind, there's still a tiny part of him that whispers with the voice of old. It's easy enough to ignore, but the words are so familiar, he knows them by heart. They suggest more than demand, but the result is the same: the knowledge that the old Jon, the one that had given his life to save the realms of men, would have balked at what they do now. Only a shadow of that man remains, though, and his words fall on deaf ears; his death was necessary to make this possibility into a reality. No matter how great the passion, Lord Commander Snow would have resisted. King Jon delights in finding every opportunity to fuck and try to sate the unyielding desire for Margaery that knows no limit, has no limit, and knowing that he's doomed to fail no matter how many thousands and thousands of times they couple.

That didn't daunt him. Most men feared failure, but this pursuit was something that was far more ancient and basic than the things that concerned mankind. He would chase and chase and chase. They both would. Together, they'd chase a satisfaction they can't have and find the sweetness of their pleasure along the way. No, it didn't daunt him; it thrilled him.

Soon, they'd rejoin that chase. For now, though, it was a moment of peace, a moment where they could enjoy the bliss of relief and of simple skin-to-skin contact before their instincts flared back to life. Already, he could feel desire lapping at him and a tightness that was slowly spreading through his muscles, a tension that would inevitably lead to him rutting with her again and again. Then was not now, though, and for the moment, with his strength fled and a gentle warmth having spread through him, he was happy to simply be held while gazing up at her with nothing but adoration and fondness shinning through the dark desire in his eyes.

All around them, time marched on. His awareness of it had been dim in the moments following his release, but it sharpened with each second that past, the warmth that clouded his thoughts abating slowly. Soon, it would be replaced with something far more potent, but unless he missed his mark, it was near time for the guards to change shifts. Two had guarded the room under his orders and another two had followed him here. His visits had never taken so long before and after the noises they had made -- would make again -- word would spread like wildfire before they'd finished another round frantic lovemaking. In the Great Hall, they'd be expecting him to make judgments soon. Davos would fill in for him. They'd not disturb him. Not yet, not while he'd surprised them so. His councilors had made their implications before about his visits, but he'd always refuted them -- before this one, his lust for her had never been such a tangible thing -- truthfully. Tonight will stand all that on it's head. They'll make do without him for the day and they'll learn to do so in the future as well.

"I know. I wouldn't want to. And I'd thought grinding my cock against your thigh had felt amazing!" In spite of himself, he laughs softly and then presses a gentle kiss to her lips, all fondness and affection. "I would not let anyone else have me, Margaery. I am yours." No matter how they schemed, even a marriage would not invalidate her claim. Nor would it divert his attention from her. "Certainly so." Baring his teeth in a wild grin, Jon nips at her shoulder playfully, sighing happily as he does so, and then glancing back up at her, some of that familiar heat returning to his gaze. "My desire for you is not so easily satisfied. And I did make certain promises. We shan't stop rutting until we're too tired to continue. And even then, you may well wake to find my cock already in you during the night or first thing the morning that follows." Before the day had passed, Jon would take her in every position and way imaginable; she would ride him like a stallion and he would take her like a wolf. Chairs, tables, walls, and beds -- they'd mate on top or against each and every one. When things had reached the point where they needed to bathe, he'd have a large copper tub brought in and they'd use that as well. Whatever else might be needed could also be brought. Nothing would tear him from this room before they'd had their day of pleasure.

"Nor did I, love. I had... I was drawn to you. I thought we might be able to be good friends. I wanted to thank you for the kindness you showed my sister once, but this..." Jon smiles one of those smiles that drips meaning and simply sighs contentedly, trusting that she understands. "This surpasses anything I could have expected. I'm glad that it does. I was as dead as any corpse before tonight. I simply didn't realize it."

What they share has put a new perspective on his life before. As Lord Commander, his task had been joyless and lonely. When they'd crowned him, things had remained much the same; it had taken Margaery for him to understand that it was the same as death itself. Jon felt he had no room to complain. Death had brought him her. How could he complain about that? "You are everything I need. And everything I want. Nothing I've ever felt even compares to the depth and complexity of my feelings about you, Margaery." Rough fingers stroke her face gently as he gives her a sweet kiss that matches. His lips curl in a grin after. "Now, I believe we were speaking of promises before. It won't be much longer before I'm ready to make good on them. No, not much longer at all."

[thekittenqueen]

She could remember how desperate and all consuming her desire to be queen had been. Ambition had seemed like the most potent of emotions, pushing her nearly past the point of reason, though some might think she crossed that line when she intentionally placed herself in the lion's jaws (so to speak.) It seemed so small and fragile now, a speck of sand set against the large expanse of a beach. She had assumed that was who she was, but Jon showed her that if she raised her eyes just a little, there was far more than that simple speck. She had an ocean to cross, a stormy sea that had presented itself as desire. She might never cross it, but it was better to lose herself in the waters than to remain standing on the sands, wondering what might have been.

She stretched beneath him, feeling the complaint of her muscles as they strained and were brought back to life. The sensation of satisfaction was dwindling away like a dying candle. It wouldn't be long before desperation returned, but for the moment, she wanted to bask in the tenderness of him. He had shown her nothing but that since she woke. That gentle warmth in him had been soothing, reminding her of how lonely she felt when he left her rooms. Just the sight of him had been enough to make her believe the hours ahead would not be so terrible. Though she'd never admit it, she had imagined what it would be like to be held and to hold in this way. She had wondered how her mind and body would respond to the sound of his heart beating, what the heat of his skin could awake in her. That had seemed like some grand thing. Now, it was a small craving compared to what he truly brought out in her.

There was a murmur of hushed voices in the hall, both male and female. She had maids that often looked in on her, bringing her food and hovering pitifully as they tried to fulfill their orders. Sansa had commanded (there was no other word for it) that they ensure that Margaery was well looked after. As the former queen made no requests, they struggled to think of what to do and how to please Sansa. They were her servants, not Margaery's. They would be turned away from the guards and scurry back to Sansa. It wouldn't surprise Margaery to learn that Jon's sister learned of what had happened before his other men.

He was neglecting his duties by remaining here. It was a matter that Margaery should fret over, sending him from the room and back to the great hall where he might act as king. Sansa likely wouldn't wait for his return and would attempt to reside in his place. The power struggle between she and Davos would be amusing, if it didn't create more problems. Jon's presence would rectify the matter, but Margaery was greedy and not about to relinquish the day she had been promised. There were so many places in her room that they could rut and chase that illusive pleasure. She wanted to lay with him in her bed, she wanted to couple by the fire and she wanted to be pressed against the wall. After so long in searching for him, without knowing she had been searching, she needed the day before she'd consider the outside world again.

"Mmm," she smiled lazily, "It doesn't seem to take much to make you come." That to her was a great triumph. She knew how to please men and had done so before, but this, as it was in many ways, was different. She kissed him in return, gently running her thumb against the length of his jaw. "I know you are. We are promised in ways that can't be undone." It was greater than a marriage. Even if Arianne became his queen, their vows wouldn't come near to Jon and Margaery's. She shivered at the feeling of his teeth, her eyes becoming smoky and black. "I expected nothing less." The idea of rutting, even when half asleep was as exciting as coupling in the busy halls or as they supped. "Better to end my day or begin it with you inside me than to suffer that emptiness again."

At least her nights would be full of him. She couldn't return to that quiet or her cold bed. She had her fill of loneliness and sorrow.

"It was the same for me. I didn't know where I would got at the end of my convalescence. I thought that I would simply be kept her as a prisoner with some flimsy excuse or married to one of your men. I didn't expect this." There was still no guarantee but that threat came from outside forces. She knew that Jon wouldn't listen to them nor would he let anyone tear her from his side.

She pressed her brow to his, gently caressing his hair and breathed in the smell of them. The rich perfume of lust and sex filled her nose, but more than that, there was him. He had a musk that she couldn't describe, made up of horses, wolves and leather. She only knew that she would crave it for the rest of her life and it would do nothing but remind her of home. "There is no going back," she whispered again. "You are the very beating of my heart. I love you more than those words can convey. I am yours and only yours."

She grinned at his rising desire, shifting beneath him, her knee brushing between his legs unintentionally. "Then we are truly well suited. Mine is returning as well."

[starkish]

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.

[thekittenqueen]

It was better Jon be king, even more so because he did not seem to want it. In all the variations of power that Margaery had seen, no man ever seemed able to resist its allure or the lust it inspired. Even Tommen, to some degree, had let himself become swept away by power, though that had been both at her urging and Cersei's. How different things might have been for the realm had they someone like Jon to act as king. There was far too much corruption, far too much greed. Jon was a brief ray of light that pierced through the fog. He was unlike the other men, perhaps more so because of his understanding of life and death. The temporal goods never seemed to matter in comparison.

It was in these rare moments of quiet and calm that Jon brought on that she considered herself beyond the present. It was only in his company that she felt safe enough to contemplate what she wanted or what she desired to do. There had been a grim acceptance, as she told him, that she'd have to accept a certain amount of conditions for her upkeep. There would be a husband, children, and some measure of claim on High Garden that would come under Stark control. She had prepared herself for that eventuality, but debated on what she wanted beyond that. There were so many years ahead, now that she had been denied the chance to perish alongside those she loved. How would she fill the hours and the emptiness of her life? Yet even during that contemplation, she never allowed herself to imagine or entertain the idea that the King of the North would be in her arms and sharing her bed. That had seemed beyond her capabilities or energies, existing in the realm of the woman she was before.

Strangely, despite her reluctance, it was many of the serving women (Sansa's creatures) that seemed to suggest what Margaery was aiming for. The whispers normally came when she feigned sleep, listening instead for news that was not usually offered, save for Jon. The women murmured between themselves, creating a measure of speculation about whether or not the lady that had been wed to three kings wished to make it four. Every gesture or word she offered Jon was analyzed, blown out of proportion and distorted beyond the original meaning. After a time, Margaery began to question herself as well, wondering how deeply her ambition ran and if it had escaped her noticed. Hesitation and doubt replaced her otherwise friendly nature with Jon, afraid to lead him into a place that neither of them were prepared to go. She didn't want to risk losing his friendship, not over the rumors of the servants and her own wayward desires.

She smiled, pulled back to the present and the man in her arms. He was the reality she never contemplated and could never have hoped for. He was hers, completely and utterly hers. If the servants gossiped now, it was entirely intentional. "I would never issue a challenge to my lord," she teased him in return, slowly dragging her fingers up his back. "I think I prefer discovering just how quickly I can bring you to culmination and which positions bring it about the quickest." She was on an expedition, determined to learn everything about Jon that she could, aside from his life and his preferences. She wanted to know the cravings of his body and what would garner the best responses. She could please him in the mental and spiritual, but she wanted to be expert in pleasing him in the physical. "You have so many promises to keep, are you certain you will not lose track of them all?" She asked, sucking in a sharp breath as his lips traced over her neck.

That ravenous hunger came screaming to the forefront, blocking out her thoughts and the sounds of the world around them. A brush of skin and she felt herself trembling under his grasp, sweat beginning to bead along her wrists and brow, as her heart began to hammer in her chest. "I assure you, I will not be the only one to wake in such a way." She could almost guarantee it. It was near predictable, not requiring much foresight. Given how so small a touch made her near frantic with need, she didn't doubt that the heat from his body next to her would do the same. "We must have a care though," she whispered, even as her hands became preoccupied with exploring him and touching the various parts of him that had garnered a reaction before. "We risk you becoming derelict in your duties." While she issued the warning, there was a voice in her head that encouraged them to do so. Why should the world have more of Jon's attention when she had it for only a brief moment? She had gone near her entire life without him, the world could afford to wait. It matched his possessive words, the look in her eyes repeating them silently. "You have me completely to yourself. You are all I have and want in the world. I will never let you be taken from me, not by anyone." Sister, wife, councilors, they had no claim on him.

She felt herself moaning the moment his nails dragged over her scars, the stimulation was as enticing and maddening as the feel of his lips on her nipple. She arched once more, pressing her thigh roughly between his legs and allowing him more access to her breast. "I doubt you need to try very hard. Much like you, it takes very little from you to stoke my craving back to life."

[starkish]

When the bastard of Bolton had finally been slain, Jon had feared the loose alliance of men and women that had fought for him might dissolved; worse, he had feared that those who had held back or who had fought for Ramsay might not allow the rift that had grown between them to heal. Instead, they had named him king. Jon Snow was not his brother. He did not have Robb's easy way with people. He was solemn and too dour. His father had ensured that Jon had access to many of the same lesson's Robb did, but he had not been raised to be a lord and certainly not a king. Their people had chosen him only after Robb had perished, but they'd chosen him regardless. He might not have been the son of Ned Stark they would have preferred, but he'd do the job regardless.

The question of what came next still plagued him. With their lust having abated, it was one of the considerations that tormented the back of his mind. Margaery's presence changed things on a personal level, but there was still the question of the North itself to consider. Sansa's connection to the Vale had bought food to last the winter, but when spring finally came, all bets were off. A dozen different plans of action had been suggested, each backed by this lord or that, and none were exactly the same. Some argued, as Margaery had heard whispers of, that they send envoys to Dorne now to ensure their supremacy come spring. Others wished to strike south and take the Riverlands back from Lannister control; Southron winters would prove even easier on a Northern force than a Northern one might. Rumors flooded out of King's Landing as well, though, and they suggested that Cersei's hold on the rest of Westeros might well end with her subjects in revolt again. There was no agreement to be found on what the right course of action would be and it was his task to decide upon it.

For a long while, it had been a popular suggestion that Jon take the Lady Tyrell as wife. That had been before news of the Lannister's incursion had come north. Northern families always thirsted for vengeance and they had believed that the Reach would not rest until justice had been found for Mace and his children. It had been an idea that Jon had toyed with, in that theoretical, abstract way that one considers a political alliance. What his councilors had proposed was different what he considered, however; such a marriage would only have happened if Margaery willed it. From the first true conversation they'd had, he'd known just how deeply her loss had cut her. If possible, he'd prefer to bring her happiness instead of more pain. There were other options. A part of him regrets that now. Only a part, though. A wedding would have little meaning now.

And while he had considered the possibility of having her, those thoughts seemed so dim compared to the brilliant reality; his thoughts had been those of a man desiring a woman instead of a wolf needing his mate. "I think I recall you issuing a challenge not so long ago as all that. Something about not touching. It's difficult to recall after the last fucking I gave you." He bares his teeth in a sharp grin, a shiver accompanying the rising desire that her fingers stoke in his skin. "Well, I shan't refuse you that, Margaery. I was thinking much the same. The easiest way to ensure that I spill my seed will be to find the best ways to make you find your pleasure. I do not wish to find release until I'm certain you've done the same." No doubt there would be times where it would happen anyway, but it was also his desire to make certain she find relief, even as temporary as it would inevitably be. During his limited experiences with other women, that desire had been one of the things he'd discovered about himself. To that end, he wanted to know her body like a master singers might know a harp or a sitar, to be able to play her in just the right way to make her sing with pleasure when the time came. "Not at all. With you close at hand, my body will ensure that I remember them whatever might occupy my mind." Of course, chances were that his mind would almost always be pre-occupied with her.

Right now, that was certainly the case. A dark haze was beginning to settle in his mind, the tendrils of heat making themselves known to him as his mouth asserted his desire to her skin. Tension was starting to rise inside of him, muscles thrumming with a surplus of energy, as warmth spread across his skin and a gentle flush developed on his cheek. "I am very pleased to hear that. Not that I ever doubted you." And he hadn't. Everything he feels, she feels just as intensely. If his body would wake him in the middle of the night with it's stirrings, hers would certainly do the same. In a way, he almost looks forward to that more -- waking in pleasure, waking with her pressed against him, close and his. "Don't worry." He tries very hard to be reassuring, but it's difficult with her fingers stroking the skin on his chest and fondling his rear in turn; his voice is more than a little rough with desire now. "I will do what's best for my people. But I'll also do what's best for us, Margaery, and that means taking you whenever the need strikes us." If there were no responsibilities to deal with, he very well might spend the whole of each day just like this, chasing and seeking pleasure with the woman that was his other half. Even now, that's exactly what he wishes he could do. He's king, though, and that requires some restraint. Only just enough to do what's right for his people, but even that almost seems like unfairly much to him. "Then I will be happy. That's all I want out of life: you."

The sound of her colluded with the sensation of her thigh, skin warm and textured, to bring him to full stiffness in what felt like an instant, a point that only served to underscore her words. Jon grins and takes her offering eagerly, nipping at the taut point and giving it a gentle tug, while his fingers skim down her belly and slip between her legs to find her just as fully aroused as he is. His lips curve into a wicked smile as her wetness, mixed with his seed, clings to the skin on his fingers. "I see that," his voice is very nearly a purr of approval, eyes flashing hotly as he lashes her other nipple with a quick flick of his tongue and then stares up at her, fingers pulling away from her cunt and slipping into his mouth a moment later. Jon groans softly at the taste of them, subtly different from just her own, and sucks his fingers clean. "And taste it too."

His back curls more as he presses a hot kiss to her belly and then returns to his knees, grabbing her wrist with one hand and gesturing to the rest of her rooms "I tire of the floor. Let's find somewhere else to enjoy ourselves before I'm too lost to lust to do anything but rut with you."

[thekittenqueen]

Her back was grateful for the suggestion, even as the rest of her body screamed for him to stroke inside her with his fingers again. That simple touch had stirred the beast inside her and it took all of her restraint to keep from pouncing him back onto the floor and riding him with all the desperation of a she wolf in heat. She shook still in his grasp, regarding him predatorily, sizing up the level of strength in him as well as the pulsing desire that seemed to match her own. The rattling of the shutters was nearly drowned out by her ragged breathing, harsh and excited in her chest. Had they been speaking before? All of it was lost in her mind as she became something beyond human, primordial and wild. Reason fought to regain control, but it was a losing battle. Even if she could manage to make sense of the advice she had to give him, it wouldn't come out just yet. Not until they were touching and kissing once more.

She lead him towards the bed, still unmade from that morning. The sheets were tangled, a testament to a long, sleepless night. Since her waking from her injuries, she found that the twilight passed slowly for her. Nightmares jarred her awake far too often, making it preferable for her to forego sleep all together. It wasn't healthy, as the maester continued to tell her, but the silence and the dark reminded her too often of where she had been before and what she suffered. If she closed her eyes, she couldn't be sure that she was free of the black cells. What was her health compared to her peace of mind? Though all of that seemed to be easily remedied now. She had another to share the darkness with and someone stronger to drive away her nightmares. For once, her bed did not seem frightening, but welcoming instead.

"I seem to remember that challenge," she smiled, stretching across the bed enticingly. She lay flat on her stomach, hooking her ankles together as she watched him lazily. Her face masked the maddening desire that blazed inside of her. Amazingly, she was still able to play and tease, even in the height of her lust. "Was that an invitation to issue more. I know a few ways that I could drive you to the brink, if you let me." It would only serve to torture herself as well. Even being out of his reach seemed to much to her. "I can only imagine the noise that we are creating for the entire castle." She smirked. Were they in the Reach, it would be another matter. Such things were less shocking there. While they weren't as free as Dorne, some behavior was overlooked and ignored. Where else would Margaery have been allowed the freedom to explore her hungers and what would most please her body? The North was rigid in that way, but a part of her enjoyed the brazen rendezvous, no matter the trouble it might later create for them.

"Doesn't the king have duties to oversee today?" She grinned impishly, pulling away before he could touch her again. Her games seemed to heighten the frenzy between them, prolonging the opportunity to couple and fuck, drawing out their pleasure. She couldn't resist playing the temptress, not with the feelings he brought out of her. She never expected to feel beautiful again, not after the wildfire had rendered away so much of her flesh. Yet Jon looked at her as though she were pristine and unblemished. He seemed to regard her as though she were the most remarkable woman in the world. She wanted to bask in that, to enjoy those sensations before reality forced its way back into her life. When he married (as there was no "if" about it anymore), it would likely be to the young and beautiful Dornish princess.

With that simple thought, her reason pushed itself forward from the other crowding thoughts. It hadn't forgotten the important aspects of their lives (now entwined and forever bound). Whatever they might share in body and heart, they still needed to have a care for their safety. This may be the North, but it did not guarantee a lack of betrayal. One need only think of the Red Wedding to remember that. "How long will it be before your men are restless for war?" He had only recently beaten Ramsay Bolton. That would at least sate the most bloodthirsty of his bannermen, save for those that had not sided with him before the battle. The older generation might at least understand patience and the need to strategize, but the younger...she knew from experience with Renly and Loras that they would want to find glory as soon as possible. Soon Jon would be preoccupied with war counsels and decisions about where they would strike while they had the upper hand. With winter finally arrived, resources would be limited, made even worse by the Reach being in Lannister control. How long until he marched off to war and she was left behind?

"I adore you," she murmured to him, suddenly drawn into a level of affection that she thought had been forgotten in the face of her lust. It emerged from its cocoon, as precious as a butterfly and as delicate. It was a trace of humanity that somehow seemed to be left by the wayside when that bestial need appeared. "I love you."

[starkish]

That glazed, desperate look in her eyes as she regarded him, eyes devouring every inch of his skin in a way that left him shivering, nearly convinced him to abandon his plan altogether. Between his legs, his cock responded with a painful ache, throbbing with a need that swelled to match what he saw lurking inside of her. Kneeling over her as he was, it would be so simple to flip her on the her belly and shove his length inside her, finding that sweet, tight heat surrounding him that had driven him mad with pleasure once already. Beneath his skin, tendrils of passion spread throughout his body, granting his muscles the strength necessary to do such a thing, encroaching on his mind and filling it with thoughts of all the ways he might have her. Seeing her body so clearly on display only served to make it more difficult to resist that tendency and in his dark, dark eyes, that inhuman need lurked just beneath the surface, wanting only the feeling of her pressed against him.

The decision, luckily, was not one that he was required to make. Margaery moved before he could pounce and the spell that his desire held on him was, for the moment, shattered; he followed willingly, smiling at the sight of her hips and backside swaying enticingly as she strode forward. Although his reason returned, his arousal remained as he closed the difference between them. Her bed was as fine as most in the Winterfell, soft enough for any lord or lady, with a great pine frame that supported it. Jon didn't need to look at the state of disarray of her sheets to know how poorly she slept; some mornings, he slipped in to meet with her before any of the other tasks of the day were done. He could always tell how poorly she'd slept, the exhaustion and weariness clear in her eyes and on her face. Looking at her now, though, there's none of that. And while he can't see the future, it seems clear to him that her nightmares will likely plague her no longer, not when her nights would be spent curled in his embrace, exhausted from long hours of lovemaking.

"I had an inkling that you would." A knowing smile spread across his lips. Margaery seemed to take joy from teasing him like that. If he hadn't enjoyed it, that joy alone would have been reason enough to let her continue doing so. With each step that he took, his shaft bobbed obscenely, fluid leaking from the tip, and curiosity shone through the other emotions that swirled around inside him. "If you'd like. I'll play any game you can come up with, love, so long as it ends with my cock making you howl with pleasure at the very end. I can think up a fair few challenges I'd enjoy pitting you against myself." No doubt that any task she set before him would only serve to make their eventual mating all the more wild. "If the entire castle doesn't know how much you enjoyed that last fucking, I shall be very surprised and disappointed. My lords are likely discussing it this very moment." He grinned at that, unable to help himself, savoring the thought of the men and women who had created such trouble in meetings trying to dissect the meaning behind the loudness of their coupling. Tomorrow, he decided, he really would take her in the Great Hall and give them such a demonstration that had never been seen before in the North.

"Oh, yes." The moment he settled on the bed, taking a seat on the edge and making to roll on to his side, she pulled away. Laughter followed as he reclined lazily, propping his head up with one hand while his eyes peered at her and his blood slowly started to boil once more. He would have easily have been satisfied, for the moment, at least, with a soft kiss, but even that was denied him. Watching her with a hunger lurking inside him, a few clever fingers wrapped around his girth and gave it a slow, provocative stroke, meant more to entice her than to bring him any true pleasure. "My duties for tonight are extensive, but they all boil down to the very same thing: to see that you are well satisfied. I fear I am on a fool's errand, but I shall do my damnedest to see it done." Ultimately, certain accommodations and arrangement would have to be made with their relationship, but for the moment, he's quite content to take this one day, just for them.

"My Lords are split on the matter." Even with his body being heated like a kettle, Jon had not completely abandoned the thoughts of a man. This was a question that had plagued him for a very long while now. "Some would prefer to wait until the beginnings of spring. Northern winters are hard and a march through the snow and ice will hardly be easy, let alone pleasant. Others favor waiting until the worst of the weather subsides. The winds do not always howl like they do now. If the snow is not too deep, we could make it far enough south before the storms return that the weather would hardly bother us. The best thing to do, if we do so, would be to destroy House Frey and free the Riverlands. They swore my brother fealty as well. With both the Riverlands and the Vale joining us, we'd have a sizable force, good positioning to assault either King's Landing or the Westerlands, and another region to produce food." It was not without it's faults: he had no Tulley blood in his veins and the Riverlands had been thoroughly sacked and pillage. Still, there was benefit to be found in venting some of his lords frustrations. Vengeance for the Red Wedding had not yet been fully achieved.

All thoughts of revenge and war were easily discarded a moment later. He was already tired of it. A tender smile blossomed on his face as he dared to move closer, chasing after one of her hands with his and threading their fingers together. Fingers from his spare arm brushed her chin as he leaned in, smoothed back any stray strands of hair, and kissed her tenderly on the mouth, chest filling with warmth as he did so. "I know." His voice was a hushed murmur, just for her, not caring if the world heard the wild way they fucked, but wanting to keep just this for them alone. "I love you as well. Truly, madly, deeply. My heart belongs to you now."

[thekittenqueen]

She could feel him behind her, the heat of his gaze as desperate and intense as the one he had given her on the floor. There was a danger in the air between them, a madness that seemed to have taken root in them, long before they even admitted their desires. It was far from natural, as all encompassing as the winter chill and just as pronounced. Her hair swayed along her backside, blanketing her scars from his view and giving a glimpse of the temptress she once was. She enjoyed the heaviness of his stares and the radiation of his heat. Without looking at him, she knew that the sight of her body was only increasing her ardor, as the feel of him behind her was doing to her. It only verified their belief that simply being around one another would be enough to raise their lusts.

In terms of prison cells (as that was what she believed this was at first), the room had been reasonably comfortable. Northerners didn't seem to hold much stock in luxury or opulence. Rooms were meant to serve a purpose and held a measure of severity, only bearing the accoutrements necessary for survival, rather than comfort. The bed was warmed and covered with fur, the chairs were rigid but supportive, and the fire place was wide and opened, lacking any ornate carvings. It lacked the same cheer and grandeur that she had grown up with in High Garden, but it was not nearly as foreboding as the Sept had been. Sometimes, she even forgot that she had been viewed as a prisoner by many in Winterfell. She wasn't cold, she had been given fine clothes and books, and her food was near as good as what she had enjoyed in the south. It was far better treatment than most hostages received, something she remembered from witnessing Sansa's suffering.

How quickly it changed, though she doubted Jon ever held her in his mind as anything more than a soul in need of aid. The ways that he looked at her during the mornings had helped ease her mind, bringing some measure of light into the otherwise dreary room. She felt cherished and admired, something that she had near forgotten. Now, she simply felt adored. "I think those are fair terms." She nudged his leg with her toe, watching intently as he stroked himself. If her gaze followed the movements of his hand, as though it could circle around him and provide stimulation instead. "I'd rather like to see your challenges. It would be rather unfair for me to be the only one intent on prolonging matters between us." She grinned, pleased that he was willing to play as well. The teasing before had made their first coupling nothing short of powerful, why should they not see if they could match and overtake it with future couplings?

"Certainly your people would want more from their king than to know that you are pleasing me?" She murmured, wiggling her hips for him enticingly. The fur of the coverlet brushed against her scarred hips, tickling the place that he had clawed at moments before. Her belly felt warmed, not only from the blankets but from the lust building inside her. She had chosen to give him a choice view of her rear, knowing how excited he had been at the idea of mating like wolves. "Or have we surpassed the point of worldly matters and returned to the realm of beasts?" She certainly wouldn't object to that. "It won't be long until your advisors think that I have locked you up and am keeping you hostage." Or that she was poisoning him. She couldn't forget the part her family played in killing Joffery. The northerners tended to be honorable and viewed such actions as cowardly. It was likely that in their eyes, she would always be capable of regicide, as well as cursed.

Moving her into his chambers might exacerbate the matter more than she anticipated. "You shouldn't delay until the spring. This winter will be longer than any yet recorded. If you wait, we miss the opportunity to strike and Cersei is given time to amass enough resources to march against us." The mad queen was impetuous, but she'd understand what a powerful hand she held. "Free the Riverlands first and you will have a large section of the kingdom to rally around you, not simply the north and the east, but soon the south as well. Dorne will see you as more than a simple rebel, they would recognize you as a viable candidate in supplanting Cersei." It was strange to talk about politics while doing her best to arouse him, but that seemed to go hand and hand with her. Where else would he receive honest council than naked in bed with his lover?

"House Frey is still loyal to the Lannisters. If you stamp them out quickly, Cersei will find herself with no allies and surrounded on all sides." There was no saying how long the battles would last or how far south he'd march personally. She only knew that there was a chance they would be separated, unless Jon chose the risky alternative of taking her on campaign with him. She could already imagine the objections of his men, but it wouldn't be her first time marching with an army. She had been in Renly's camp, no matter how brief that was. She knew the conditions that men must live under and could easily survive, so long as they were together.

She squeezed their entwined fingers, delicately placing kisses along each digit, blessing him with her feelings. "I will keep your heart safe and always in my possession." She whispered in return, leaning into his touches and returning his tender kisses with warmth. "So long as you let me, I intend to remain at your side, no matter where you go. If you travel to war, let me come as well."

[starkish]

Jon didn't need a glimpse of she had once been. The past had faded away now, like letter on yellowing parchment, and more importantly, she was the personification of temptation and desire, a goddess given to him and only him. The fact that she was gorgeous -- that she had a figure that was more than shapely, ample breasts that diverted his attention at a glance, and a perfect backside that made him want to push her on to all fours and take her like a beast, stone floor or no -- was ancillary to the fact that his soul burned for her, like a furnace that had been stoked past all sense. He desired her, not in spite of the scars that spread down her back and legs, but because of them; indeed, had her hair been out of the way, the visceral reminder of all she had gone through, of what they shared that went deeper than words, might very well have pushed him over that thin border between lust and thought. As it was, he managed to delay that fate for the moment.

Truthfully, even the lords chambers weren't much more opulent than what she had been given. The sparsity of such richness always serves as a reminder that winter truly is coming. The North has never had much, nor much need for, gold. Silver, yes, for silver doesn't tarnish and is common in the lands around White Harbor, but as any merchant or minter will say, silver is of far less value than gold. In the end, Jon's furs are a little more choice than the ones on her floors and bed, the paintings are a little finer, and the woodwork of the furniture is more ornate, but the rooms remain furnished in much the same style without any great disparity in the guest chambers. Besides, no matter what anyone else had claimed, Jon had ordered her treated as a guest rather than a hostage and the furthest any had dared to push him was to suggest that guards be posted. Davos had lent that particular argument his voice, which surprised him, but it had been he who had pointed out that Margaery might need protection should King's Landing find out her fate. He'd quickly assigned the guards then.

Looking back, as much as he wished that there was more he could have done to help her feel less trapped, it's doubtful that anything would have made a lick of difference. The crown he wears is heavy and it's more a burden than a blessing; his kingdom is assembled from the fragments left behind by Robb and his war, more tentative alliance than a group of men bound by common caused. With all the bickering, his visits to Margaery had been, without a doubt, a bright spot. Her very presence had seemed to give him the strength to carry on. Now, it gives him so much more than that. "More than fair, I'd say." A wild grin still lingered on his face, made wider by the intensity of her gaze as she nudged him; Jon obliged, rolling half on to his back and spreading his legs, one flat on the bed, the other with it's toes digging into the fur, providing her with a better view of his hand working his cock. Her gaze was almost tangible, the focus of it enhancing his pleasure, the pace of stroking increasing just so as his breath quickened. "So you say. Especially with you intent on making me come as quick as possible. We must find games so we can savor the fucking, Margaery. It would not do for it to end so quickly. I have a few ideas of my own." His eyes, normally dark, seemed to be endless pools, just like the dark, steaming water in the groves of the godswood, as he licked his lips and watched her with an intensity that matched her own.

"They do. I don't deny that. Davos is capable of seeing to their needs. He's sat in judgment before when I was occupied." Something strained in him at the tease, teeth biting down on his lower lip as he watched the gentle sway of hips and ass, tempted once more to give in to desire. For a moment, his eyes rolled back, a vivid image forming in his mind, and his breathing quickened as a flush spread across his skin. "Not quite yet. Besides, I've often been told I'm too solemn. They want me to enjoy myself. Are you suggesting I shouldn't do that? Because I'm very much so enjoying myself now. More than I have in a very long time." Truthfully, his advisers would hold their tongues about this indiscretion once it became common knowledge. Nobody necessarily wanted this, but some would see it as a way to keep him distracted and others would try to use it as a way to gain more power, but none would protest... save perhaps Sansa. "If that's the worry, shall I invite the guards in and let them know to carry word that the screams are most certainly not of pain or torture? Or perhaps I'll provide them word to send to my councilors once my cock is taken care of."

Although he jested, once they'd sated themselves enough, he would take time to send word to Davos that he was well, but preoccupied. Anyone with enough sense would understand the meaning of that message. "I do favor striking sooner rather than later," he nodded slightly, "The issue lies with the weather. Marching once the storms have abates is well and good, but the going will still be slow and made slower by need to carry all our food with us. It's impossible to know when more snow will come as well. Either way, we'll risk much." That said, Jon was still in favor of striking sooner rather than waiting. Once spring came, the men would think of planting crops and raising families. War would be unpleasant reality that most would not desire facing. "You make fair points. I had not considered Dorne before, but the rest... I think we'd be fools not to take an opportunity like this if one presents itself." If Jon minded the more practical talk, which he didn't, his arousal didn't seem to care; his blood still sang as they chatted about the Freys and war.

"They still have the Baratheon lands as well, but with the Riverlands taken, any levies from the Westerlands would have to take Riverrun first. My brother once held the Kingslayer as prisoner. If we could manage to do so once more..." That might prove the key to ending Cersei's rule. None of her children had survived, but her brother, the man Stannis had claimed fathered those very same children, still lived. Defeating Jaime might very well me the end, whether she willed it or not. The vassals of House Tyrell might be forced to fight for her, but without a competent military commander loyal to the crown, any remnants might very well collapse under the strain. "I shall argue for it next time we meet." After a long moment of consideration, he'd reached a decision. "It might well be worth the risk. Once we move south, we'll likely be stuck there until spring comes." He glanced at her, a look of consideration passing over his face, hand cupping the side of her face. "If we do, you will come with me. I wouldn't be parted from you so soon. Or ever, if I can help it."

He smiled at her then and pressed more kisses, just as sweet, just as soft, to her mouth. "I love you dearly. Wherever I go, you go. That's that."

[thekittenqueen]

It was hard to think of such things and believe herself to be remarkable in those ways. She saw her scars and only saw the horror and pain she endured. Yet given how beautiful she saw the scars on Jon's body, it shouldn't be any wonder to her that Jon might find something to admire and love about hers. It was more than desire and pity, it was the blatant reminder of what they had suffered and what connected them, though she was not fully aware of it yet. The more time that passed, the more days she spent in his arms, she would begin to recognize the physical marks that unified their souls. For now, she could see little past her wounded vanity. Given how serious the scars were, it would take her time before she could feel beautiful again.

Save for those moments when Jon looked at her as he was now. She basked under that heated gaze, lounging like a cat with a full belly. She stretched on the bed, raising her rear slightly higher as a silent promise. Resting her chin in her hands, she watched him as well, mesmerized by the sight of him stroking himself and seeking pleasure while they simply lay against the blankets. She could feel the heat rolling from between her legs, indicating how much he was able to incite her desires by sight alone. It was through these small gestures that she forgot the state of the room or the discomfort the unfamiliar surroundings might give her. He made this room warm and safe, even while they were in the height of their bestial urges. In the end, it mattered very little if her chamber was grand and opulent, as she was used to. So long as it had Jon in it, she would never notice.

It was the guards though that often unnerved her. For a time, she couldn't be certain whether they were keeping her within or keeping others out. She never attempted to leave, save when invited by others (and even then, it was very rare). She instead kept to herself and left the unanswered question hang in the air. There was little doubt in her mind that with what they had heard, their treatment of her would be different than what it might have been before. They had never given her cause for complaint or bothered her, but matters were different now. She wasn't a tentative prisoner or a possible guest, she was Jon's woman. Once she was moved into his rooms, she knew there would be some that would try to cultivate a friendship with her. Unless Sansa somehow challenged Margaery's standing. With Littlefinger in Winterfell, it was hard to predict what Sansa might do. She was learning at the side of a master, someone that Margaery trusted little and liked even less.

Unable to resist, she reached out to cover his hand with her own, joining him as his strokes moved lazily over his shaft. Her were as dark and deep as his, heated by the touch of him and the knowledge of the pleasure she was helping to give him, as well as the pleasure that was soon to come. "I should like to see you play games. You were always so dour when you visited me. I don't think I truly ever saw you smile until today. I won't let you slip back into that brooding, not when there is so much we can enjoy with each other." Now that they had found each other, they needed to live and fuck and take joy from life. It would be the first time they could manage in a long while, roused to the challenge by the other. "What sort of games do you have in mind? I am curious to see whether they will be as difficult as the one I gave you before."

Davos was at least trustworthy, a rare compliment that she would give anyone who served Stannis. He seemed to be a good man, rigidly loyal and unlikely to partake in much intrigue. Better for her, as it meant he would be less likely to challenge her place by Jon's side. He might view it as an affront to her honor, but she doubted he would voice many objections. "I'm not suggesting that at all, my king." She teased him, giving the hand that encompassed his cock a small squeeze. "For your well being, you must rest and find something to occupy your small hours with." Her smile became wicked and tempting. "I think you would enjoy that. Whatever sort of quiet, private man you were before, I think there is a part of you now that wants your guards and men to know that you have been satisfied by me." That gleam in his eyes at the mention of taking her in the great hall was indication enough.

"Better still for everyone to march further south as soon as possible. You will need to act before the weather changes. I doubt the Lannisters or the Freys would expect any army to assemble so quickly after a previous battle. Speed should be your weapon. It will catch them off guard and leave them scrambling to catch up." So long as it was planned speed. They could risk being as impetuous and reckless as Cersei had shown herself to be. "While your men march towards the Riverlands, you could make a visit to Dorne by boat. It would allow you to finalize the alliance and return before the first attack is made to the Freys." She didn't doubt that Jon preferred to join his men in battle. He wouldn't be Renly, contented to sit and watch, waiting for favorable news safely tucked away from the bloodshed.

"If Jamie were able to fall so easily into that trap." Margaery warned him. "He's more seasoned now. Whatever skills he had before, he is no longer brash and headstrong. I knew him, I spoke to him in King's Landing, I witnessed him around Tommen. He is a different man than he was before." Losing his hand seemed to humble him, but more than that, it was the influence of Brienne and her honor that seemed to change him. He was no longer like Cersei and there were moments that Margaery had wondered whether or not she could trust the Kingslayer. When he had arrived at the head of a Tyrell army before the Sept, intent on freeing her from the grasp of the Sparrows, she had almost believed him to have a shred of decency and honor in him. Perhaps it was from him that Tommen received his goodness? There were few others he would actually learn it from.

She leaned into his touch, relieved to hear that assurance. If he might be stuck south until spring, she preferred to be at his side, no matter the hardship. "I don't ever want to be separated from you." She said solemnly, placing a kiss against the palm of his hand. "Not for a day, not until spring, not ever. I don't know if I could exist without you at my side. I think I would crumble away into dust." It was bleak, but true. He gave her life again, he gave her hope. She couldn't lose that, not even for a just cause as a battle against the Lannisters and the Freys.

She pressed her brow to his, closing her eyes as she basked in the feel of him. "I love you and will endure anything, so long as I can be with you."

[starkish]

It was funny how perception changed things. From Jon's perspective, the dark scars left behind by traitor's knives held no beauty; they were a reminder of his failures at best. When he looked at them, he could still feel the remnants of horror that had risen in his throat when the first blade had slid past his skin and cut into vein, sinew, and bone. The pain still lingers, those marks raw and tender, but her touch turns that tenderness into pure pleasure. For all that, though, he understood that the scars were a link to her, the physical marks that served as visible representation of the underlying bond that now held them together for eternity. It did not surprise him that Margaery saw her scars and only felt disgust; she could not understand what they represented, not while her scars and her grief were so linked.

Perhaps if she could feel the desire racing through his blood at the sight of her just now, a vision of utter loveliness stretched out before him, every glance of her more enticing than the last, she might understand. His body trembled as he joined her, cock twitching despite his grasp on it, that familiar ache growing more intense with each moment that passed. Gods, it wouldn't be more than a couple moment before lust and desire overwrought sense and thought; when that happened, thought would cease to be. Questions of guards and chambers and implications would have to be left for the moments between, when guttural sounds were not all that he could make. He did not doubt that, when they emerged from her chambers and he announced his intentions to have her moved to his chambers, many would see opportunity and make a move. Some might try to send their daughters to charm him, taking his new relationship as a sign that Jon was ready for companionship, while others might simply try to remove her from his side, seeing their own power weaken. This would not be the last she saw of guards.

His eyes widened as she placed her hand on top of his, heat rippling in them as that mere action caused the sensation to morph from simple satisfaction to outright pleasure. Even with his languid motions, the presence of some part of her so close to his cock made him shiver with delight. "Being a king invites solemnity, love. If I was dour, it was because of the burden I bore without having a fire to give me warmth. You have given me that now. I shan't brood. What would I have to brood over? Not having enough chances to fuck you?" Warm laughter vibrated in his chest. There was no chance of him slipping into the depression that had consumed him after he'd been brought back from the dead. Those days were done and he had changed today. "Mmmm, as to that, rather than not touching, I would play a game where we could touch, but not your cunt or my cock. The first to succumb to need loses. Or perhaps a game where one of us touches themselves while the other must watch. There are other challenges as well. We could try to make one another come with our fingers or our mouths. First to do so loses."

Eyes sparking in the firelight, Jon grinned wildly, an expression that was filled with promise at the pleasure their future would hold. A King had to have men and women he could rely upon. No man could rule every day. Davos was that man for Jon. Down south, they would have called him the Hand of the King, but the ancient kings that had ruled here had never established such a position and he thought it best to continue the traditions of old rather than taking them from King's Landing. "Then it is very well that I have you, Lady Margaery." He could feel that squeeze through his hand, pleasure darting up the shaft and making his breath quicken again. "I can think of no better way to occupy my spare moments than to spend it taking my pleasure with you." The laughter that followed was a husky sound, rumbling in his throat, as his grin became as wicked as hers had. "You'd be right. I will not lie to you. Nothing would please me more than to do just that. I will do that, sooner or later, to make it clear just how strong our claim on one another is. They will not doubt when they see how eager I am to take you while they watch." Some would doubt initially, and some would be horrified at the spectacle, but a part of him was as wild as the forests and the hills and the land itself; such a thing was only nature.

"We still need time for my lords to gather their armies. Most are here, but not all. Once they've gathered and the storms have lessened, we could strike south. We'd have to be ready to move at any time, but the element of surprise would certainly work in our favor." The Freys would not be able to resist for long. Much of the battle would be spent besieging the Twins. If rumor was to be believed, just like the rest of the Riverlands, much of their crops had been burned in the fighting. If they acted quickly, they'd be short on provisions and surrounded on all sides. So long as the secured a supply line from the Vale, a Northern force could easily outlast the Freys. "To do so in time, we'd have to head to White Harbor. I'd prefer to lead my men in battle first, but... the value of an alliance is not to be underestimated." The more they spoke, the more it seemed like his marriage to Arianne Martell might very well be inevitable. Perhaps it would be a small price to pay for victory.

"Whatever happens, there's a strong likelihood that we will need to best Jaime Lannister in the field before we can claim victory." Jon smiled at her. "I know it will not be easy, but it may very well be necessary. Cersei rules. Jaime is the only person left she cares for. Do you think we can convince her to abandon power without something to trade?" Frankly, he wasn't sure she'd abdicate her throne even with an offer of ransom, but... Cersei hadn't balked at burning Baelor's Sept to secure her power. If they had nothing and simply seized the city, what might she do in her last moments of desperation? He didn't know, but the thought of cornering her without a plan in place was a frightening as the prospect of losing the war.

Leaving her behind had never truly been a possibility; even now, with only a few feet between them, a part of him ached to be fully pressed against her, to feel the warmth rising from her skin into his and vice-versa. "You won't be. I swear that much, Margaery, whatever else may come, you will stay by my side." If needed, he would say those very things before a heart tree, to swear that vow in the sights of gods and men. "I would become ice without you near me, sweetling. My skin would lose all warmth and my laughter would become nothing but a chill wind. So you see, I could not leave you behind. Neither of us would survive that."

It was a truth that was engraved into both of their bones. "I know," his voice murmurs, a quiet whisper not meant to be overheard, words only for her. He kissed her brow fondly. "It's the same for me. I love you with all that I am, Margaery. I would return to death's embrace if it was necessary to be with you. There is nothing I would not suffer through if it meant that you were waiting at the end of it for me."

[thekittenqueen]

It would baffle many why Jon had chosen her. It was well known in Winterfell that the fire had damaged the Lady Margaery. Even in the twilight state between life and death, she had heard some of the women make comments, calling her "ruined" or "once a great beauty." She heard their reactions when her bandages needed to be changed or one of her scars was close to infection. It had cemented in her mind how twisted she had become, the physical manifestation of Cersei's madness. It wasn't until Jon had showed her his scars that she felt safe in bearing hers for him as well. Perhaps a part of her wanted to see his response. Desire and affection had been welling in her with equal fervency, but always held back in fear for how he might respond to her body. Seeing the marks on his chest helped her believe that she was safe and wouldn't be regarded as horrific. It wasn't in Jon's nature, but it didn't remove her fears.

Between the moment she bared her scars to the whispered words "I want you" in her ear, she felt as though she had lived for two lifetimes. Her uncertainty had departed in the face of his blatant hunger for her. What had been a secret in her heart had become a bond so powerful and born equally between them. She might still wish to spare him the sight of her, but it was less about what he might think and more what she did. Somehow, she felt it was an insult to him to show him such ugliness. He deserved beauty and light, what she once could offer completely, but now seemed dimmed, save for when he would look at her with that level of desire that was mirrored back in her eyes as well.

She inched closer to him, becoming absorbed in the act of stroking him. While her hand had no physical contact with his cock, she could feel its hardened shape beneath his grip. Her breathing increased to a harsh level, shuddering through her as she saw the affect the actions had on him. She could almost feel him between her legs once more, writing below her as she rode him fiercely, causing them to howl with pleasure like wolves at the moon. She wanted to see him slowly become undone by his hand and hers, only then would she pull her hand away and replace it with something much sweeter. "I don't think we have enough chances for that. We will need to sleep and eat at times. I don't know if our bodies can survive on simply fucking alone." Gods, but she was losing her coherence around him, focused completely on what lay beneath their hands. "All excellent suggestions. So far, I have failed." She nodded towards her hand, which was now encouraging him in a more quickened pace.

"The court will think we've gone mad." Which was the best case scenarios. It wouldn't stop her from pouncing him and letting him take her before everyone, but a part of her worried that they would regard him as little better than Robert or Ramsay in chasing his desires. She wouldn't be able to deny her own desires, but she could at least have a care for Jon's standing among his men. "Of course it means we would have to lose our chamber," she murmured, her free hand pressing against her breast, toying with herself temptingly. "It seems we have a difficulty even moving a few feet without needing to bring each other pleasure." They had nearly failed at moving from the floor. It was only because she had looked away that they had managed to make it to the bed.

"We will have to hope that the Tyrell resources have not been sent to them." With the supplies from High Garden, much of the Riverlands, Westerlands, Stormlands and King's Landing would be able to withstand a siege. There was the possibility that Cersei was greedy and kept those resources with her, holding it over the heads of her bannermen in exchange for loyalty. She enjoyed having leverage and this would be one that they couldn't ignore. "Speak with Davos and Tormund about this tomorrow. I'm certain they will agree that time is of the essence. We could leave for White Harbor in a few days while your men are made ready and begin to march." It would be surrendering Jon to an alliance so soon after having him, but with the wars to come, she couldn't be completely selfish, no matter how much she wanted to be.

"I don't know if we can convince her at all." Margaery said softly, remembering the fate of Tommen. "Her actions no longer have reason and power seems to be a greater motivator than love. She didn't hesitate to try and kill me, no matter what it would do to Tommen." The horror was too much for his tender heart, and she didn't doubt that the thought of her being dead had made it all the more difficult to bear. "She might simply ignore Jamie's imprisonment. Or if she didn't, she might descend to a deeper level of madness. There is no predicting her actions anymore. Once I could, but now..." She doubted herself. That level of insanity was past comprehension.

She trusted him to remain true to his words. If any tried to separate them, she would fight with all the cunning in her possession. They belonged together, they fought to survive side by side. They were of one life, one heart, one mind. "Where you go, I go too." She repeated, staring deeply into his eyes. She wouldn't be able to walk into Dorne alongside him, but she knew that she wouldn't be far away from him. He would return to her at night, no matter appearances.

[starkish]

Whispers are always a common feature of castles and they're often uttered by those that should know better; unfortunately, not even a king can silence wagging tongues, so the whispers march on, always there, always quiet, and waiting to be heard. He has no master of whispers, nor while he ever, but he's neither blind or deaf, so he knows that kinds of things that are whispered behind backs. They are, in this case, utter nonsense. Beauty is always a subjective thing, something that's as intangible as the sky or breath, and so Margaery's beauty is not ruined, not in his mind, but enhanced. To survive was always a difficult task; to come back from the very brink of death was all but impossible. Scars or no, that alone would have made her outshine a thousand Northern beauties.

With each passing moment, the slowly dwindling distance between them bothered him less and less. That wild desire was rising back up inside him, a maddening lust for her that was not easy to suppress. Not that he'd want to. Her hand guided his, the muscles in his arm growing lax as he let her take the reigns, never touching him directly, but guiding the speed and depth of his strokes; within moments, fluid beaded at the slit near the tip of his cock and his hips started to sway slightly, matching the motion of each jerk with one of their own. Each time he glanced at her, he thought of letting his hand fall away and seeing what she would do. Would she replace his hand with hers? Would she rise up and slowly sink down around her cunt? Or would she lift her rear into the air and entice him to take her? "You're right, of course. There will never be enough chances to sate my desire for you, Margaery, and we can't very well skip every meal." His words were choppy, voice breathless as pleasure rose inside him, making it harder to think with each passing moment. "Well then, I shall challenge you to a game later. One that we have all the rules laid out in advance."

That would only be fair, after all.

"The court may already think so. What do you suppose they'll make of the noises the guards will report to them?" Men would inevitably fail to understand the bond that had come to bind them together; even Davos, as good a man as there was, would not comprehend. All he could do was explain. There was no tempering his need for her; it was instinct now, and instincts could only be held at bay for so long. "Still, they will learn. These men chose to follow me willingly. It will take more than my fucking you to endanger this kingdom." He was not wed, not yet, and if he did marry the Martell girl, they would see to it that everything had it's proper place, that everyone knew what the standings were. "Mmmm, and you're making it harder for me to think about such things when you toy with your tits like that, love." Jon would not delude himself into thinking the ferocity of his desire would abate with time. It would always be there, hot and raw and just as fierce as today.

"That's all we can do. I've not heard rumors of supplies being sent to the Twins, but it's possible such things are being done in secret." He wondered if they were. From what he'd heard, Jaime Lannister himself had to take command of the siege of Riverrun. Would the Lannisters be so eager to send more aid so quickly? Even King's Landing must have suffered a shortage of food, considering the devestation of the war. Might not it all be hoarded there? "I would prefer to wait with our men until they're ready to march. It's important for them to know why their King is not going with them. Enough men will grumble. The going will be slow enough that even if we delay to leave at the same time, we'll arrive in Dorne long before they cross the Neck." White Harbor was not so far, even without the Kingsroad to march down. If it was necessary to strike an alliance with Dorne, then better to be done with it sooner rather than later.

"Then the only way this ends will be with King's Landing under siege. If Cersei Lannister can not be reasoned or negotiated with, we will have no choice but to take her head to end the war." It almost saddened him to think there might not be any other alternative. He wanted to bring destruction and death down on their house, but there had been so much death already, it would have been nice if some other avenue to peace might exist. The armies of the dead were still out there. "We will have to see what comes, then. Right now, we must focus on removing the Freys from power and gaining an alliance with Dorne. How the reign of House Lannisters must be for later. There are still too many plans that must be made first."

A satisfied smile spread across his face, eyes gleaming with the knowledge that they would be together for the rest of their lives. Without questions, their souls were fully intertwined, forged into a single great entity instead of two separate pieces. Whether it was to Dorne or to War or anywhere else in the world, she would never be far from his side. "Yes," he murmured by way of response, fingers stroking the side of her face, thumb tracing the crease of her lips in the moment before he leaned and tried to kiss the breath out her.

[thekittenqueen]

She had learned to stop consider the whispers and rumors swirling about. There had always been comments, including Cersei's continual mutterings of Margaery being a whore. That seemed to spread through the castle, repeated by those who supported the Queen Regent and those who were horrified and hoped to make Margaery aware of what was being said. Now there would be a greater murmuring, the word bandied about as though it could do her any real damage. It almost made her want to laugh. There was less cause now to consider her sexually depraved, though she knew some would take this affair that way. So long as those whispers did not breed discontent, they were simple enough to ignore.

She was losing herself once more to the gnawing desire and lust, feeling her body begin to clamor and cry out for him. It was a lion's roar in her ear, a beast that clawed at her mind and instinct, driving her to become more reckless. She chased that aching need instinctively. Her hand tightened around his, increasing the speed of the strokes once more, her breath now harsh and ragged as she stared back at him with the same wild eyes as before. Her fingers abandoned her breast and slipped between her legs, rubbing that same place that Jon had discover that could make her scream fiercely. She had an idea of what she'd do if his hand fell away or her restraint finally crumbled under the brute strength of her animal lust. "The next round then? It would let us start on even footing." She whispered to him, already imagining what would come after this. Gods be good, but she couldn't picture life outside of her chambers.

Everything she wanted and needed was here.

"Likely what they have suspected already." She wasn't blind, she knew that others believed them to be lovers before. If not lovers, than sharing an inappropriate friendship. Sansa had stopped visiting and seemed indifferent that her friend was in Winterfell. Jon's ministers avoided Margaery's chambers and the maids seemed to look at them intently whenever Jon did visit. "I think many of them will feel validated that they have been proven right. Afterwards, there will be objections. Many will think that my honor has been stolen and that I have lost value as a potential bride for some worthy lord, a man that could help secure more forces and hold the Reach." If this were so, she wondered what would be thought of her if they knew her pastimes in High Garden. She hadn't been a virgin when she married any of her husbands, though sweet Tommen had assumed she was. "I hope you are right. I have seen how quickly kings can rise or fall. I don't want you to be at risk. I'd rather be sent away, as painful as that may be, than put your life and crown in jeopardy."

She had little doubt that Littlefinger and Sansa would seek an advantage in this.

"If it were a large supply, it isn't the sort of thing that can be concealed. With the Reach sacked, I would wager that there are comments every time a caravan departs from High Garden. It isn't like Cersei to be generous, even with those that support her. All that matters is her own ends." A Lannister always paid their debts, but in this case, it wasn't a "debt" in Cersei's eyes, but a duty to the crown. She would beggar the kingdom with that idea, Margaery had no doubts about that. "I know so little about travel from the north. I trust you to estimate the time we need and to do what is best for your men." He had spent more time here and among them as well.

She began to tremble. The thought of King's Landing summoned phantoms in her mind and the memory of the Sept. Even without remembering fully what happened, she could still feel the flames licking at her and the screams of those being ripped apart by the sudden torrent of wildfire. "She knows where the Mad King kept his cache of wild fire. She would burn the city to the ground before surrendering it." Margaery whispered, a haunted look appearing in her eyes. "If you wish to save the lives of the people, she needs to be eliminated quickly. She has no honor, no intent to negotiate or surrender. She would kill everyone before she admits defeat."

The kiss rooted her in the hear and now. Her lips parted for him as more than her breath slipped out of her grasp. That tenuous hold on reason and clarity dissipated all at once. She could only feel the heat of his mouth and the taste of him on her tongue. She pushed his hand away from his cock, stroking him instead as their kiss deepened.

[starkish]

Rumor had followed him for much of his life. Baseborn sons, especially those of a nobleman with honor as impeccable as Ned Stark's, often inspired such gossip; for a long time, such talk had bothered him terribly. Every boy eventually becomes a man, though, and the sting of such whispering had faded as he did. At the Wall, dissatisfied men had whispered that his mother was whore, that he was half wolf and half wildling, that he was as much a traitor as his Lord Father had been. Lord Slynt and Alliser Thorne were notorious for spreading such talk. There was nothing to be done but ignore it. Responding to it would only encourage more men to speak it, giving it life again and again until everyone believed, no matter how untrue it might be.

It was inevitable that his cravings for her would overtake him before too long; desire for her was writ into his bones and his blood now, an elemental part of him that could not be suppressed, stopped, or ignored. His lips parted as she quickened the pace, soft, throaty groans spilling freely as he squirmed about, pleasure swelling like the crackling of a fire. His eyes watched her, a pair of wolf's eyes, dark and hungry, tongue wetting his lips in mute approval as she moved to touch herself as well, her fingers slipping past her dark curls and teasing the overly sensitive spot just above her cunt. Gods. He wanted her so badly then, wanted to tear away her fingers and his and slam his cock inside her, to fuck her brutally hard and fast until they both dissolved into orgasm. "Yes," he whispered back, subtly shifting the grip around his cock, fingertips applying more pressure to the sensitive underside. "Ne-next time. We'll play a game. And I'll win." His lips quirked into a knowing smile; with these games, they'd both win, no matter who won.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

"Not everyone thought that, but it hardly matters now." His Northmen were a suspicious lot, and mistrusted southrons as a rule of thumb, but they were good men. And they knew him. The rumors circulated, true, but Lord Cerwyn had grown up only several days from Winterfell and had often visited. He knew that Jon was not the sort to freely take a lover nor was he likely to shirk his duty. The men and women here knew him. They knew the Starks. What was now spreading across the court had been gossiped about, true, but only idly and not by the most important members of his court. "Some will take issue with it, but you are not our prisoner, Margaery, nor do we have any claim to decide who you must wed. I have reminded certain Lords of that before. I will do so again." He didn't doubt that some would certainly take the chance to spread talk of insult, to say that he had weakened their positioning by taking the Lady of High Garden to bed. "As I said before, alliances do not always require a marriage to be sealed. At best, they'd wed you to one of bannerman's sons. You do not need a wedding to be sealed to our cause. At least, I'd like to believe that you already are." Jon smiled softly. They would find a way through this. "Do not worry. Whatever egos are bruised, we can soothe them by announcing our intention to go to Dorne. I will tell them you convinced me of it."

That ought to give Littlefinger and his sister something to chew on for a while yet.

"She must keep most of it for herself, then. Perhaps in reserve at High Garden. She already controls it, so there'd be no point in moving the extras. No doubt she'll keep an iron grip on it, using it as a way to purchase loyalty and punish traitors." With the Freys controlling the Riverlands, there were few other places that could yield the amount of food that the Reach could. War had left many places short of food, and with the oncoming winter said to be an especially harsh and long one, a stash like the one they'd acquired would go far in assisting with ruling the realm. "When we strike our deal with Dorne, High Garden may very well need to be the first place they attack. If we can cut off their food supply and rally your countrymen, we may stand a better chance." Especially if the Redwynes and their fleet could be counted on. Stannis had nearly taken King's Landing using a fleet and armies and Tyrion Lannister was no longer there. Still, it would be a risky gamble; the enmity between Dorne and the Reach was well known and he did not know if they would love him for setting the Dornish loose into their land.

Jon sighed at her pronouncement. "I had hoped that she might have used up her stores with the Sept, but that was too much to hope, wasn't it? Very well. We must need find a way to avoid a protracted siege. And to take it before she realizes what's happened." It was a tall order. Cersei would have whispers pouring in while they marched towards her. All they could hope to do was defeat her swiftly and surely or find someway to... ensure she fell or fled before the battle could happen. It was a terrible thing to consider, but it might be necessary. It was not the option he would pursue unless there was no other recourse available to him.

Desire swept through him, burning away all other thoughts and concerns, as he felt her fingers replace his, the soft, warm skin of her fingers making him gasp softly against her mouth. Sweeping his tongue along the seam of her lips, Jon gladly welcomed the deepened kiss, plunging inside of her mouth to taste her and to explore. In reciprocation, he draped an arm over her shoulder and traced the curve of her breast with rough, calloused fingers, touch surprisingly delicate. After, he filled his palm with one and gently pinched a tight nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it as he pressed closer, closing any distance that lay between them.

[thekittenqueen]

They were kindred in so many more ways than simply their shared desires and their glimpse of death. They bore rumors and accusations, suffered through loss and uncertainty, as well as the admiration of the populace. There was no denying that he was a well loved king, just as she had been adored by the people once before. Between them, they shared so much and had so many hopes for the world. It all could begin in this room, bound by so much more by word or deed, but by spirit as well. They would share his plans, his intentions and she would give advice. Perhaps together, they could pull the realm out of this chaos, as fate seemed to intend it. Why else would there be so much shared between them and their paths cross as definitively as they had?

She smiled at that, breathless whimpers slipping through her parted lips as she let herself drift freely down the pleasure that her gentle touches brought her. She didn't seek gratification, only to build and heighten her lust, to play within her folds and raise her desire to that uncontrollable level it had been before. Perhaps also, to give Jon a show. The way he watched her, she knew he enjoyed seeing this and that it would slowly shift him back towards the primal. It was a dangerous game, but there was no resisting the response it gave either of them. She wanted them to turn to frenzy. "When you win, I win." She murmured, breaking off at the end as she gasped, finding that particular place that he had kissed and sucked moments ago.

"I'm not?" She asked it more in amusement than from actual curiosity. There was a quip on the tip of her tongue, but she thought better of it. He meant it truly and that he was so protective of her was touching. There was little hope for her position and state, all of it was dependent on what the northerners gave her. Yet, she was treated kindly and was allowed more freedom than others might have offered, including her family. They were too shrewd and knew the value of a powerful guest, entirely dependent and incapable of refusing. Instead, Jon treated her better than that. Even before she knew she loved him, she had believed him to be a good man. "I am bound to your cause and I pray I never give you reason to doubt it. Even without this, I would have helped you, Jon. It is what is right."

It was what was right, but also the direction her heart urged her to go. She loved him and would do all in her power to keep his crown and his lands safe.

"Look not to the Tarleys for aid." She murmured, contemplating who might hold control of High Garden as wardens. Her reserves would be heavily protected, but Margaery doubted Cersei had much interest in managing the lands. She would leave that to another, particularly a family that held no great love for the Tyrells. "It may be wise for me to travel with the coalition that go to destroy the reserves. I don't know if I would be enough to rally the bannermen against Cersei, not when it seems a lost cause, but I might be able to at least find other means of reaching the castle. I know my way through the Reach and I know the weaknesses of the men that are serving her now." The Tarleys in particular. She very much wanted to see the turncloaks pay.

She nodded, well aware of how difficult a situation it was. "It was dishonest of him, but Jamie Lannister had managed to prevent a similar tragedy once before when he killed the Mad King. We have no one that may do the same for us." Which may be a shocking statement to such an honorable man, but the reality was that they only had a short amount of time. Once Cersei realized the war was lost, she would destroy the city. That didn't allow much time for a siege. They had few options on how to put an end to her."

She forgot Cersei in an instant when Jon kissed her lips and drew closer to her. His warm hand teased her breast, causing her to arch and gasp as the tender nipple was rolled between his fingers. She shuddered and gentle squeezed his cock, an idea appearing in her mind. With great reluctance, she let go of him and pulled from his kiss. It was a breathless moment, empty and cold after the heat and intensity he brought her. She licked her lips and glanced up at him, holding his gaze as she lowered herself and wrapped her mouth around his cock.

[starkish]

It was strange to think that it was not so long ago as all that when he'd been paralyzed by the trauma of his own death; in those days after, he'd been rudderless and without direction, unable to see what laid beyond giving justice to those who had betrayed him. Staying at the Wall was unthinkable after all that had happened, but there had been nowhere else for him to go; now, he rules half of Westeros and cares for the well being of his people almost as much as he cares for Margaery herself. That passion is something else that they share -- a desire to see some good done to the realm, to see stability and a just ruler sit the iron throne. He was not greedy; Jon cared not for the Iron Throne, but it may very well be necessary to take it, at least for a time, to ensure the people of their realm are united.

Jon drank in the breathless whimpers of enjoyment that she let loose, smiling shakily as his eyes watched her with intense fascination. He knew that neither of them would achieve anything approaching gratification like this; they were too close to one another, too wild with desire to find their hands and fingers to be satisfactory, not when they were this close. With each motion, his lust sharpened more, becoming a fine point that pierced through all other thought and needs. His want was growing, slowly becoming incapable of being tamed; already, he could feel his body urging him to pounce on her, to sate both their lust in the best way he knew how. "So you do know what kind of games I have in mind." Under his breath, Jon chuckled softly. Truly, he wouldn't mind losing every time if their games ended like the last one had.

"No," his lips curved into a playful smile and, abruptly, his hands seized hers by the wrists, holding them tight. Jon pressed a soft kiss to each palm. "Else it'd be chains and manacles binding your wrists in place instead of my fingers." There were too many that believed smuggling her out of King's Landing entitled them to some say in her future; Jon had tried to put a stop to it where he could, affording her every luxury that one could afford a guest here, but some men were blind to even the most obvious things. Margaery's future was her own. If she wished to depart for High Garden today, he would send as many men with her as she required to see her safe. Many disagreed might be dissatisfied, but Davos and Tormund both understood, even though they might have handled things differently. "You need not fear on that front." He kissed her palms again and grinned at her. "You are my other half, love. Nothing you will do will make me doubtful or suspicious of you. I can say that with certainty."

From some, that might be a reckless sentiment or foolhardy, but he knew the way their hearts were bound; to doubt her would be to doubt that and that he would not do.

"I could not trust a man that treats his son the way Randall Tarley treated Samwell. I have no intention of asking his aid." Sam still resided in Oldtown. He'd sent a letter to him recently, asking for his advice and for his travel to Winterfell when able, but he'd yet to hear back. Sam was no warrior, but the more people he had that could be trusted to give true council, the better they all were. "As you say," he nodded in agreement, seeing the sense in that. "None will know the Reach near so well as you do. Then I shall go with you. Once the Riverlands are taken, my men would have to wait for our return as it is. I'd feel better knowing that we'd cut off Cersei's reserves before we even think about marching towards King's Landing." It was all fine reasoning, but, in truth, he did not want her far from his side, couldn't let her leave him so soon, especially if, as they suspected, their negotiations would end with a betrothal or a marriage.

Such a statement would have shocked him, once, but he'd conspired to end Mance Rayder in his own tent to keep him and his Free Folk from breaking through the Wall. He saw the sense in what she proposed. "Cersei is not warrior, either. She will not march into battle. There are crimes for her to answer to. If we could find someway to seize her and drag her from the city in secret, then we'd win. She has no other allies with the power to hold King's Landing." And once they had her, she could be tried for her crimes.

Politics ceased mattering a moment later. His skin prickled at the sound of her gasping, a pleased smile settling on to his face, just before he made a very similar sound, soft and sudden, as her fingers closed around his cock. When she broke their kiss, he nearly chased it, eyes gleaming with desire in the firelight, teeth gently chewing on his lower lip once he noticed her pulling further away. A shiver of anticipation slammed into him as realization dawn and the heat that blazed inside him, reflected in his gaze, seemed to become amplified several fold. He held his breath without realizing it and shuddered, the sight of her wetting her lips as arousing as any kiss or touch, fingers tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear in that moment just before her lips slid past the head of his cock.

His legs tensed and he moaned her name loudly as the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him, head rolling back for a moment before he returned to level a hungry gaze on her eyes.

[thekittenqueen]

She didn't want to consider the Iron Throne. Once it had been something precious to her, something that she wanted and schemed for. She had Loras had angled for marriage to a Baratheon, but when that failed, she had turned instead of the Lannisters. Had she thought more clearly, it was possible she could have wed into the Stark family and helped them claim King's Landing. With the right resources and army, any man could be king (and any man tried to be.) However, she could at least be grateful now that she hadn't turned that way. Without wedding a Lannister, she would never have ended in the Sept and never would have been brought to Winterfell. She would not be in Jon's arms now or sharing a bed with him. Perhaps for the first time since waking, she could see the grace of the gods and a light piercing through the darkness. She had been drowning in her grief, submerged beneath the ice in her heart. Through Jon, she was able to pull to the surface and breathe again. He made her struggling worth all that she endured.

Her hand could at least intensify her desires, but it would never satisfy. The ways his eyes held on her made it more than clear. Even the simple caress of his gaze was enough to bring her to the dizzying heights of lust. She was hungry for him and her fingers, while gentle and teasing, couldn't compare. She was struggling as well. Her body screamed for her to pull her hands away and mount him, riding him as fiercely as the wind rattled against the shutters. She wanted to lose her breath in him and to draw him into the depths of her lust. "We share similar ideas." She whispered, more than confident in that.

Her wrists were held tightly by him, doing more to stoke her desire than her own teasing. She smiled, giving a whimper as his lips connected to her palms. "I think I prefer your hands to chains and manacles." They were soft and warm. She was safe in his grasp, even when the ferocity of their passions raised its head. She didn't doubt that he would protect her from those that schemed against her, but her own state was less her concern. She needed to keep him safe from the rumors that her presence could create. "I would never act against you or harm you. It would be like harming myself. You are a part of me."

It hadn't occurred to her that he might know the Tarleys. There had been some rumblings about Randall Tarley passing over his oldest as heir, as well as him being sent to the Wall, but there was little else beyond that. Other matters had occupied her family and she hadn't thought much of her father's bannermen. "If we supplant his father, perhaps Samwell would take his father's seat instead?" They would need someone loyal to them and capable. "Are you certain you should separate from your men so soon?" It needed to be asked, though she had little intention of him remaining behind. If she went to High Garden, she wanted him with her. They had promised to stay together."

It should frighten her how much she wanted Cersei to suffer. She had never been a vengeful or cruel woman, but "Queen" had taken everything from her. Her family, her home, all of it had been destroyed by Cersei. It didn't take much to suspect that Cersei would take more, if she was given the chance. The people of King's Landing meant little to her, she only wanted power.

This wasn't something she did often. It opened up a level of vulnerability and submission that she did not intend to give other men. Jon was different. She craved him, to taste him and please him. Her lips encompassed him fully, drawing his cock further into her mouth. Her tongue traced over him, feeling the hard ridges and the hint of her juices still on his skin. She gripped tightly to his hips, holding him steady and he was pressed fully inside. She could feel him at the back of her throat, her nose brushing against her abdomen. She would need to pull away soon, if only so that she might have his cock inside her once more. This was only furthering her anticipation and hunger.

[starkish]

Although they'd never spoken after he'd taken his crown, Jon knew Robb and knew that his brother had never once truly considered the possibility of taking the Iron Throne for himself. He had been raised up as King in the North by his leal bannermen, true, but that had not been something that he'd asked for, no more than Jon had asked for the same. Still, had he set his sights upon it and sent word to House Tyrell asking for their support in the endeavor and more still, perhaps things would have ended differently. Perhaps it would have been Robb abed with her tonight while he froze on the Wall. Northmen like himself had no interest in septs or iron chairs, but Robb had learned much of the southron ways thanks to his mother. All Jon knew of them came from Maester Luwin, his friends and brothers on the Wall, and soon, Margaery herself. It was strange, then, that he might yet need to take it to end the bloodshed; ruling south and north had no appeal to him, but an important question remained: once Cersei Lannister had been deposed, who would rule in her stead?

"That we do." His voice was deceptively soft, breath having hitched sharply in his throat, as his body was filled to brimming with torrent of lust. He needed her, and not just her hand regulating the strength and speed of his stroking, but all of her: he needed the warmth of her kisses as she brushed them against his skin; he needed the softness of her body against his, two forms moulding perfectly neither; and he needed the tightness of her cunt surrounding him, welcoming his arousal and urging him on to release. What she offered now was a fine way to fire up his desire, but he would never truly be sated until he was inside her in some way.

His teeth were exposed by the fierceness of the grin that he presented her, leaning in close so that their foreheads pressed together and their lips hovered less than an inch from one another. He could peer into her eyes and lose himself this way. "My hands would rather be on you than elsewhere, so we're well matched in that regard. Let's leave behind cold iron, then." His grin widens and he erases what gap remains, pressing a searing kiss to her mouth, teeth nipping lightly at her lips as lust slowly begins to overwhelm what sense remains them. Her words bring another smile to his face and his hands release their grip, favoring a gentle caress of his fingers along her cheek. "I know. I would never believe you capable of such a thing, my love. We are one."

Her idea was, unsurprisingly, a good one. Jon hummed in thought, considering Sam for a long moment, brows drawn together in thought. "Perhaps. He was very glad to be going to Oldtown to become a Maester, but... Sam has a sense of duty very much like my own. I have heard rumors of men that went to the Citadel for a time, though, before leaving to do something else with their lives. And it would be one less set of vows he must take." Like most of the brothers of the Night's Watch, Sam had discarded one vow in particular with little care. "I will be separated from the larger portion for a time already," he responded with a gentle shrug of his shoulders, "If I must extend that a little, it will be fine. Lords will always scheme, but this group is loyal enough." Davos would keep them in line.

If Cersei Lannister were to perish in their attempts to safely tear her down from power, Jon would not shed a single tear. He would gladly welcome the destruction of what remained of House Lannister. It was a northern thing, this desire for vengeance upon those who had wronged them, but she deserved no less than utter annihilation for the death and destruction she had wrought upon this kingdom.

This was new, for him. Ygritte had never used her mouth on him. That merely served to heighten his arousal, to know that he still had something new he could experience for the first time with her. His eyes, a black darker than smoke, watched her, eyelids drooping from the lust that tumbled about inside, teeth worrying his bottom lip. The contact between the heated flesh of her tongue and the rigidness of his cock sent sparks of pleasure up the shaft, girth twitching it's approval inside her mouth, and his lips parted as a throaty, ragged groan slid past them, the sensation of being fully inside her mouth nearly as good as being buried within her cunt. His fingers lightly grasped strands of hair as the rest of him trembled with a desire for more.

[thekittenqueen]

It never truly occurred to her, but there was a measure of truth to it. Had the Tyrells chosen the Starks over the Lannisters, there was no doubt in her mind that she would be in bed with Robb and be called his wife. The Sept never would have served as her family's tomb, Jon would not be king, and this connection between them would never have been discovered. She knew little about Robb or what sort of man he was, only the rumors that were spoken and the reputation that proceeded him. He was said to be honorable like his father and a capable commander. Beyond that, there were only the tales that Sansa later shared. It had been obvious then how much the young girl loved her family, though tragic now, as Jon was hardly mentioned. How he must have felt to be in his brother's shadow, a bastard and a second son. Suddenly he was in Robb's place, wearing Robb's crown and assuming Robb's title. It pained her to imagine what guilt that might cause Jon. He was just as loyal as any Stark, but received little gratitude for it.

She couldn't wash away the loneliness of his past, but she could ensure that his future was filled with warmth, love and passion. Beyond the hunger, she could complete him and join with him in ways reaching beyond the physical. Just as he melded with the emptiness in her, she knew she could do the same for him. He deserved nothing less than that, and so long as she provided him that link, she would offer it to him completely. That was her purpose now, no longer ambition and calculations, but to give herself completely to the man she was always destined to be with. "Whatever may have happened in the past, it lead us to this moment. I don't wish to ever feel guilt over it. How can I when I have been given you?"

She gave a small growl, matching the fierceness of his grin. Her eyes glimmered with heat, stoked back to life like a dying fire. She nipped at him in return, they were playing like wolves, biting and growling at one another. It was leading up to a coupling that she knew would transcend all the rest. Her body pressed to his, letting him feel the heat of her sex wafting towards him, even as her hand increased in speed. She was pumping him, matching the rhythm of her quickened heartbeat. "Are your hands even capable of being preoccupied by other things? Mine seem unable to do anything but touch you." There was so much of him to explore. Her fingers were drawn to him, all the places that she had kissed and bitten now had to be caressed and memorized.

She knew little about Samwell, but she knew much about men. The rules and vows of the Night's Watch were stifling. How could anyone enjoy the idea of forced celibacy or the inability to uphold their family's legacy. No matter the family they came from, they were all bred with a certain level of pride and loyalty to their houses. A simple oath to surrender their claims would not be enough to remove the years and teachings of their house. Jon was the perfect example of that. When the Starks and Winterfell needed him, he abandoned his place as Lord Commander and returned to the place he called home. She had little doubt Samwell would be the same. "If he does assume leadership, I will surrender High Garden to his care. Better it be with a good man than the Lannisters." She had no intention of returning to the ghosts of her past or the ever present reminder of her loss. "My place is here with you."

She could only manage so much more of this, offering him the complete sensation of her lips around him and her tongue swirling about his length. The taste of him, the feel of his rigid length, it only fanned the flames inside her, causing her to ache for him to be pressed within her again. She was ravenous for him, shaking even as her head bobbed steadily, hitting the tip of his cock against the back of her throat. She moaned, the vibrations of her lips throbbing against him. Finally, she broke away and crawled over him, settling against his hips astride, pressing herself firmly against him. "I need you." She whispered harshly. "I need to ride you."

Without any fanfare and in one deft motion, she pushed him against her entrance and slid herself down his length until he was firmly encased by her walls. The sensation was just as overwhelming as before, drawing out a breathless cry as her body's craving was finally sated...at least temporarily. Once more, she felt completed and safe, joined with her other half and ready to chase that burning passion with reckless abandon. "I can't get enough of you."