Jon stood outside the bedchamber door, a swarm of thoughts running through his head at once.
He didn't even know why he was here, now. Arya had returned to Winterfell a moon ago, a maid flowered from Braavos, with a list of names, and the kills to match them. If he hadn't come to see her then, what right did he have now?
Winter had taken his little sister and marked her as one of its own. Gone was the little girl that Jon had once known, and in her place came a deadly girl with a pack of a hundred wolves, still carrying the sword that he had given her years ago.
Needle.
He wondered how many men she had killed with it. He hadn't had the heart to ask her. Literally. Death had taken every last bit of him, his heart, his humanity, his conscience.
Jon had taken a knife to his heart for his little sister, to save and protect her. And yet, she rode into Winterfell like death himself. The jape was on him, she was the one people needed protecting from.
He had heard tales from Bran and Sansa.
Bran said that she had killed Dareon in Braavos, that she had trained with the Faceless Men, learning how to wear every face but her own.
Sansa said that she had trained at a courtesan's house, learning the secrets of men and pleasure.
They had both urged him to ask her for her stories himself. Requests that Jon ignored.
He knew it was much to everyone's surprise, Arya's as well, that he stayed away from her. But it was the safest option for everyone.
Jon knew that there was many unnatural things about him that death had instilled on him; his new urges towards his sister was one of them.
The first time it happened was after he had watched her spar against Podrik Payne in the courtyard. Jon had reasoned with himself after he found his release, that it was just an accident. She was simply reminding him of his time with Ygritte and Val, it didn't mean anything more than that.
The second time it happened, Jon and Davos had caught her with Nymeria hunting in the woods. After he found his release that night, he blamed Ghost for desiring Nymeria as a mate in heat, and her not complying.
But the third time it happened, he had watched Bran give her a valyrian steel dagger. Arya had handled the dagger in her hands with ease and her grey eyes had sparkled with excitement. Jon had immediately excused himself to his chambers, for he wasn't sure what disturbed him more. His rage at Arya getting arms from anyone else except himself or his arousal at the thought of her using that blade to take a life.
When he had spilled himself in his hands that night, he knew that there was nothing fraternal about how he felt about his little sister.
Jon knew he had to stay away from her. It was bad enough that he was the bastard King in the North, when Lord Eddard's trueborn son remained at Winterfell. The last thing he needed was for his men to think that he had dishonored Arya.
He had broken his vows for her once already, he'd need not do it twice.
But the old gods seemed to like play their japes on Jon these days. Their newest one being Gendry Waters, Robert Baratheon's bastard.
He had arrived at Winterfell with Arya and another companion, a heavy boy she called Hot Pie.
Jon's stomach had lurched when he saw the bastard. He towered over most men, was shaped more like a warrior than a bastard, and most importantly, he seemed to be taken with Arya.
Jon knew what a man's desire looked like, and even worse, Arya did too from her developed skills in Braavos.
He watched them interacting with one another for days.
They ate together, laughed together, and even fought together.
He watched as Arya teased him for using a war hammer and not a true sword, as she used the sword Jon had gifted her to deliver blows on the bastard.
Gendry would laugh every time he fell to the ground and Jon could see it in his eyes. He was a man grown and in love.
He watched the many times that Gendry called Arya his lady. If it were kingly, Jon would have throttled the bastard's throat with his bare hands.
Arya was no lady. She would never be a lady. She could never be a bastard's lady.
But every time Jon watched his little sister, he knew he was. Arya wouldn't care if he was a bastard or not. If she loved this Baratheon boy, then no one could stand in her way.
And yet, Jon found himself standing at her chamber door now.
You know nothing, Jon Snow.
He should have knocked. Given her a warning that he was here, anything really.
But once his hand touched the door, he felt the door push open and himself walk in like a ghost in the night.
Arya was already asleep. Her arms were serenely resting on her stomach over her fur cloak. The moonlight illuminated her room and allowed Jon to admire her, to truly see her for the first time, without a worry of anyone catching him.
She certainly wasn't the little girl he had left behind in Winterfell.
Arya Underfoot had tangled hair that Jon loved to muss. She had dirt all over her face, which made her skin look dark and her body was all skin and bones.
But Arya, his returned sister, was anything like her old self. Her hair had grown long and she wore it tied back and not messy at all.
Her face was anything but dirty. It was smooth and pale. It made her eyes look both radiant and dangerous, making them the most striking eyes he'd ever seen. Her lips were full and always pink.
Her body had somehow grown taller over the years. Her arms and legs were strong. Her teats and bum had filled out. It wasn't difficult for him to see why the Baratheon bastard desired her so.
Jon wondered if he too had visited Arya in the late hours of the night here at Winterfell. His chest tightened at the thought of that. He wasn't stupid enough to think Arya to be a maiden. No she was far too beautiful and bold to be one after all of these years.
Still, the thought of her allowing Gendry to visit her in her bed, to lay with her, to touch her at Winterfell, under Jon's watch…that was enough to make Jon want to put an end to the Baratheon line for good.
He must have been breathing heavily, because Arya opened her eyes serenely.
Jon looked into her beautiful wild eyes, not daring to say a word. Since the day she was born, they had shared the same eyes. But looking at them, as they bore into his own, convinced Jon that her eyes were in a league of their own. He could stare into them for the end of time and never tire of them.
Finally she broke the silence.
"It took you long enough," said Arya, soberly.
"Did you invite me?" Jon jested, dryly. He knew the question would ire her, but he couldn't help himself as he still seethed from the anger of watching her with Gendry.
His humor didn't please her.
"My mistake, I didn't. Feel free to show yourself out," snapped Arya as she glowered at him.
Jon grinned at his little sister's outburst. Even her temper never failed to make him smile.
Arya sat up in her bed, rolling her fur cloak beneath her. "What are you doing here Jon?" she queried with exhaustion.
He ignored her question, and instead starting walking around her solar. It had been so long since he had last been in here. In fact, he hadn't come back here since the day he had left for Winterfell. It hadn't felt right to enter her chamber, not when he was keeping away from her.
"Gendry Waters seems to be very well acquainted with you these days," said remarked Jon as he ran his hands his fingers along the mantle of her walls.
"We've been well acquainted for a while, Jon," he heard her reply indignantly.
The words were knives. If only she knew what they meant to him.
Jon didn't look at her, as he strolled towards her dresser. She had brought many new things from her travels back to Winterfell. So many foreign objects from Braavos, none as foreign as his beloved sister had become.
"Were you close to him when you were on the run from Harrenhal?" Jon asked softly as he picked up a book on her dresser. It was the first time he had asked her about her experiences after Father had died. He prepared himself for whatever she would give him next- her outrage, her sorrow, her indifference.
Arya stared at him stonily. "It was just he, I, and Hot Pie together. It would have been absurd if we weren't close."
He managed to smile, painfully. He should be happy that she had a friend, someone taking care of her when he himself couldn't.
"And what of now? Are you fond of him?"
Arya narrowed her eyes. "I'm fond of many people, Jon. Why are we talking about this particular one this late at night?"
Jon turned to face her. Her hair was untamed like a lion's mane, so unlike how she wore it tied back and sleek during the day. She had catspaw on the stand next to her and Jon didn't doubt that she would use it in a heartbeat, should she ever need to.
She was lonely, lethal, and lovely.
Jon stepped closer towards her bed. Her eyes followed him stealthily as he came closer towards her side, while she remained silent.
He stopped once he was next to her stand. He gestured his hand out for her dagger.
Arya silently picked the dagger off of the stand and handed it to him. Her eyes pierced into his.
"I've noticed you getting particularly comfortable with Gendry these days," he continued, accusingly, as he ran his fingers along the shaft of the dagger. He had never noticed how perfect the dagger was for her, till now. It was a Targaryen blade, for that Jon was certain from the maker's work. He was grateful that all of the dragons were dead. He did not know if he could bear a Targaryen giving Arya a Valyrian steel blade that she could love more than Needle.
Her magnificent eyes flashed with a restrained anger.
What a pity. He always preferred her to be wild than restrained, but she was a lady now. No longer a wild girl roaming the Riverlands with her bastard companion, but a highborn lady of Winterfell who couldn't wed a bastard. Thank the gods for that.
"Why do you even care, Jon? You've made it perfectly clear that your duties as king always take precedence over spending time with me. You spend most of your days with everyone, but me," she retorted, her voice shook from anger. "Somehow you find Sansa's company more appealing than mine these days."
Jon chuckled darkly. "Believe me Arya, I do not find Sansa's company more appealing than your's."
"You could have fooled me," she said bitterly. "You ignore me every day, and somehow think to question me on who I choose to spend my time with! Forgive me, Jon if I talk to Gendry, someone who actually gives a damn about me."
Jon sheathed catspaw and placed it on her stand.
He ignored her glare as he knelt and sat on her bed. He stared into her wide grey eyes, wondering how many men had looked into them before she used her steel on them.
"You know exactly why I ignore you, Arya," he said, calmly.
Arya raised an eyebrow at him. "Do I now?" she taunted.
"A king has many duties that he must attend to, promises that he's made, vows to uphold," Jon said, though he wasn't sure if it was her he was trying to convince or himself.
Arya's eyes probed into his own, desperately. He watched her silently as she slipped out of the arm strings of her tight nightgown.
"And what duties must the king do where he can't spare me a moment?" asked Arya, softly.
Jon studied her luscious lips. They were always so pink compared to her pale skin. He wondered if Gendry thought about her lips as much as he had. Worse, he wondered if Gendry had felt and tasted her lips.
"Anything and everything. It's not proper for a king to spend time with his sister when she's at an age to be wed," Jon rasped as he stared as Arya pushed the top of her nightgown down slowly, revealing her small clothes to him.
"Why though, Jon?" Arya pouted. Jon's cock stirred at the frown of her lips and the disappointment of her voice. "What about me isn't proper?" she asked as she spread her legs farther apart, sending Jon's blood pulsing.
Jon licked his lips as he comprehended her question. "Many many things, little sister." His eyes looked longingly at her toned creamy legs.
"Most men's sister haven't trained with the most famous courtesans in Braavos," he said as his eyes hungrily trailed upwards to the garment shielding her full teats.
Arya flushed as he gazed into her eyes once more. "Is that why you're so worried about Gendry…for if I'm to be improper with him?"
Jon shrugged as he drank in the sight of her. "Possibly," he replied as his eyes returned to looking at her teats, that were still hidden under her small garment.
Arya pursed her lips. "Do you not trust me?"
Jon wanted to caress her face and comfort her, to tell her he knew she would never bring him any harm or hurt. But he decided that it would be best for him to not have the opportunity to touch her, not when he couldn't trust himself.
Arya seemed to read his thoughts and she raised her lean leg and ran it up high on his thighs. Jon gasped at the feel of her on his trousers. He wanted to step away but she had lit a fire in him, and the fuel had just started to pour.
"I trust you, I just don't trust him. He has a bastard's sort of honor, at best," Jon said as he looked into her eyes longingly.
"You're a bastard yourself, Jon." Arya so kindly reminded him, as she circled his inner thigh with her foot mischievously.
"I'm different…my honor would never allow me to give in to my urges," he reasoned with her. Though he knew he couldn't ever reason with himself, not when it came to her and her proximity to him.
Her leg finally stopped moving where Jon most craved to be touched. He knew it was time for him to break away, to say anything really. But the flames were burning and Jon was a man without honor.
Arya smiled at him as her foot stroked his stiff cock. "Then what are you doing in your sister's bedchambers this late at night," she purred.
And just like that, Jon knew she had him.
He could see it in her eyes, the hunger, the need, the want, the wildness, the wolf.
The wildness of the wolf in her called to the one in him, and Jon was tired of keeping him caged.
He tugged at the strings on his trousers. "Get on your back," he ordered her.
Arya smirked and laid onto the bed. Jon walked to the foot of the bed in front of her. He took his tunic off.
Jon watched as she responded and lithely removed her small clothes with her expertise, leaving herself stark naked.
He wanted to growl at her skill but he was too distracted by her body. He didn't know where to look, at the pink nipples of her teats that would fit perfectly in his hands or at her smooth pink folds.
He wondered if she used Needle to shave them and his cock twitched furiously.
He wondered how many men got to look at his little sister like this.
"How many men did you please in Braavos," he asked gruffly, as he ran his hand along his cock, tightening his grip on it. He would demand for their names next, would that he could someday hunt them all.
"None," she answered solemnly.
"Not even Gendry," hissed Jon, as he rubbed harder.
Arya looked at him with pure lust as she murmured, "Not even him."
"I supposed that should bring me solace."
Arya frowned at his remark.
"Spread your legs wider, little sister. I want to see how the whores in Braavos taught you to pleasure yourself. Make it a good show, there's a king in front of you," Jon commanded her.
Arya whimpered as she bucked into the bed, stroking her pretty teats for Jon. She watched as Jon drank in the sight of her teats and her hands cupping and massaging them. He began to stroke his cock faster.
"You're such an honorable man, Jon," she murmured. You've tried to stay away from me for so long. You knew you could have had me so long ago."
"Most men would have taken me the first chance they could. They would have wanted the sight of my maiden blood coating their cocks. But you've been so good," she moaned.
She licked her fingers and trailed downwards. She wrapped her skinny legs around Jon's thighs and touched her nub, circling it slowly and beautifully for him.
"But you're not as good as you want to be. What would Robb say if he could see you stroking your hard cock between my legs? What would he say if he knew you wanted to claim my maidenhead for yourself, all this time?"
"What would my lady mother do if she knew that you would give anything to spill yourself inside of me every night. Do you think she would approve of the things you'd like to do me?"
"What would Bran do if he knew you wanted to fill every one of your little sister's holes?"
Jon let out a strangled noise at all of the filthy things that were coming out of her mouth.
"Don't worry about Gendry, Jon. He's not who I want in between my legs, fondling my teats, sucking me dry," she moaned.
"Who do you want Arya," murmured Jon.
Arya gasped as she rubbed her cunt. "I want you. I want my brother. I've wanted him since he gave me Needle. I want to feel him inside of me."
"I want to feel him break my maidenhead. I want him to reach places in me that no one else has ever reached before."
Jon groaned as he felt his groin tighten, it wouldn't take him much longer to find his release. Arya had learned so well in Braavos.
"Oh gods- I… I want you, Jon. I belong to you. I always have and I always will," Arya gasped as her toes curled and her legs shook.
Jon watched her face intently, hoping to cement every detail of it. He would be damned if he ever forgot how she looked, reaching her peak all for him, only for him.
Arya sat up and brought herself closer to him.
Jon's breath got heavier as he watched her inch closer. Her perky teats played a dangerous game of being so close to him. Before he could stop her, Arya brought her hand forward and slipped two of her fingers into her mouth. She sucked loudly on her fingers, her eyes looking deep into his.
Finally, she stopped sucking and smirked at him, coyly.
"I wonder what that would have tasted like mixed with your seed, Jon," she whispered, seductively.
That was enough for him.
"Get on your back," Jon moaned. "I want your teats, Arya."
Arya beamed in triumph as she quickly laid her back onto her bed.
He quickly climbed on top of her, covering all four sides of her.
Jon looked into his sister's gray eyes. He was at the edge of his lust but he knew what the consequences would be of this. He and Arya would never be able to go back to how things were. You have not been able to go back since the day she arrived at Winterfell.
Arya seemed to sense his deliberation and the need for his release. She stroked his face, lovingly.
"Go on, make me your's Jon," she encouraged him.
He swallowed his guilt. He should have known better. He had always been her's.
Jon sighed as he spilled his seed all over his little sister's teats.
He rolled over and plummeted on the bed, next to her. His breathing started to slowly return to its original pace, but the shock of what they, he, had just done had yet to wear off.
Arya broke the silence. "Are you alright there, Jon?" Her voice soothed his troubled thoughts away.
Jon thought carefully about what he should say next. But he had already let the wolf out of the cage tonight.
"You were right. I really should be spending more time with you, little sister."
Damn me to all seven hells.