Disclaimer: The character of Yara/Asha Greyjoy (Yara in the actual TV show as to avoid confusion with the character Osha. I'm opting to go with Yara because this piece is based on the most recent episode of GoT which also reminds me, slight spoilers if you've not seen it) belongs entirely to George R.R. Martin, whom I sincerely hope does not ever come across this, due to the fact that we all know how he feels about FanFiction. Still, that's not going to stop me…
Ride The Wave
Yara Greyjoy's gaze swept across the crowded tavern. Hunched forward, eyes downcast, Theon sat alone with a flagon of ale before him, untouched. Yara's attention diverted back to the bare chested woman she'd spied earlier in the evening, the one whose dark eyes had drawn Yara in and held her captive far longer than she was willing to admit. With hips swaying, the woman had approached, slid her hand along the sleeve of Yara's ebony tunic and smiled sweetly at the Iron-born woman.
Even with the woman's gentle advances, Yara could not ignore the long face her brother wore, the uneasy manner with which he glanced about the room. Taking the woman's hand in her own, Yara wordlessly drew her toward the table. As she sat, her back turned on Theon, the woman eased into her lap, letting her thumb toy with a lock of hair as she smiled, bringing her lips to Yara's.
Their kisses were brief, a mere hint of what would later leave Yara breathless, and she could not deny the smile she gave the woman. Theon's monotonous tone suddenly broke through the air. Why, he asked, did they have to come to this place, 'here' as he distastefully said. Yara couldn't help the smirk she gave, her arm wrapped about the woman's waist, fingertips resting lightly upon warm flesh.
"Some of us still like it." The sarcasm was not lost on Theon and as Yara returned her mouth to the woman in her arms he quickly diverted his gaze. As she parted from the woman once more, Yara cast a look toward her brother and felt a twinge of guilt override the mixture of ale and desire she'd enjoyed up until that moment. Urging Theon to take a drink, she handed him the tankard she'd left before she had gone to replenish their supply.
When he refused, she glanced at the woman and was somewhat surprised at the understanding she saw reflecting in the dark orbs. Making it abundantly clear that Yara had every intention of finishing what she'd started, she only gave the woman a fleeting glance before turning toward Theon.
Though the volume of the patrons around them threatened to drown out her words, Yara launched into the rousing speech she'd not intended on giving Theon that evening. It filled her with pride to see a response, at long last, from the man who was not even a shadow of his former self. Yara knew what kind of man Theon had once been, saw him for what he had become now and could only hope there would be a middle ground on which he would find his footing.
With a parting slap to his shoulder, Yara rose from the table and caught the woman's eye. The woman had not gone far, as requested, and returned to take the hand offered to her. If she took offense at the parting statement Yara gave Theon, there was no indication, only a soft smile playing across rogue hued lips. Sisterly duty done with, Yara strode forward with confidence and the woman's fingertips linked through her own. Quick work was made of slipping behind the velvet curtains separating the cavernous hub of the tavern from the few rooms, all with doors that could be locked.
The moment said door closed behind the slate grey sarong covering those wide hips Yara could not wait to explore, she pressed her body against the woman's.
"I am Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands," She peered into the woman's gaze. "And you have distracted me from the moment I arrived." The woman purred, hands sliding across the russet leather encasing Yara's behind.
"I am Tarshè of…" Tarshè hesitated. Yara watched the coffee irises widen, and then turn away from her briefly. "Here and there." She concluded. Yara accepted that was all the information Tarshè was willing to give particularly since there were far better ways to spend their time together.
Eagerly, Yara brought her lips to Tarshè's once more, letting the tip of her tongue snake along Tarshè's lower lip. The woman arched her body into Yara's, bringing her hands to the v-line opening of the tunic, fingertips working the laces holding the ensemble in place. With Tarshè's hands occupied, Yara took the opportunity to draw her lips across the naked flesh presented to her, to lick and bite her way along the woman's jawline as her own hands amused themselves idly.
"Yara," Tarshè whispered as the handsome woman brought her thumb and forefinger to the erect nipple she could no longer resist. Abruptly taking a step back, Yara kept her undershirt on, letting it hang loosely from her shoulders, no longer confined by the tunic and vest she wore as she spun Tarshè around, pressing the olive skinned beauty against the door, hands falling to Tarshè's hips as she set her feet firmly apart, pinning the woman between herself and the heavy oak.
Bringing her lips sweetly, softly, to Tarshè, Yara began a gentle parade across the supple flesh, a hint of cinnamon filling her senses as she inhaled deeply. Writhing beneath the touch, Tarshè drove the palm of her hands into the wooden frame, gipping it tightly as she arched back. Yara brought her hands forward, resting them upon Tarshè's soft abdomen. As she placed a kiss on Tarshè's shoulder, she allowed her fingertips to slide beneath the gauze material.
The tenderness with which Yara continued to trace her lips over Tarshè surprised the younger woman, sent shivers down her spine and made her catch her breath more than once before Yara finally allowed her hands to move once more, releasing the single knot keeping the wrap about Tarshè's hips. The material fell into a pool at the woman's slender ankles and she stood almost completely exposed, save for the chain about her waist and the iron jewellery about her neck.
The chain soon joined the material, though Yara couldn't bring herself to remove the iron from the woman lightly grazing it with her thumb as she took a step back, keeping one arm around Tarshè's waist. The pair moved with ease across the straw covered floor until the back of Yara's knee struck the wooden bed. By all standards, the bedding was relatively clean and fresh, much to Yara's inner relief as she eased herself back onto the furs. Tarshè watched as Yara positioned herself upon the bed, hands tucked behind her head as she lent back.
With a slight, seductively sly smile, Tarshè crawled onto the end of the bed, kneeling as she lift her hands to release the locks of chocolate curls pinned back from her face, a strand falling across her gaze.
"You are stunning." Yara informed Tarshè as she swept the curls over one shoulder, leaning forward as she inched closer to Yara. Reaching out, Yara drew Tarshè into her lap, the woman's thighs parting as she straddled Yara's leather clad hips. Their lips met as a hand tangled through those curls while Tarshè slipped her own hands beneath Yara's undershirt. Without breaking their kiss, Yara moaned softly as she gripped Tarshè's wrist with her free hand, though made no attempt to stop the exploration.
Releasing the grip, she instead brought her hand to Tarshè's cheek while she continued to wrestle through the curls. Tarshè arched her shoulders back, thrusting against Yara momentarily distracted from her attempt to undress the Iron-born. Their lips parted as Yara swept downwards, bringing her mouth to the woman's body, tasting the salt on her skin, inhaling deeply as she wrapped her lips around Tarshè's nipple.
Tarshè gave a muted whimper as she pressed herself against Yara's mouth. When Yara brought her hand to cup Tarshè's breast, she exhaled with delight at the way the woman's body felt beneath her fingers, how smooth and soft the skin she travelled over was, how marvellous it tasted. Certainly a fair share of the Islands' men had tried to bed her. But Yara Greyjoy wouldn't so much as look, lest the man happened to have a sister.
Bringing her mouth to Tarshè's lips again, Yara let her hands do as they pleased, teasing and tracing idle patterns across and downwards, back up to casually caress the soft underside of Tarshè's breast. Tarshè had squirmed beneath the touch, shivered and trilled with a genuine pleasure; she had not seen Yara as just another patron, something more had passed between them within those first moments they'd seen one another.
"Yara…" Tarshè whispered, "Those leathers, as attractive as they are on you,"
"Thank you." Yara interrupted with a smirk.
"Surely you'd be more comfortable without them?"
"Perhaps."
"Only perhaps?" The woman's accent, almost Dornish, lilted sweetly as she spoke. Quirking an eyebrow, Yara gave no reply as she suddenly let her hand rest lightly upon Tarshè's thigh, thumb grazing as she held Tarshè's gaze. "I see. You have another idea." Yara chuckled before she kissed the woman, kissed her deeply as she brought her hand to the warmth between those thighs, moaning as she felt the wetness awaiting her.
Tarshè cried out as Yara let her fingers tickle across the trimmed curls, barely making contact with the wetness. Tarshè dug her grip into the headrest behind them as Yara finally let her fingertips slid over the swollen bundle of nerves quite plainly throbbing to be touched. Crying out, Tarshè thrust against the touch even as Yara took it away.
"Quite fond… of teasing… aren't you?" Tarshè found her words interrupted by Yara's touch as the grey eyed woman let her fingertip dip and slide softly, randomly, as Tarshè spoke.
"That's not a complaint, is it?"
"No. Of course not. A compli…ment. Oh!" Tarshè could not hold back the outcry she gave as Yara tenderly entered her, only going so far before pulling away softly. A soft blush crawled across Tarshè's cheeks as she rest her forehead against Yara's. "Your touch, it needn't be." She hesitated and Yara arched her eyebrow again.
"Are you saying,"
"You were going to 'fuck the tits off that one' if I heard correctly." Perhaps, it occurred to Yara then, that it was more than just a resemblance to the Dornish that the woman possessed. Was her flesh not hot to the touch? And now, her appetite to match Yara's, a delight in itself.
"Aye." Yara agreed easily. "You did. And I will."
"Will?" Tarshè trembled in Yara's arms, finding a wanting growing within her, one that would soon become a need.
"If," Another playful laugh, "I can guess where you're from. One guess."
"And if you guess incorrectly?" Tarshè trilled.
"I'll still fuck the tits off you." Yara brought her thumb to Tarshè's swollen clit, lingering over it as she held Tarshè's gaze with her own. Tarshè drew in a ragged breath, exhaling slowly as she watched Yara watching her. Neither woman spoke as Yara entered her once more, sliding two fingers deep within; her question unasked. A cry escaped Tarshè as she writhed against the touch, deliciously distracted by the warmth of Yara's mouth upon her breast.
When Yara bit down upon her, she yelped, squirmed and moaned her pleasure as Yara built a firm pace, giving brief pause to whisper encouragement as Tarshè wrapped her legs tighter about Yara's waist, locking their bodies together. The fact that Yara still remained mostly clothed went ignored as those fingers worked magically inside of Tarshè, the rhythm the two had fallen naturally drawing that one delectable moment closer.
Yara however had no intention of drawing it too close and suddenly slowed before taking her touch away. Tarshè rest her hands upon Yara's shoulders as she rose to her knees, peering down at Yara. Those locks fell forward once more, enveloping their faces in a curtain of scented hair. Yara's slate-grey eyes had turned a shade of cobalt almost as dark as ocean.
"Dorne."
"No."
"Wait, what?" Yara pulled back ever so slightly before Tarshè could capture her lips to voice her confusion. "Your accent, your eyes,"
"One guess." Tarshè reminded her. "You said,"
With a wicked grin and sudden grasping of those womanly hips, Yara repositioned their bodies, pinning Tarshè down against the thick furs beneath them, one knee inching Tarshè's thighs apart as she leered down at the woman admiringly.
"I know what I said." Without waiting for a reply, Yara lowered her mouth to taste Tarshè, silencing whatever it had been she was about to say and instead drawing out a sharp cry from those sanguine lips. Letting the tip of her tongue work across the same nerves her fingertips had already explored, Yara glanced up the length of the woman's torso. Glorious curves writhed under her touch, Tarshè had lost herself in the sensations coursing through her body and Yara smiled even as she wrapped her lips around Tarshè.
Tasting Tarshè, the salty sweetness she couldn't get enough of, Yara brought one leg over her shoulder as she let her hand travel over the woman's body. Savouring each lick, each kiss, Yara felt Tarshè rush toward the inevitable, felt the tremble in the woman's thighs as they gripped Yara tightly. Not that there would even be a chance that Yara would stop at that moment.
No, she delved into Tarshè, brought her closer and closer to that edge and took pleasure herself in doing so. As Tarshè cried out, knuckles white from the grip she held on the fur and toes twitching, Yara drew the very tip of her tongue the length of Tarshè then circled her clit before concentrating her touch completely on that spot.
When the waves crashed over Tarshè, her cries thick and breath heavy, Yara only too gladly rode them, drawing back her touch yet not breaking contact entirely. Fingertips caressed as opposed to gripped and stroked, Yara slowly let Tarshè come back to her, watching with a gentle smile, her eyelids lowered as she studied the expressions upon the woman's features.
They lay with their feet across the pillows, Yara's garments finally discarded and their bodies interlocked. Tarshè peered at Yara, brushing her hand through Yara's russet lengths, snagging a tangle.
"Tell me," Tarshè pried her hand free gentle. "Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands, what bring you so far?" Yara smiled at the question, then at Tarshè's hand as it moved from her hair to her breast.
"Justice. A Dragon Queen. Adventure." Yara grinned as she spoke, wondering if the woman noticed her obvious attempt to distract her from lowering her hand any further.
"Adventure?"
"Meereen is far from here, it will be a precarious journey." Yara allowed, pressing her lips to Tarshè's once more.
"Meereen?" Tarshè wouldn't allow their kiss to deepen, pushing Yara onto her back, practically climbing onto the woman as her features filled with enthusiasm, curiosity. "That is a long way to go to see a Queen."
"If it helps my brother and I reclaim what's ours." Yara's features darkened as she spoke, her thoughts turning to the most recent set of events. Always something, it seemed, since Theon's return.
"Take me with you." Tarshè could not have created a better distraction from her suddenly morose thoughts had she actually meant to.
"You can't be serious." Yara almost went to move the woman's body from her own. "Take you with me? As what? My…"
"Travel companion." It was difficult to take the naked woman seriously, even as Tarshè lowered her lips to Yara's breast. For a moment, there were no thoughts at all as all Yara could feel was the wetness of Tarshè's mouth upon her, feeling a familiar yearning trickle through her entire body.
Tarshè inched her lips down Yara's body, then back between her breastbone as Yara inhaled deeply.
"Travel companion." She repeated.
"Yes." Tarshè whispered.
"I suppose it isn't the strangest," Yara gasped softly. "Oh, Tarshè, yes." Yara urged her on, no longer willing to resist. With a knowing smile, Tarshè knelt between the woman's legs, peering into those azure pools seeped with desire. They would both sleep with ease, entwined together beneath those furs later that evening and it would do them both good; the journey was after all a long one.
- Fin -