Men of the Night's Watch Don't Bend a Knee by Luvscharlie
Warnings: Implied sexual content, adult language, takes place during ADWD
A/N: Originally written as a gift for a Secret Santa Exchange
Melisandre met Jon on his way to the lift that would take him to the top of the Wall. "His Grace, the King, seeks your presence, Jon Snow."
When didn't the King request his presence these days? "He has something else he wants to scream at me about then? Some new threat to chop off my head? It's becoming rather tiresome."
"Don't forget yourself, Lord Commander. He is still your King," Melisandre warned.
He wasn't, but it didn't bear arguing about. He had no king and owed no loyalties as a member of the Night's Watch, but Jon didn't forget that a head lopped off could not be reassembled, so arguing about loyalties really wouldn't matter if he was in pieces. Besides, despite his demands, Jon rather liked Stannis Baratheon. He sort of liked him too much and that was becoming a little hard to hide, so Jon had tried the approach of avoidance. King Stannis made that impossible.
Jon approached the building where the King had made his chambers with more than a bit of trepidation. The last time he'd come to argue over strategy and watch the King stroke his beard and fling his crown, Jon had left with his cock so hard he felt like his breeches were about to explode. He wasn't supposed to have these feelings. Not for an unbending, unrelenting, usually pain-in-the-ass type as Stannis Baratheon. Stannis's spine was made of iron, and his will was just as strong, and he never gave into baser desires. His Royal Pain in the Butt could use for someone to buy him a sense of humor. He put Jon in awkward situations, gave little regard for his title and Jon should hate him… not want to push him to his knees and fuck him until that crown fell from his head and he screamed in a very unkinglike manner.
And just thinking of it was getting him hard, which was no way to greet the King. He planned to detour into an alcove where he and his right hand could take care of his problem before the meeting, but Stannis was watching for him and came out to meet him and his tented breeches. So he did what any self-respecting Lord Commander would do—he tried to think of what Sam looked like naked in the bath, which he sadly knew all too well. Hot water wasn't something that came in abundance at the Wall, and when they had it, they had to economize. He'd never thought he'd be grateful for naked images of Sam, but it was working to get him back to a flaccid state.
"You look deep in thought, Snow," Stannis said.
"Yes, I'm thinking of what Sam looks like naked." He gasped. "Did I say that aloud, ser?"
Stannis was bestowing a rare grin upon him, and even forgot to chastise Jon for his slip of title. "You did. And I'm not one to judge, but that might fall into the category of over sharing, Lord Commander." Whenever he lowered himself to say Jon's title, it always came out sounding like an insult, which made Jon want to trip him as they walked up the stairs and toward the room where he and Stannis usually discussed war strategies. "If your cheeks stay that color red for long, I think the snow will sizzle as it lands upon your face. You'll want to fix that before you go back outside."
Jon wanted to retort and say something witty, but embarrassment stole away his voice and made his tongue thick.
"I guess you boys find a way around the inability to take a wife, eh?" Stannis asked, jabbing an elbow into Jon's ribs. The normally iron-willed king seemed to have found his sense of humor at Jon's expense. "This Sam, is he as fit and fuckable as you, Lord Snow?"
"He's not—wait. What?" Jon stopped walking.
Stannis kept on. "I am alive because I am an observant man, Jon Snow. I notice the important things. Also, I have complete faith in my skills and like a bit of healthy competition. If you'd like to follow me, I'm sure I can make you forget this Sam you are so fond of thinking about."
"You—you're married," Jon stammered.
"I know. She is quite the shrew, is she not?"
Jon wasn't sure what to say. Thankfully, Stannis saved him from the need to reply. "Say nothing, Lord Snow. It is only polite for a husband to criticize his Queen, I think. If you do it, I'll have to have your head chopped off. It'll pain me to do it, but rules are rules."
Jon nodded at Stannis's back, then squeaked out an unintelligible reply.
"It'll make the night far less fun if you're missing your head. I'm heading out tomorrow to overtake the Bastard of Bolton, and thought you and I should stop this… foreplay and get on with it. Do you agree, Lord Commander?"
Jon was still too stunned to answer.
"I should probably remind you that disagreeing with your king would be unwise."
"You're not my king. I have no king. I'm a man sworn to the Night's Watch. I owe my loyalty to the people of the realm. I do not bend a knee." Those words were more reflexive than anything. Jon had been telling His Highness that since he'd arrived with his army, come to save the Night's Watch, riding in like a true king should. Maybe Jon had wanted him since that moment; maybe Stannis had grown on him, he couldn't be sure which. Nonetheless, his cock was aching for release.
"And yet, tonight, you will bend a knee to me. Both knees, in fact. I feel certain of it."
"Will you chop off my head if I don't?"
"We both know that won't be necessary, Jon. You want this as much as I do, yes?"
Jon gulped, but followed Stannis obediently, just as a loyal subject should. And for at least one night, the Lord Commander had a king. And he showed a lot of loyalty.