a/n:
Based in: Interlude
Chapter: 7
Pairings: Arya(17)/Ned
Including: incest, underage, fondling, give-and-take.
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********Game/of/Thrones********
Title: Forgetting... huh?
Arya laid her head down in Ned's lap, facing towards him. He smiled down at her, his hand petting her hair. It had been a while since they had been like this, together just the two of them—not since she'd joined the Wall at least.
She grinned back up at him and nuzzled his crotch through his pants. He raised his brow at her. She knew that now was probably a bad time for this, with Bran in the hospital, but they both needed a distraction from the fear and anxiety and the weight that was on both of their shoulders.
They were both Starks, and they had a tendency to let guilt piggy-back on them, but if they didn't have release of something and soon, the end-results could be disastrous.
His thinking was on the same line as her, so he didn't stop her when she reached between them, and undid his fly. She pulled his member from the opening, jerking the pliable flesh almost roughly in her uninjured hand, turning it hard in a few short pulls.
He gave a harsh hiss as the sensitive head bunked her on the nose and she gave it a bit of a nip as repercussion. He put a hand on her waist, watching her in his lap, breathless as she pulled him high. He groaned as he felt her dry palm, rough against the top of his cock; while her tongue was wet and warm against the underside.
It wasn't long before she could feel his grip on the curve of her waist, tense.
She leaned up, her elbow propped on his knee and opened her mouth—taking the head of his cock between her lips just as he came. She gulped the viscid seed, sucking on his head as he gasped and jerked underneath her.
She released it with an audible pop and tucked the man back into his trousers, and zipped the fly. She turned on her back in his lap, slowly licking her lips as she looked up at him. The pad of his thumb brushed the corner of her lips. Her tongue snaked out and lured the digit into her mouth where she sucked on it lasciviously before he withdrew it. He traced the wet digit along the strip of exposed flesh between the bottom hem of her shirt and the waist of her shorts. She shiver at the touch, anticipation waking inside of her.
Her fingers pushed below her waistband and beneath her panties, brushing through the small mound of hair. She gasped as his index and middle finger pushed passed her sensitive lips and found her clit. He started to rub at the nub as she attempted to open her legs wider, but gave a growl in the back of her throat, between the gasps, at the restriction of her shorts. It didn't seem to be giving Ned much bother.
"Ah!" her hips thrusted into his fingers and he gave a small chuckle. He obvious had more self-control than her, but then she had been laying in his lap.
She ignored it (and the pain in her knee), allowing herself to lay into the pleasure. Her one hand gripped his knee at her hip, and the other grabbed his free hand, inviting it to grab her small breast through her shirt. He massaged her breast, his fingers moving at vigorous, cramping speeds that had her crying out, her chest heaving.
He pinched her clit, and her back arched, her head thrown back on the other side of his thigh, before, for an instant, she froze. And as he looked into her grey eyes, he could see the explosion of pleasure in her pupils—and then she was calling out her orgasm.
She collapsed back into his lap, shudders of pleasure going through her for the come-down—and he gave her clit soft, smooth strokes until her breath evened out and she could think somewhat.
"What were we talking about again?" she mumbled.
Or not. But hadn't that been the whole point?
f
y
