This chapter is SUPER rated R if you don't want to see it LOOK AWAY just kidding don't look away please read it, thanks love you bye! :)
The clearing erupted with raucous cheers, voices echoing off the trees, adding to the elation. In the back of her mind, Enrin knew these southern lords had not yet accepted her as one of their own, and that she would need to prove herself to gain their respect. For the moment, every one of them allowed themselves to be swept into the celebration of a royal wedding, putting aside the gnawing sensation of their enemies closing in from all sides.
Jon cupped her face, holding her to him, his lips hard on hers. Enrin knotted her hands in his cloak, for one sweet moment pulling him tight against her, and then they broke apart, breathless. They turned, arm in arm, starting slowly down the aisle, the torches flickering in their wake. Their wolves trailed behind them, white fur brushing against black.
They walked together, saying nothing. Enrin could think of no words to say that would express the emotions swirling inside of her. She turned to watch Jon's face, apprehension unfolding in her chest.
He felt her eyes on him and turned to look at her, the fear of his reaction plain on her face. Jon knew that he should echo her fear; of the future, of their enemies closing in and coming for their throats, but all Jon could feel in that moment was joy.
He smiled at her, his sunlit smile, and her face broke to echo his, and they entered the feast together, laughing.
Dennas piled a thick slice of the venison she had killed this morning onto her rough iron plate, the juices from the meat splashing across the table. Potatoes and carrots swam in roasted gravy, and the wine flowed freely, making her cheeks pink and warm. Laughter echoed around them, japes shouted across tables of high lords and ladies, the torches and fire behind them crackling in a sound that reminded her of home.
Jon sat to her left, in deep discussion with Sansa. They spoke about the feasts of their childhood, with Jon shunned away to a table by the kitchens, eating with the children of the servants. A man that was introduced to Enrin as Ser Waymar Royce came to engage Sansa, bowing low to Jon, and almost completely ignoring her. If Enrin had been more sensitive, she would have been offended.
She watched Jon as he talked, his shoulders more relaxed than she had ever seen them, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughed. She reached over to push a stray lock of hair from his eyes, so that she could see them better.
Jon spun to face her, surprising coloring his smile. He reached over onto her plate, ever playful, snagging one of her carrots and popping it into his mouth. Enrin almost snorted, pinching a potato between her fingers and holding it up for him to eat. Jon leaned in and took it between his teeth, brushing his lips all the way down to her wrist before he kissed the palm of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers.
Enrin squirmed in her seat, a delicious warmth unfolding in her belly. She chewed on her lip, wondering how long they had to stay at this feast before it would be polite to leave.
Jon seemed to echo her thoughts. His hands traveled deftly up her arm, then down her side, his thumbs skimming over her ribcage. It landed on high on her thigh, toying with the edge of the slit in her dress. His free hand reached for the underside of her chair and he jerked it toward him, spilling her almost into his lap.
"You haven't finished your supper, my lady," he said, his nose skimming her ear lobe as he whispered against her neck. Enrin arched into him, a breathy sigh leaving her lips.
"I'm not hungry for venison, my lord," she said, her tone half mocking, the wine making her bold. Jon pulled her to her feet as the minstrels began their new song, taking her in his arms. He spun her deftly around to the front of the table, the lords and ladies around them clapping and sighing gently at the new couple, sharing a dance. Several of them got up to join as the harps played their lilting, haunting song, and Jon swayed with her all the way to the open doors of the throne room. They twirled, Jon pulling her into a dark corner of the hall, their laughing stifled by the hand he held over her mouth. "Shh," he said, pressing a finger to his lips, "we're to be sneaking." Enrin laughed only harder as he took her hand and nearly sprinted with her down the winding hallway, dashing between patches of torchlight. He pulled her into a dark chamber, shutting the door behind them with a thud.
It was blacker than pitch, and Enrin could not see her hands in front of her face. Panic began to rise in her throat; she had never liked the dark.
"Jon," she said, reaching for him, for anything, in the darkness.
Jon struck a match, is face illuminated. He lit a thick white candle, then another and another, along the mantle of a great fireplace. He tossed the almost extinguished wick into the mouth of the fireplace, fanning the air so the wood piled high caught the flame. The rest of the room came into view then.
A high, four post bed fashioned from dark wood, covered in thick black and gray furs loomed in front of her. A long table on the far wall, beneath the window, was littered with maps and discarded scrolls, ink splattered across the stone. Cases of thick, leather bound books lined the wall on either side of the fire place, the light flickering across their titles. Jon stood before the long desk, hands limp at his sides, watching her.
"Are these your chambers?" Enrin asked, running her fingers over the warm melted wax on the mantle. Jon only nodded, unsure, awaiting her reaction. "Our chambers," he said finally, "I would have your things moved here tomorrow, if it please you."
Her head jerked up to him, failing to hide her surprise. She had not thought to share chambers with him so soon. The image of it did not frighten her as much as she dreamed it would.
She smiled, something small, entwining her fingers in the furs on the bed. "Bring us more candles," she said, a smirk dancing across her face, "and we shall be happy here."
Jon strode to her across the room, his arms wrapping around her waist. It was her that kissed him first then, her lips finding his as if they were always meant to. The lightning crackled between them again, and Jon deepened the kiss, a low guttural noise forming in his throat. Enrin's fingers found his hair, pulling it from the thin leather strap that tied it. The black curls tumbled about his face, brushing across Enrin's forehead. Jon's hand squeezed the soft skin of her waist, pressing them together at the edge of the bed. He pulled away from her, his breath coming ragged. "Are you sure?" He asked, black eyes searching hers, a small wrinkle forming between his brows. Enrin reached down with both hands, undoing one leather strap that held his breastplate to his chest. Deftly, she undid the other as well, and Jon lifted his arms as she pulled it over his head, the metal clanging as she discarded it on the floor. Her hands moved to the belt at his waist, the ties of his leather jerkin coming apart in her fingers. She stripped that from him as well, piling it on top of his breastplate, pulling his thin gray shirt from the waist of his pants. Her hands traveled up his sides as she removed that as well and there he stood before her, naked for all but his pants.
Enrin's eyes widened as she took in the view of his scars, thick, puckered pink lines marring the perfect skin of his chest and stomach. Hesitantly, she reached out to touch the one over his heart.
"I had known," she said, her voice quiet with tears she would not shed, "but...-"
Jon took her hand in both of his own, kissing her fingers. "It doesn't matter," he said, screwing shut his eyes to block the memories from his mind, of those men hanging there, blue, glassy eyes staring into nothing. Enrin gasped, shaking, and pulled him to her again. Their lips found each other, their tongues battling for dominance, her nails digging into the skin of his back. Jon moaned into her mouth, his lips finding her neck, teeth grazing over the soft curve. It had been so long since someone had touched him.
His fingers found the bodice of her dress, his lips leaving small kisses along the edges of her collar bones. Enrin threw back her head as he worked, reveling in the feeling of his cool lips on her hot skin. Jon bunched her skirt at the waist, his hands traveling farther and farther, stopping just below her breasts. He pulled away once more, his eyes questioning, loathe to move any further unless she was ready.
Enrin raised her arms, and he slid the dress over her head, revealing her nakedness to him. Jon's eyes raked over her body, hungry, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip. She stood before him, arms at her side, allowing him to look his fill. The appreciation in his eyes filled her with boldness; this man thought that she was beautiful, and that was plain to see on his face.
She reached for him again, pulling him close, so their skin brushed together. Her lips found his neck and she traveled down, kissing each of his scars in turn, her breath light as a feather skimming across his skin. She sank to her knees, her shaking fingers fumbling with the strings of his pants. She unlaced them, one at a time, the ache in her belly growing ever more persistent. She could see him against the soft leather of his pants, ready for her, but she knew he would not rush her any more than she was willing to go.
She peeled his pants down to his ankles and he stepped out of them, nude in all his glory before her, and she watched him for a moment before taking him into her mouth.
The air in Jon's mouth rushed from his lungs as her lips closed around him, her tongue making quick work over him. His hands found her hair, winding it around his hand as she began to move, slowly, taking every inch of him. His breath hissed from between his teeth as his head rolled back on his shoulders. "Stop," he said, breathless, gently tugging back on her hair, "ah..."
She released him from her mouth, a playful smile on her lips as he pulled her up to meet him again, their mouths finding each other. Without breaking their kiss, Jon lifted her, pushing her down onto the soft furs of the bed. His hands found the laces of her leggings and he undid them quickly, hooking his thumbs at her waist and sliding them down her legs. Enrin sighed, opening her knees for him, as he flung her last remaining clothing behind him. His mouth found her breast, his tongue teasing her until a soft whimper escaped her mouth. He traveled down, torturously slow, before his mouth found her there. She gasped as his tongue made art against her, her fingers knotted in his hair. Enrin's back arched away from the bed, a moan escaping her throat, as Jon made his way back up her body, planting soft kisses in his wake.
He crawled atop her, pushing her backward so her head found the overstuffed pillows. He positioned himself between her knees, his elbows on either side of her head. Jon cupped her face with one hand, finding her eyes again, something there she could not fathom.
"Are you sure?" He asked again, and Enrin could only nod, her words once more failing her with this man who had entranced her in such a short time.
Jon took a breath and sank into her, their hips meeting like pieces of a puzzle.
Enrin felt a sharp pain and she gasped, pressing her hand to the small of his back to hold him still. It had been some time since someone had touched her as well.
Jon's breath was ragged, their noses pressed together, breath mingling in the night. "Have I hurt you?" He asked, meaning to pull away, but she held him firm. "Just..." she breathed, growing accustomed to the fullness of him, "slowly, please, slowly."
Jon tucked his head into the curve of her neck, and pumped into her once at a deliberately slow pace. Enrin sighed, her hand cupping the back of his neck. "Yes," she said, closing her eyes and surrendering to the feeling of him inside her, "again."
Together they moved, Enrin rising up to meet his every thrust, the ache in her abating each time they made contact. She arched her back to meet him harder, faster, his teeth finding her shoulder and biting her, hard. She felt herself rising then, locking her legs around his waist like a vice. "Oh, Jon," she sighed as she found her release, exploding around him like dragon fire, her nails raking down his back. Jon moved in her twice more, before becoming agonizingly still, spilling himself into her with her name on his lips like a prayer.
Her ears woke first, the crackling of the fire like music. She lay on her side, buried in fur blankets, her hair fanning out behind her like a mane. She reached to the other side of the bed, wanting Jon, but the sheets that met her were cold.
Enrin's eyes snapped open, and she propped herself up on her elbow, clutching the blankets to her chest. Jon was poised in front of the fireplace, leaning with one arm on the mantle, staring into the flames. The candles had burned down to stubs, the smoke still rising and curling into the air. He must have felt her watching him and he turned to smile at her, his eyes gentle. "Did I wake you?" He asked, ambling slowly back to her. She pulled back the blankets and he climbed into the bed with her, laying on his side facing her. His body was languid, his muscles relaxed, but there was a sharp edge to his eyes. Enrin reached out, brushing her fingertips across his forehead. "If you keep worrying so much you will look a man of eighty by your thirtieth name day," she murmured, shuffling closer to him. Jon let out a bark of laughter. "Already nagging," he muttered, feigning petulance. Their laughter died and they watched each other in silence for moments upon moments, the firelight flickering across their eyes. She would not push him to tell her what was plaguing him, she only reached out to him again, bringing his hand to her lips and kissing his fingers. She held it to her cheek, watching him lay ever still, his chest rising and falling slowly.
"The Lannister army is coming for us," he said suddenly, in a whisper, as if Cersei was there over his shoulder at this moment. Enrin only nodded. She and Jon lapsed into silence again, the roaring of the fire the only sound filling the room. Somewhere in the distance, they heard the wolves howl.
Jon rolled over onto his back, staring up at the dark canopy above the bed. "What is it?" She asked finally, propping herself up onto her elbow once more. Jon closed his eyes, a wrinkle forming between his brows.
"I'm sorry," Jon said after a beat, so quietly that Enrin had to strain to hear him over the flames, "I'm sorry that this union can't be what we want it to be, not yet. There is no happy ending for us now. We are at war."
He turned to face her again, his hand cupping her face. She only watched him, her eyes both trusting and apprehensive, her emotions toiling in her gut.
"But you bring me joy," he said, his thumb stroking her bottom lip, "you make me feel what it is like to be alive again. I'm not willing to let that go. I'll kill anyone who tries to take you from me."
His eyes flashed, fierceness coloring his words. Enrin kissed the palm of his hand, holding it to her face.
"You think I would let these southern cunts take me from you?" She said, sliding closer to him. Jon folded her in his arms, dread spreading through his veins like ice. The way he felt for this woman terrified him, of what would happen if someone succeeded in separating them.
"No one can," she continued, resting her head on his chest, "not that bitch Cersei Lannister. Not the Others. I will put to flame anything that stands in our way."
Jon tightened his arms around her, pulling her close to him, pressing a kiss into her hair.
"Sleep, wife," he said, closing his eyes.
"I will sleep when you do, husband," she replied, swinging one of her legs over his and pulling the furs up to cover both of their naked bodies.
They lay in the quiet for a while, Enrin watching the shadows dance along the wall. Jon's breathing eventually slowed and deepened, a soft snore escaping his lips.
Enrin drifted, visions of direwolves and lions playing behind her eyelids, the beating of his heart like music to her ears.