I'm in my new house, no internet, I've had to steal wifi.
Sansa was keen on finding this gift. First place she checked was under her bed. You're so gullible! There is no gift! She sent her maidservant to do errands while she searched, she made it clear she would be eating in her room today. She felt extremely self conscious that everybody knew about her activities for this evening, and everybody would stare at her- judging her for leaving a bedding so long. Denying a King his needs, and an heir.
Sansa spent a good half hour scouring her chambers. She tore through her wardrobes and drawers, chests, and racks, looking for anything new or out of place. She supposed it was fun, looking for things, it took her mind off the wait. The bed loomed again, she had already checked, nothing, she was about to rear up from her low stoop when she saw the corner of something poking down from a slat. Sansa scrutinized it quizzingly. A burlap was sticking out of the slats that held up the mattress, she yanked it out from under the frame. Something was in the burlap, the Queen tipped it onto the hope chest, in case it was anything that could harm her.
A fairly light weight material floated out. At first glance, she thought it was a veil curtain, like the ones she used to see in King's Landing. Then she spotted the cord tailing off of it; a silk ribbon. Was it a head veil?- A little late, she was already married. She lifted it, and it fell into shape. It was a nightdress, as delicate as you could find them. Pretty, but certainly not suitable for winter. Sansa held it to herself, and stroked it down her body, to size it up. It was long, which was how she liked them. It was soft, and more importantly she could see designs of her embroidery on her current dress- through it, which proved the nightie was sheer. If she wore this it would be like wearing nothing at all; she'd be cold, and naked. A garment such as this held no purpose, but to advertise, she likened it to what whores wore in brothels- but this had sleeves and covered legs. Was that any better?
She needed to have a better look, she dropped the garment on the bed, and began unclasping her outer dress. There was a tap at her door. Oop. Sansa hurriedly bundled the nightie under her pillow. "Come in." As the door opened, she quickly clasped up her dress. It was just one of her maidservants, bringing her lunch. A reminder of the time of day. There was so much to do. "Roisin, could you draw me up a bath?-Thank you." It was more of a request than a question, but as always she felt obliged to say thank you.
She ate first. Probably not a good idea to do that before bathing, but who cares? She watched her maid come in and out with a single bucket. If only she had a big strong man to do it for her...She witnessed the maid skid slightly while filling the tub. Oh gods...the oil you spilt last night. She had to stifle laughter as the maid continued her duties regardless of the scare. The maid went to fetch another pale of water, it was more satisfying watching her husband do it. Sansa was just about to retrieve her secret nightie when she saw something white and hairy wander through the door. Aww. Her husband's faithful companion was sniffing about the floor, she quickly and craftily peered into the hall to see if her husband was lurking. Nothing.
Sansa stooped with her hand out to the big fluff ball. "I bet you're looking for food, all gone I'm afraid, sweetie." The Queen toyed with his ear, he drew his head back and up to lick the remnants of her lunch from her fingers. She rose, watching him skirt about the room, sniffing. "No food, Ghost." He circled around her, and jumped up her dress. "Woaw steady." His front legs suddenly gripped her tight about her waist. Uh oh. The direwolf then proceeded to hump her. "No!- Bad! Ghost, get down!" She fought with him, pulling at his paws, they were like vices. Sansa walked forward to try and separate from him, but he followed, unaffected, humping her like a stallion. "Gods!" Finally she did a twisting motion and he dropped. And Good job too- Roisin, the maid returned with the water, and froze at the sight of the hairy beast on his way out after his deed. Her Queen looked very flustered, shaking her fist at the retreating wolf.
"Your grace...did he attack you?"
"You know what, I think he did." She caught her breath. " A playful attack...nothing to bother the King about." The young Queen was embarrassed, thank the gods nobody saw that. She waved her hand to shrug off the incident. "It's fine, really, he took me by surprise that's all." She tipped her head to the bath, and the maid continued.
Right, she was going to do something before she was rudely and crudely interrupted. Sansa retreated to her divider with her nightie to try it on while her maid was busy. She removed her dress that was now covered in fur, and got naked. She slipped into the soft airy garment, it seemed to float down her body, so she had to brush it down to get it passed her knees quicker. That's when she looked in the mirror; Oh. Sansa hardly looked in the mirror when she was naked, but this garment allowed her to be dressed and naked. Gods. The light from her window made the gown glow, along with the skin underneath it. It made her blush, she quickly pulled her lower small clothes on underneath. Better, but you can still see breasts. Which was the lesser of the two evils; mound or breast? Asking someone wasn't an option for her.
She twirled, and watched it float outwards, away from her ankles before gradually settling. So pretty, Melisandre had finally got something right, along with resurrecting Jon.
"Your grace? I have drawn your bath."
The Queen froze. "Alright thank you, that will be all, I'll do the rest." She heard hesitation, and then the girl finally left. The handmaidens didn't think a Queen should lift a finger, they probably didn't think she was capable. She pulled off the night gown and crossed the room naked, very naughtily, just to bolt the door. She then retreated to the bathing chamber, to indulge in her ablutions.
Sansa sank into her hot bath, she went down all the way in, so she could wet her hair and face. She rose up, rebirthed and clean. The best feeling in the world. She hugged her knees, resting her head on them. It wasn't the most elegant and languorous of positions, it was very contained and child-like, but it gave her upper back time to breathe, before she would settle against the edge of the tub. She closed her eyes.
She reflected on her childhood again; bathing rituals with her mother present, and Lady Stark being poised to brush her daughter's coppery hair. Sansa would read fairytales at night, trying to read them to her sister, but to no avail. She had been living an idealist existence, believing she would grow naturally into the perfect lady and her life would fall into place. She imagined being courted by a lord, or a prince after visiting Winterfell. Or introduced at a royal court where she would be selected and groomed to be a Queen. But her favourite fantasy was being at a festival, with world delicacies, dancing, singing, and tournaments, including a tourney, where great heroes and warriors would compete. Their reward would be glory and flowers, which would be passed onto a lady they would select from the crowd. Her head rose from her knees pensively.
Rhaegar chose Lyanna, the former daughter of Winterfell. A Targaryen chose a Stark. History did like to repeat itself. As a child she heard from small folk about what had happened, the anger and humiliation at Harrenhal, the kidnapping, the rape and murder of Lyanna. But in her own household with her family, it was scarcely mentioned. Strange. A young Sansa would end up fabricating her own version of events in her story obsessed mind; She would romanticize Rhaegar, whisking Lyanna away from her fiancé- whom she did not love. Lyanna in her mind, willingly went with the Prince where they lived in a tower surrounded by flowers. But what did actually happen?- Is it possible her story was true, and it resulted in Jon? It would be a bittersweet ending. It occurred to her the story still went on, in fact, she was in it. What an odd thought.
The Queen lay back in the tub, she cast her hand to the side of the tub, her oil was there, and...the soap. She blinked and stared as a very vivid image came to mind. Cuss. It wouldn't be proper to use that soap. But even the oil brought imagery to her mind, like curly dark hair slicked back. Cuss. The bath itself held a memory, perhaps the surface of the bath held traces of him, that now tainted her water, the water that was now warming her intimate areas. He was technically inside her now, well...oh- my- the pores she meant. Sansa was frothing something in her hand, and she realised she had selected the soap. Oo. The soap held pieces of barley and leaf, so it was textured for exfoliation, and more importantly it didn't slip in her hand, even when squeezed- it only shifted a little. Hm, interesting.
She rubbed the froth over herself, massaging it over her skin, she was thorough. And Sansa splashed it all away, until her skin squeaked upon rubbing. She reached for her pumice stone and rubbed vigorously over the areas that mattered- the ones in need of beautifying. The Queen worked tirelessly for half an hour until her skin was red, smooth and clear. By that stage her water was now lukewarm and murky with her efforts. It was as satisfying as completing an embroidery pattern. Perfection takes time. She climbed out of her tub so she could use her reserved buckets on her fiery mane. Sansa didn't spend too much time on her hair, since her neck was beginning to ache from the stoop she was at. When she was done she felt as fresh as a spring. The part that annoyed her was the drying. If she put on any garments too soon, she would dampen the fabric with an area she had neglected with her towel. Oh woe is me, my bottom is still wet. She sat by the fire with her sheet, allowing everything to dry via air and sheet. Her hair required more attention, she strained and rubbed with her towel, until it was simply moist. It could now be left to air dry.
The Queen heard the door jolt, and the bolt rattle. That was either her husband, or the handmaiden coming back to check on her. She came into the bedchamber to investigate, and it happened again. Clunk, Click. The fact that they hadn't given up, told her it was Jon. A handmaiden would have checked, realized her Queen was busy, and left.
"Sansa- Door." He orated, he had a tone.
"Jon, ablutions." She said, mirroring his style. The Queen meandered to her divider to slip into her winter robe. The door rattled again. Did he not listen? She huffed so he would hear. "You're way too early, come back later." She flicked the hair from her robe.
"I've come... to pick up my gloves." He rumbled.
She came from behind the divider and headed to the door. Wait, what are you doing?! Think girl, think! Sansa smiled behind her balled up hand. "The ones you left with this morning?"
"Yeah...Oh." Jon had slipped up.
He was bad at this, she needed to teach him how to become a better liar. She waited, her face aching from her smile.
There was an amusing pause, filled with creaking leather, he was probably flexing those incriminating gloves, or taking them off to conceal. "No...my...other gloves." He tried.
He had one pair of gloves. And she clamped a hand over her mouth, she was laughing silently into her palm.
"Sansa...please."
Aww. She composed herself, so her laughter wasn't evident in her voice. "I can't pass you gloves that don't exist."
There was that beautiful silence again that was totally Jon, brooding. "My tunic is-"
"What do you want, Jon?" Sansa could almost hear the cogs in his brain.
Silence, followed by a sigh of resignation. "Isn't it obvious?" His tone was juvenile.
"It's as clear as day, Jon." Condescension was a skill to her. "It's day time, your absence would be very noticeable, and besides I'm in the middle of my ablutions."
"Are you naked?"
He's keen. She tightened her cord, and pulled at her collar. "No." She said indignantly, she didn't know why? It sounded like an accusation, she didn't walk around naked. "None of your business, this is my personal routine."
"So you are decent..."
Sansa huffed, this was getting tedious. "Yes, I have my robe on."
"Then what's the problem?"
"I know you." Her voice was of a woman scorned. She also knew Ghost's mood mirrored his owner's. "Come back later." She tried to be final. But perhaps she was being unreasonable?- But she felt like a bride before a wedding; jittery and superstitious. He'll spoil it. "Too soon, Jon, too soon."
"You..." Sansa strained her ears, wondering what he could possibly say to get into her room- and into her. "-Haven't changed your mind, 'ave yer'?" She heard him ask.
"No, of course I haven't."The Queen said immediately. Oh open the bloody door. She crossed the distance and unbolted the door, he opened it before she had a chance to, he had a fast reaction time. Jon and Sansa stared at one another, he was partially on the way in- sizing her up, but she held the door firm. "Jon, don't come in if you think the time is nigh." She warned, and he dithered, his head dropping- in guilt supposedly.
"You look nice." He blinked up at her after a moment's pause.
"And?" She shrugged, did he expect her to drop her robe and fall into his arms?
"And?- Well you're lovely enough, fancy -"
"-I'm...in the middle of something." She had forgotten the proper way to respond to a compliment. She gave him a quizzing look. And now...You leave.
"Gis' us a kiss." That was a proper broad northern request, no one could possibly refuse. His tone was a form of manipulation- devoid of any intention, and completely innocent. "Go on." He did a coaxing head tip. He was clever, he was using a brother's tone.
Sansa tightened the grip on her cord. "Gis' us your cheek."
He smiled. "Preference?"
The Queen was confused. "Your... left?"
"Buttock or face?"
Sansa was agape and appalled. "Oh!" She pushed him away playfully, he was amused. "Your kiss has been denied." She was very Queenly with that.
"Well I've seen your face, so now I'm sated...I will count the hours..." The feeling was sort of mutual. And her husband stepped back out into the hall and marched off, she watched with mild interest. She liked seeing him walk.
Now she was the guilty one, he just wanted to visit her before... It took her awhile to close the door again, this time she left it unbolted. She was such a girl, she felt like swooning again...for 'cuss's sake! She approached her vanity looking at herself with distrust, her hair still looked ratty- easy to correct. Her eye -line dipped, her nipples were protruding, she didn't know what to do with them- except maybe press on them. She curiously put pressure on them to flatten, they were sensitive- a strange sort of sensitive. Sansa snared her hand away as if they had pricked her, then settled on picking up her brush to detangle her hair ready for another session of fire sitting.
Davos saw Jon coming through the door of the main hall. "How was she?"
Beautiful. "Fine, she was just doing her daily routine- she was very calm, very warm, I didn't want to disturb her, so I err...excused myself."
"Good good."
Jon settled down at the table, and picked up some bread, he tore into fiercely, he looked very content. His advisor and himself had a bit of a staring match while consuming their scraps. "What is it?"
"Did she give you a parting gift, your grace?"
Jon snorted. "This is Sansa." He found some meat at the table. Meat for strength. "She sure has a way with words though." The King held warmth in his eyes, which extended to the whole of his face, the smile remained as he was eating.
"You'll see what her words are worth tonight."
"I couldn't have put it better myself." The younger gent rumbled in response, he chewed his morsel staring into space heatedly.
Davos read into it. "Goodness me, she was dressed, wasn't she?" Amused by the man's concentrated eating.
"She was getting ready." For me.
"I see." A pink cheeky grin adorned the advisor's features. Oh to be young again. "With women, that normally takes forever...and there's really no need."
"I know." He concurred enthusiastically. "Why don't they just splash themselves and then dry?" He eyed the other people in court, and inclined towards his companion. "I'd have her, covered in mud and blood." They shared a stoatish grin. "How long have I got?"
"Wait for the moon, your grace."
She felt nauseous, that was the nerves. She needed to write to soothe her, so she opened the drawer to her desk.
What the..?
Sansa pulled out a phallic shaped yellow object, it felt waxy and rubbery to touch and had a peculiar bend, there was a ribbon around it as if it were a gift. Melisandre. The gift was something organic, so she sniffed it- it didn't really smell of anything. Wait, it had a familiar scent. She wasn't sure if it was edible. The Queen tapped it against the table, it wasn't hollow, by squeezing it, she noted it had a softer centre, but it was unyielding, it had thick skin to protect its contents. It had black edges, one tip was fuzzy, and she brushed it against her cheek. Tickly. But what was it for? She assessed the phallic object was supposed to represent a cock. She put it down with distaste. It was crude, and didn't belong in a royal chamber. She got the strange impression she was supposed... to use it, for practice... As a warm up tool? -Ew. She put it back in the drawer. Nope.
The young Queen retrieved her ink and quill, she wrote down every feeling to try and get a sense of what she was going to do. It was just anxiety that bled through the page, she reasoned she must choose a garment she was more comfortable in- and keep it on for the duration of the...activity. So Sansa had opted for the winter nightie, along with her robe. She would be dressed and warm, and completely decent – She wrote contently...until-"Hells!" She spilled ink on her robes. "No no no no no!" She quickly removed her robe in the hopes of salvaging the winter nightie beneath- it had bled through. "Woe!" This had been an act of the gods. She discarded her faithful nightie and slipped into to the 'veil' instead. Oh lord. Just seeing herself in it reminded her she was going to be breached multiple times. She put the ink away, she wasn't about to ruin another gown, or else she would be doing it in the raw.
The young Queen retreated into the other chamber, she inclined on her lounger, her arm over her eyes, her feet bare curving off the area of lounger that had no back. Sansa couldn't lie in her bed at that moment, nor look at it- too jittery. That, and she didn't want to get bedsores, she was a fidgeter. She lifted her arm from her eyes and saw her reflection in the mirror, she looked very languorous, inclined on her seat- like something out of an oil painting. But she doubted any maiden in an oil painting would have a history as horrific as hers.
She craned her neck over the high part of the back of the lounger, through the window she saw darkness, and glowing blue clouds, they were slowly uncovering a stark moon. Sigh. Sansa dropped back into her lounger. The problem with lying down in this comfortable seat, she got sleepy. No time for sleepiness. She didn't remember closing her eyes, not until she heard a bolt sliding across a door...
Bump Click Clunk.
She opened her eyes, recognizing the noise, she blinked blearily at the fireplace, and rose slowly, her eyes peering over the arm of the seat. Yes, it was indeed him. She had a skulky manner, whereas her husband- she observed- had a swagger. Jon must have checked she was present before locking the door, since he knew where she was straight away. His dark eyes locked with hers through the doorway and he made a show of removing his scabbard. It clattered on her hope chest and she jarred at the sound.
Jon swaggered slowly into the room. Gods. The young Queen sat upright from her lounged position steadily, clamping her hands to edge of her seat. The air that followed in his wake was warm, and static inducing, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end with apprehension- and excitement. Her eyes were ahead of herself, she was already studying the place he was going to occupy, and when he filled it- she was staring at crotch, and the bottom of a doublet. Shuddery sigh. His shadow nearly had her at a swoon, but it was the badly quelled throaty noise she heard that sent her aquiver. Sansa had the nightie to thank for Jon's adour, she could feel the lusty gaze. Sansa watched his hand move from his side, and she got the impression his first port of call was her round bust, but his hand diverted to cup her upper neck and chin, gently guiding her to look up at him.
The action called for some words of encouragement, in fact she longed to hear him speak, to break the tension. Jon didn't, he only spoke with the storm in his eyes. Husband. His callous thumb slid up and over her mouth, pressing on it with interest- gauging her desire. What now...? Her lips pursed slightly, and kissed the imposing thumb. This pleased him, he moved to sit next to her, his hand dropping from her face. He was close. The King sat in a way his front was pressing into her side. He must have been sitting on one of his legs to give him a bit of height, for she felt his knee behind her buttock, the other over taking her knee. Sansa sensed Jon staring at her, burning the side of her face and neck, among other areas that piqued his interest. What now..?
The Queen felt the warmth of a hand hovering close to her stomach, poised to claw. The nightie wasn't enough of a barrier in regards to temperature, or decency, it wouldn't be any trouble for him. That hand she detected was there for titillation, in fact everything so far seemed like a form of titillation. How dare he...drag this out, she has been anxious all day! She laid a hand on his thigh, without hesitation, feeling the girth- Oh, that's hard...the...the muscle in the leg, of course. Her thumb inched to his inner thigh, and he blast out an exhale, her hair moved slightly with the force of it. The King's hand moved, up...up...up...to her hair, he swept it to one side, deliberately raking his fingers over her neck as he did, bringing the mane over the opposite shoulder. Now her neck was bare nearest to him.
There was an expectant pause, filled with careful breathing, something Sansa felt was going to happen a lot tonight. She felt a tugging sensation, there was weight on the ribbon of her nightie, it was being pulled down and away. She felt the knot come undone with a ping, and the collar become agape. Jon's hand then gently fingered the fabric to one side, exposing her entire shoulder. A soft moist mouth caressed her flesh, she felt the fuzz of his beard, scratching her skin, in a ticklish manner. Oh. Her head fell forward to contain herself...His mouth was on the move, raking and pinching along the top of her shoulder. Oh kisses, wet kisses, where the tongue flicks out to taste the skin. His tongue trailed up her neck, since her head was down, he didn't have far to go, he got to her jaw, and moved up to her fairy ears, and enveloped them, licking the structure, and she squirmed a little, for it tickled. His hand cupped her jaw, holding her steady. Jon then travelled across her cheek, he had to dip his head to get to her, her reflexes had curled her head away, his beard tickling her into girlish squirms. When he reached the corner of her mouth, his tongue poked out to skim the edge. Like knocking on a locked door. She murmured at him, it spurred him to plant his mouth over hers. Sansa's head finally came up to reciprocate. A starved kiss was shared; greedy, and wet, with few breaks for air. Her hands were about his face, where they belonged. Her hand snuck to the leather band that tied back his hair, and she set it free, to tousle it.
His arm circled her back, the other crammed under her knees, he lifted her up off the lounger into a cradle lift. Sansa clung to him, and she broke off the kiss to see where they were going. It was obvious where; a grand bed was where Kings and Queens were made.
She was gently lowered onto her side of the bed, she assumed he would go to the other side, but he remained standing, looking over her, the longer he did it- the redder Sansa became. Probably numbering all her parts up for attack. Her husband's hand went to the clasps of his doublet. This was further titillation she could not stand, she reached for his hand, and he blinked and stalled, wondering if something had changed. The young woman pulled her legs over the side of the bed sitting up in front of him, Jon appeared concerned- she was about to escape him. There was really no need to be, she just hoped he wasn't attached to that doublet. Sansa reached up, and grasped the meeting edges of the doublet, and ripped it open. Clasps could be heard detaching and pinging off the walls.
"Seven hells." He finally rasped, extremely exasperated his wife had done that. "I suppose this is revenge for your skiirr-" She laid her hands on him, inside the top, stroking the ripples and contouring. Sansa was thorough when it came to mapping out muscle. Her hands crept to his sides and she yanked him forwards, burying her face inside the doublet, kissing it hard enough it could have reshaped him. A curious tongue was at play, he tasted like tears, his abdomen flexed under her ministrations. She heard him rumble a sigh, and when the Queen stole a heated glance at him, she saw only jaw line and stubble, for he had thrown his head back in euphoria. "Gods Sansa."
Her chin chafed against the cord of his breeches, she separated from his midriff to stare at the lacing. She sensed him watching her, his head must have lolled forwards. She could feel her cheeks flushing, embarrassed and anxious over the appendage she could not see, but needed to be freed. His hand grasped her chin and tipped it towards him.
"One thing at a time, ey?" He soothed, thumbing her skin.
She nodded timidly, and his hands suddenly descended and hooked under her armpits. "Eeep." She squeaked as he lifted her to bring her to the centre of the bed, he applied sufficient pressure to coax her to lie down. He reared up to free his arms from the doublet, and tossed it carelessly across the room. Sansa was waiting for the inevitable, for her to be stripped from the waist down, but instead he covered her with his body, reinitiating their kiss.
His skin was warm through her nightie, her nipples prickled against the veil and his pecs. That was sufficient stimulation, any more would kill her. Jon let her take air, as he attacked the neck- no bit of skin was left untouched or dry. He began to slide, his hands going with him. Sansa's collar was still agape, and he took advantage of this and tugged it down to kiss down her sternum, he took a chance and palmed her breasts through the cloth, kneading them. Gauging their size? She assumed men did this to see if a lady was truly a woman, of maturity. She hummed, his thumb skimmed the nipple, deliberately trying to firm it up further. This could undo her. Jon threw caution to the wind and tugged the nightie sideways, unveiling a rosy tipped milky breast, and he kissed it with reckless abandon, like a hungry babe suckling. Oh my Gods. Her breathing was so erratic, her chest cavity and accompanying bust was pushing against his mouth and chaffing against his beard. There was too much stimulation. She was stroking the skin on his back, her nails dug in a little, trying to quell the urge to cry out. She had no control over what she was doing, and she wasn't going to halt the proceedings just because she was...erm... ticklish?
He released her breast with a pop, and dragged himself lower, leaving her breast moist and raw, travelling ...down...down. His feet were now on the ground, but he was still leaning over, on her like a wolf. Jon nuzzled her stomach, whispering nonsensical things into her button, but that was merely a distraction. His hands had reached the hem, and he was slowly inching it up, craftily watching her, for signs of panic, or worse; lost consciousness. The hem was over her knee now, going up her thigh- gods, he couldn't wait to look...and taste - he kept the hem and his hands from her skin, so she wouldn't feel it, not until...ahem. Despite being focused on kissing the stomach and tugging up the nightie hem, he could still smell desire on her. This was how it should be; desire should overpower fear. Jon had to roll his lips to keep from drooling.
Her husband was paying particular attention to her stomach, the steam of his breath was soaking through. She heard mutterings and wondered if he was praying. Oh sweet Jon, asking for blessings from the- The top of her thighs felt cold, she peered over her breasts to see his hands were under her hem, she was nearly exposed. Her head dropped back onto the bed. Just let him do what he needs. She covered the breast that was still exposed, out of habit. The movement caused Jon to look up.
"There's no need for modesty, sweetheart, we shall be content and as bare as the gods made us soon enough." She felt his hand creep over hers, tentatively, trying to get her to unveil that bust. "If you still feel uncomfortable, cover them with your hands, rub them if need be." They were too sensitive for such ministrations- unless that was the whole idea, trying to swoon her?
Sansa could feel her skirt still moving, she looked up again, this time Jon saw her and knew he had been caught out and froze. He smiled feebly, finally allowing his hands to settle on her milky white thighs, they spasmed under his touch. His hands appeared bronze in comparison to her skin. "Trust me." His voice was laden with lust, which wasn't the best tone to use when asking for trust.
She watched him roll the veil painfully slowly up the rest of her thigh, the cold reached her...there. It was her turn to mutter nonsensical things, into the back of her hand, trying to calm herself. He could see everything. Sansa felt him stroke over her mound as if it were some timid animal, his thumb brushing over the little tuff of red hair and over the protrusion of pink flesh. She watched, reddening- biting the inside of her lips as if she were about to cry. Jon descended, both sets of eyes shutting briefly as he gently kissed the bud. Oh, his mouth. His tongue dipped into the flesh, lapping at the petals. Oh...He plundered with his implement of divine...Cuss. She blinked rapidly- a cry getting lodged in her throat. This was certainly more than a tickle...Her head inched off the bed to peek, she saw him study her over her mound with hooded eyes, and she flushed and dropped her head back. He was going to kill her. Sansa found herself licking her lips, as if imitating the motions he was making. You are crazy, that was an impossible manoeuvre. He was treating her flower like it was her mouth. Gods, he was thorough- that tongue was so warm, velvety and wet- It made her teeth chatter. On top of that, she could feel scratchy beard on her inner thighs. Oh Jon.
Her hands gripped the sheets tightly as if she was going to fall off the edge of Westeros. Her thighs were trembling, she couldn't comprehend whether she wanted to snap her legs together to trap his head there forever, or to spread them further so he could reach her core. His tongue was spooning now- How ?-Wha- Oooo gods! Except comprehension wasn't something she could do at that moment, she couldn't think, let alone reason...only feel, and bleat meekly. Oh gods... she was making... those pitiful sounds. "Aaayyee." Her long fingers released the sheets, they were separating from the mattress, becoming askew. Her shaky hands hovered uselessly over her body, before one descended to grip a handful of his hair. Jon grunted his ardour and she felt it vibrate through her. Mercy. Sansa's mouth pulled back from her teeth, and her eyes squeezed shut momentarily. Oh gods. There was a growing sensation, originating from where his tongue was pressing her nub against pubic bone, surging upwards towards her core. "OH... MY-". It felt like she was about to sneeze but with her ovaries, she lost her ability to speak and the muscles in her face completely tensed- Jon suddenly retracted his tongue and left the warmth of her flower and her thighs, rising up and over her stomach. What's he doing?!- Finally able to think. Something was about to happen...and he stopped?!
He drew in his lips to savour the taste, looking across and down at her darkly. "How was that, precious?" He drawled in a boastful manner. Her hand was still clenched in his hair, and she tried to goad him back down, and he laughed at the wonderful pressure being applied to his crown. He brought his knees on to the bed either side of her, he pinched at the nightie and flapped it. "Is this comin' off then, or what?"
It was pointless now, he had seen everything. Sansa pushed herself up with her elbows, and her husband braced himself on his hands to push him to a stand, to give her room. As she got up she could feel the slipperiness between her legs. Oh warrior's tongue, kiss the peach for many more nights to come. She shakily began to pull the nightie upwards, pulling her head through the collar, wiggling the material out from under her buttocks. The Queen was in a tube of veil, how apt for a blushing bride. Sansa could see him watching with intent, all the while making a start to unlacing his breeches. The breaching. She had stalled, and Jon assumed she was stuck- so he pulled the nightie from her over her head, her hair tumbling down her bare back and chest. Eyes and air went straight to her skin, the charged ardent air that Jon had generated- came at her at full force. She quivered at it, seeing his chest rise and fall at the same pace as hers- she looked down at herself, her hands furtively touching the under curve of her bust, and curiously fingering her bright red tips of her breasts. Her husband grunted over her, she was inadvertently putting on a very seductive display.
"Gods you're good...use those hands...on me." He rasped, putting his legs against bed frame with a bump. Sansa tinged, and his hands sort hers, guiding them to his half opened breeches, the laces were loose. So much for 'one thing at a time.' And her long fingered hands tugged the laces from the trousers. Something was straining against the fabric, and from the top of the opening she saw traces of short black hair. Oh my. The young woman coyly dipped her hand into the split, biting her lip as her hand grazed...
"It's feels so hot." Her voice failed her, his growl had stifled her into submission. She grasped him with minimal digits and angled him nervously out of the gap- it sprung out like a drawbridge, pointing at the object of his desire. Oh..it matched the rest of him. She gathered herself, and leant to smooch the bell-end lovingly, and he hunched forward in surprise and gasped.
"-Gods!" He grunted with strain, and she retracted very quickly.
"Sorry!" She covered her mouth. "I should have-"
"-Wife." He reassured, removing her hand so he could thumb along her pretty lip. "Give me warning, love, I nearly went..."
"Don't be so pretty then." She smiled brightly up at him and it made his heart sing. Sansa noted the appendage was dripping. "Oh...I am sorry." He was done?- No breaching required.
"No, that isn't-" Jon wasn't sure if she thought it was one or the other. "That's normal." He said vaguely, trying to shrug off the terminology and the reminder of her next duty. Well she'll find out soon enough. He stooped as if to pick something off the floor, but he snared her feet, he brought them up- forcing her to bend at the knee. She laughed, not knowing what he was doing, but the grip on her feet was ticklish. The King steered her, turned her body on the mattress, so she was aligned with the pillows.
"What are you doing, your grace?" She said amiably, and he hooked under her armpits again, she hooted at him- he had gone for a sensitive area. "Gods, Jon, I'm not a child." He dragged her onto the pillows, so she was finally lying properly on the bed.
"No, you're not." He said darkly, her face still looked gleeful- he hoped it lasted. This wasn't a broken traumatized girl before him, this was a beautiful woman with so much love to give, this was a blessing from the gods. No, she was not a gift for him. This was a goddess, and it was time for worship. He was a gift for her.
"Are you trying to tuck me in?" She commented, and she watched him kick off his breeches and clamber eagerly on to the bed after her, his still engorged pecker bouncing with him. She noticed and sobered. Oh...well, what did you expect?- You didn't think it would be that easy, did you? Sansa curled up into a foetal position as he got over her, his face was full of earnest. Her feet felt his pectorals, as his inner thighs grazed the side of her buttocks. His hands enclosed around her ankles before sliding to the underside of her knees and thighs. Oh. The king parted her legs, so she was open for him. She tried to keep her face neutral, despite being contorted into an obscene position. When he surged forward she thought- that was going to be it. But he was merely leaning over her to kiss her gently.
"Put your hands on me." He whispered, remaining nose to nose with her.
She complied, one hand slunk around his upper back, and the other found the nape of his neck. The Queen was getting inundated with virile sights and aromas, and steam from his breath. Hmm ale and mint. The hair on his arm was standing on end, prickling into her shoulder and neck, for he had planted his hand firmly by her head to lock her in place. They hadn't started yet, but she clung to him like they had. His forehead nudged against hers as he tipped to look down at...himself, and their 'soon to be connecting' parts. It felt very imminent.
His hand disappeared between them, and she felt her toes curl in apprehension. "Oh gods." She said it so quiet, it was barely audible, but any louder, Jon would have heard the anxiety. He might have stopped. There wasn't much else she could do, but wait. The hand she had on his back began to tremble, so she fingered his curls to disguise it. Jon began to rub himself, against her, over her flower. His breathing was irregular as he did it. She understood after awhile what he was doing; he was coating himself with her moisture. The action was tingle inducing, especially when his bell-end jabbed against her nub. A stillness came, and he looked to her for inspiration. Those dark eyes. His back became taut under her hand, his bottom half surged forward...
He didn't know what he had expected. Perhaps a moan, or a cry of pain? He studied her pretty face, undivided. Her breath had hitched- followed by a stunned silence - then nothing. Oh gods- he had destroyed her, with one poke. He had no breath- and no voice to yield comfort. "Ssa-" He rasped, his own pleasure muting him. "Ssanssa?" He had to make sure that glassy stare was her feeling him, and not her sinking into darkness. His pelvis was hovering, quaking with the effort to hold back. He could continue, to sate himself, but she would not be here. "Fuck!" It came out like a cough, she was choking his tip, and he couldn't do anything. But suddenly Sansa blinked up at him. Oh gods, she's still there. Blue eyes that could drown a man, were baiting him. You can move...you can love...you can fuck...neither are us are dead. And so he sucked in his lips and pushed on. She made a quiet heavenly mewl noise as he went deeper. "That's it, my sweet." He crooned. It was sliding in easily, but he had to put a little bit of weight behind it half way, but the last inch thudded in, pelvis and buttocks connected with a pat, and they both expelled an exclamation. He hoped that hadn't buggered it.
Sansa had felt the breach. But that was no breach, gods be damned! That was... No words could describe it, and it was only the beginning. But all she felt was a gradual warm fullness, that stretched her nicely, and nudged against her womb in a way that it made her want more. Her skin hadn't tore, or tucked in, or puckered like it normally did when plundered dry. But she was not dry, her handsome husband had saw to that. Jon wouldn't make her bleed, he was too gentle, even if he did, it would only be an accident- but she wouldn't care. She would forego a heavy bleed just to feel Jon push into her for the first time, again, and again. You Harlot!
Only seconds had passed, and Jon was withdrawing from her slowly. She shuddered, her toes curling this time in anticipation. Oh my Jon. Sansa's fingers flexed against his trained body- she would claw to motivate him- if she had to. And her husband pushed himself in right to the hilt, uninterrupted this time, and a groan escaped him. She sensed his first time had been hesitant. Bless him. He drew out of her a little quicker this time, his eye line diverted to the extraction, checking for blood. She assumed. Jon did a roll with his hips, it allowed for speed and an angular penetration.
"Aa..aaa." That had been an agape moan that had escaped her, something he clearly liked, so he did it again, paying close attention to her face. Undivided attention was overwhelmingly passionate, she found herself humming at the love in his eyes.
Jon rolled out and rolled back in, getting a nice rhythm that didn't waver or reduce in pleasure. Her chest cavity with accompanying breasts swelled and heaved, against his leanness, as they harmonized their heavy breathing and exclamations. When he wasn't captivated by her flushed desire ridden face, he took a gander at her tits; jolting like firm blancmanges with cherries on top. His mouth would strain, just to taste them- it didn't affect his pace, or force.
Her husband had an oral fixation, not that she minded. But she wondered if it interfered with his daily routine.
"Aaaaa." He had hit her sweet spot again, who'd have thought there was a hidden place in a woman that a man could press to could send them into disarray? He was a virile vision above her, she saw the muscles in his shoulders trying to hold himself off of her. The sweat gave him a sheen, it was starting to drip on her, she was sure she had some of her own, that gave her a glow.
Jon dropped to his elbows, so he was closer to her, still rolling into her with precision. He slipped his hands under her soaked back, lovingly embracing her. They kissed desperately, as if reminding each other they weren't just fucking out of duty. Their lips separated tackily, they remained close, noses nearly touching, and stealing each other's breaths.
"Can I get sharper?" He rasped, wincing at the ache in his own core.
She hoped it wasn't brutish. She nodded urgently, their sweat nearly mingling on their foreheads. Jon began to thud into her with vigour, so much so, their bodies were generating percussion sounds, well it was either them, or the bed they were on. There was no distinction between the thrust and retraction, it was manic rutting. The Queen's neck was being cradled by her husband, as her head tipped back in ecstasy . He mouthed at her jaw with kisses, wetting right up to her ear. "Still here with me?" He whispered, and she barely spoke.
"My...my...my King." She screwed her face up at her body's urge to painfully arch against the mattress. Something was building in her core, it was close, like before, tingling in her nub and aching in her ovaries. The pitch of her mewls was getting steadily higher with every beat. Oh oh. "OH...OH...OH GOOOODS!" The ache was no longer an ache, it was a blinding burst of pleasure, that sent her body rigid, before convulsing against her husband. Her legs shook, and between them she felt a gush of fluid spill against her husband, and a puddle formed under her. How embarrassing, she had peed. "I'm..." She tried to explain herself, but she had no voice, she was too sated and out of breath. Tears prickled her eyes at the buzz and true happiness she felt. Not even peeing the bed could dampen her spirits. Jon held her throughout, as if guiding her back down to earth, he even consoled her when she started to cry.
"Ssh ssh, it's alright." Her husband cupped her face and kissed her forehead, he didn't want to steal her breath.
"W-what was-?"
"-Now that, was an orgasm." He rasped sitting up on his knees, he looked very cocksure and wild. Little curls of hair clung to his soaked forehead and neck. His torso appeared as toned as hell, it was as if he had been training for hours. His wife reached up and stroked the sweat from his abs, humming at her own good fortune.
"I've wrecked the sheets, my love."
His eyes hadn't lost their mischief, he flicked the hair from his face with a jerk. "Just imagine what they'll look like by morning." He leaned forward to dip himself in her again, she gasped.
"Have you not...?" She managed just about, realising she had forgotten the most important part.
"I was waiting for you." He said wolfishly, locking his hands either side of her head. "Can I?"
"Do I have a choice?- You can't waste a drop." She slipped her silky legs around him slowly, letting the heels of her foot graze his hard buttocks, and he raised a cryptic brow at her. Jon was just about to begin his attack when Sansa lurched up to grab his shoulders, she steered and chucked him onto his back.
"Bloody hel-"
She straddled him like a Queen, silencing him. Sansa guided herself back onto him- with a sigh. He looked a little gormless- though it could have been awe. Now she was on top, with a warrior King between her legs, she felt a blush adorn her cheeks. "Your grace." She bobbed her head.
And the King just looked extremely proud, his hands came to hips stroking down her thighs, goading her to begin. "Ruin me."
Right, what did he do?..He did a roll...could that work for her?- What did Melisandre do to Podrick?- They bounced. Sansa used the muscle in her thigh to rise and fall, bobbing over his appendage. His lips parted, that proud boastful expression faded to one with a breathless and euphoric undercurrent.
"Sssansa." He rasped, his hands caressing up her body, massaging her breasts. Oh seven hells. She allowed her head to loll back, letting her body be at the mercy of his hands. Through this manoeuvre, she discovered her own hip rolling motion. She rolled over his cock like she was an eastern belly dancer. "That's...that's it." If it really was 'it' then why was he wincing?
"Are you sure I'm not hurting you?"
"No... that's good...very...very...good." He creased his neck up to watch the contact, her sweet bud devouring his....Jon dropped his head back, growling.
At first she were performing contained little rolls, which then became very elaborate rolls, where she arched every muscle in her torso; backwards, and forwards, like she was rowing a very large boat. His hands were ready to meet her at every dip, touching her, encouraging her. She sighed at the ministrations, that, and the penetration. She always liked dancing, now she was using it to choke her husband's..."Aaa...gods." His chest was spasming. Perhaps she should get sharper? He might get louder? She began to roll in circles, like she was spinning a hoop around her waist, it made her moan, she was a genius. He thought so too. "Aaa...fuck." His sighs and grunts were getting more breathy. Sansa got a little heavier, with sharp jerks, she stabilised herself on Jon's chest, which had become erratic. His sweat was making his torso slick under her hands. What a beautiful man he was. She was beginning to tire, her sharp rolls and jerks were becoming aggressive and pained. "Oh you...sweet...aaa...summer...child." He rasped, Jon must have been close, he sounded delirious.
Those callous hands, covering her breasts, were rolling her tips between his dangerous sword wielding fingers. She was biting her lips, and had drawn a little blood. Through squinting in ecstasy he saw her raw mouth, he stroked upwards, cupping her face, thumbing along her lip, pressing firm enough they tugged down.
"Oh Jon." She murmured feebly, her eyes hooded. His thumb lingered, so she took it into her mouth, sucking on it devoutly. He liked that, he liked that a lot.
He wet his own lips, his dark look unwavering. Those lips mouthed his thumb like it were a coc-. "-Oh you beau- oooh gods." His pupils blew as a low rumble erupted from him. "Oooh gods." His pelvis quaked under her, his core tightened in preparation for a long overdue orgasm. Jon quelled a strangled groan. "Aaa fuck, I'm-!" He took a breath, and all the muscles and veins in his neck and face became visible, he went blue then red, mouth agape and wet with desperation. Sansa watched. She better watch, this was a real man's end. The King's lips pulled back from his teeth as his stomach and groin muscles contracted violently. "FUUUUCK!" It was a battle growl of immense passion and vigour as he came, long and hard. His cock pulsated and jerked as he emptied what felt like a month's worth of seed into her womb.
Sansa was aroused, but still blushed coyly by what it all meant, her head lolled to the heavens and back. She stroked his abs to soothe him, as his body trembled very much like her own. That was wonderful. It went slack as his sweat seeped into the sheets. The air was humming with the aftermath. His torso rippled beautifully with deep rattlely breaths, very tired, but very sated. He smiled up at her, and she lay down on him, listening to his rapid heartbeat. Very much alive. His arm slunk around her back, holding her there. "My King." She turned to rest her chin on him, he sensed her look at him and he lifted his head, eyes close and soul searching. "I love you." She whispered intimately.