She approached with a calm demeanor… at least one that appeared calm. Few could pierce the facade she had cultivated for herself. A stone wall as thick as the walls of Harrenhal built through many moons of training whose foundation was laid down over years of abuse, trauma, and struggle to survive. The wall of a mere girl with no name, a blade honed as a powerful assassin.
All covering a young girl of mere six and ten. Arya Stark.
Arya Stark was no more, at least that was what she told herself as she entered the cavernous hall of faces. What was left was no one. A tool of the Many Faced God.
There was nothing left.
She would deny the existence of the flicker of flame deep in her soul, but it was there nonetheless.
Ignorant of the internal conflict brewing deep under the surface, the outer walls of the girl strode through the hall. Pale, sightless faces watched her from all around, trophies of past successes - days ago, a hundred years ago. None mattered, for all were displayed and ready for use if a faceless man needed them. She spared them barely a glance, the latter only reserved for the three to which she had contributed.
The twitch of what someone from her past might call guilt ignored. Willfully so.
She'd learned that guilt was her enemy long ago, even before she became no one.
A few yards away, a shadowy figure wrapped in a thick cloak hunched over a small fire burning in a circular hearth at his feet. The girl could almost hear the mumbled incantations - a language neither she nor Arya Stark knew. Each step brought more into view. The knife in his hands, the rag cleaning it of dried blood. With an almost trance-like flourish, he tossed the bloodstained rag into the fire, letting it vaporize. Offering the blood to the Many Faced God in yet another sacrifice of fealty.
The figure stood still as stone as it watched the flames consume the offering whole before removing the hood it wore. His features were still as they were when the girl was still Arya Stark, slender and handsome with long strands of red and white hair flowing down to his shoulders.
His gaze did not move to her, but Jaqen H'ghar addressed her all the same. "I have a name for you, girl." Her interest peaked as her mind recalled the names she had once put to memory, a list of those she wished to kill.
Joffrey…
Cersei…
Iyn Payne…
Meryn Trant…
The rest faded away from her as she asked, "Who is a girl to kill this day?" A girl is no one, she spoke only to herself.
Jaqen smiled down at her, no doubt pleased with how she had become so much like himself. "This man," He told her as he pulled a piece of parchment from his cloak's sleeve. "He will be at the Rosemary and Thyme, a brothel at the southern docks, tonight. Disguise yourself appropriately and make it clean," the man who was no one said as he pointed to a new face for the girl to wear.
Speculating where the face came from and how it was obtained were useless factors to her, she had learned that moons again. A face not her own was to be worn, and a man needed to die.
Simplicity itself.
"Have rocks lodged themselves in your ears, girl?" Jaqen asked before he produced a stick and swatted the top of her head with it. At one time it would have stung and she'd wish to bite back with words and steel. Now it simply felt numb to her. "Focus,"
"I was merely pondering why the Waif was not chosen for this insead," Not wholly a lie. Part of her was curious.
"The Waif is busy with other matters, and you have shown yourself to be capable." He told her before turning away from her. "Now go, and bring back an offering." The girl who was Arya Stark simply nodded as she gripped her dagger and retrieved what was provided for her.
This would not take her any time at all.
It was child's play to slink down to the docks after night fell. She did not worry to be recognized, those few who knew of what she did and what she looked like beneath her many faces were all dead. No, it was just simpler to make it through the bustling streets of Braavos this way.
The sailors were always either drinking their coin away or readying for departure at first light.
The guards did their rounds, but the girl knew them by heart.
Those few who passed her by at this hour would pay her no mind, as they always did. They were likely just as lost as she was. No, I am not lost. I am just no one, She told herself, repressing the parts of her that still clung to Arya Stark, to those she had once known as family.
But that was long ago. They were all as dead as Arya Stark was.
The Rosemary and Thyme, a stupid name in her opinion, was not the most extravagant of whorehouses. The girl had never posed as one of the girls here before, but she had experience enough with killing a man while he thought he was about to wet his cock.
None had succeeded doing so yet. She endeavored to keep it that way.
Integrating herself with the other girls proved easy enough, she wore the face of their friend after all. The night's festivities had just begun, and while the men chose their girls she scanned those present for her target.
But her grey eyes caught sight of someone else first. Someone who should not have been present. Someone with eyes the same shade as her own, and hair as dark as the night sky. A face whom had been absent from years but one never to be forgotten, buried too deep in her memories from when she was not no one.
No. No, no, no, no, no, she told herself over and over. He…He went to the Wall, never to return. Never to lay with a woman or ever leave Castle Black! Yet there we stood, her half-brother, the sibling she missed the most.
The one she had loved most.
The years proved to only add to his dark beauty, and so did the scars he now bore on his face. It took all she had to maintain her facade as the whore and not let Arya surge to the surface. It was difficult, supremely difficult. Especially as the girls who were the loveliest in the establishment, at least those who had not already been taken, were lined up before him.
"So, do you find my best ladies to your liking, my Lord?" Arya, or the girl, wished to rip the older woman's throat out as she stood rigidly still as her brother looked over each of the girls as she was forced to listen. The thought of him laying with another stirred things inside of her chest she thought long since dead.
To her great joy, Jon shook his head. His face… hesitant, as if somewhere he felt out of place. "Can I see the others, you have? Mayhaps a… maiden?"
"But of course. Fetch them," the brothel's proprietor instructed. The other girls all looked displeased and voiced such as they walked past her.
The thought was intrusive, like a spear ramming into the thick skin and blubber of a great whale. The girl shook inwardly, struggling with the intrusive thoughts - the irresistible impulses. Of the soul buried long before underneath the training of the Faceless Men that had sought to destroy it. They'd beat it into her, the need to give up all that they had and all that they were. Arya had thought it wouldn't be difficult, given she had so little left. Her family members were lost to her, likely all dead. Why not give it up to be something greater than oneself?
When Jon's eyes scanned about the dimly lit brothel, for a split-second they locked with hers. The futility of it all became gospel. All the cruel, furious efforts of the Waif died right then and there. A girl could not be no one if she had loved ones left in her life, and here was the one the girl had loved the most.
Not just as a brother - the deepest secret of her past. The love that burst for him beyond that of a sister.
A girl wasn't no one.
She was Arya Stark of Winterfell. And Arya, she knew what she needed to do.
Looking over herself, she inspected her new face for a moment in a nearby looking glass. Her hair was a chestnut color rather than her dark brown. Her eyes were blue, just like Sansa and her mother's were. She looked good enough, definitely worth fucking for one night.
Just for one night, she told herself as she approached the house's mistress. One night, while I can. It was madness, but she appeared a different person, and her soul yearned for it. To feel Jon's love, even if it was to some person he didn't recognize, would heal her heart. The wounds she didn't know remained.
Gods forgive her.
Father, please forgive me, but I need him.
"Yes? What is it, girl?" The older woman had asked without turning to face her.
"My lady, I am a maiden." Her voice was a pitch higher than how she was used to speaking. "If that man wishes for a woman who has yet to lay with a man, I am more than willing to accommodate."
The Rosemary and Thyme's proprietor turned to look at her, her brow arched for a moment. "Hmm, decent hips, breasts that aren't too small,and a decent enough face. You're certain you won't be making a fool of me by sending you to him?"
"I am,"
They stared into one another's eyes for a long moment before the mistress motioned for her to go to Jon. "I had best hear nothing but good things about you, girl."
Arya could not help but smile. It was the first real smile she had worn in years.
"I don't want you to do this, Jon." She clung to him, possessive. Hands gripping his back and lips pressing to his lips, cheek, and neck as if claiming her territory - which in effect he was. "The thought of you among… those women…" She shuddered, scowling.
Jon shook his head. "I'm not going there by choice."
"Then why?" She bit her lip, anger changing quickly to something else. "Am I not enough?"
"Never."
"Then what?"
"I…" He gulped, sighing. "Because they told me that I must. The dreams." It coaxed a sigh from her, and then a nod. No further complaint, though her kisses grew ardent, her touches desperate. Irrationally fearing him straying from her, but a fear he indulged.
Jon Snow's eyes opened, the scent of expensive, pleasant perfume assaulting his nose. Belying the courtesans that began to surround him, plying their wares before his eyes. Exposed midriffs and legs slim and tantalizing, gauzy fabric revealing everything but hips and breasts - some had to remain mysterious to tempt the higher clientele of this place. "So, do you find my best ladies to your liking, my Lord?" purred the proprietor. "Or mayhaps you desire me?" She batted her lashes at him, a woman older than the others here but still beautiful. Like Lady Catelyn or Queen Cersei when the King arrived in Winterfell.
Gods, that felt like a lifetime ago.
He shook his head, the woman's expression not faltering. One would be unwise to let personal desire sway you in her line of work. "Can I see the others, you have? Mayhaps a… maiden?"
Her smile brightened. "But of course." They fetched a higher price, hence her excitement. "Get them," she told her attendant. He took a seat in one of the plush chairs, waiting. Watching how the attendant murmured something to the proprietor, who then smiled at Jon and excused herself, departing with a swish of her gossamer dress.
Jon sighed to himself, wondering how the dreams had drawn him here. The man he had been wouldn't have been caught dead here, while the man he was now found it beneath him. Beneath the honor of the blood in his veins. None of the whores could hold a candle to his late wife, or his current wife, and regardless of what the gods and his ancestors demanded of him he wouldn't betray…
"Pardon the wait, my Lord, but I have found just the maiden for you." The proprietor smiled toothily, hands on the shoulders of her girl. "This one requested you by name."
This was ridiculous. This had gone to far. Greensight or not, dragon dreams or not, Jon wasn't about to play a mummer's farce with some whore when he had the most beautiful woman… Looking up, his train of thought fell off a cliff.
The maiden produced by the Rosemary and Thyme was… pretty but not anything objectively special to a man who had seen the greatest beauties of Westeros. She was short and petite - slender in a manner that promised fitness, as Ygritte had been. Her brown hair was cut into a bob that half-covered her shoulders, and a heart-shaped face framed blue eyes and a little bulb of a nose. Cute, very cute, especially how her tongue wetted her inviting lips as she watched him. As was the blush that adored her cheeks.
She was shy, but entranced by him. Just as Jon was suddenly entranced by her. Why? Hells if he knew, beyond explaining some convoluted mess of how the gods intended by destiny to be here, just as he was supposed to be in Gulltown at the right moment after taking that ship from Eastwatch.
That alone kept him in the middle of this. Standing before this maiden in the employ of a Braavosi brothel. There was something… some part of her that seemed familiar, though Jon couldn't quite place it.
He had to be alone with her, even if just to talk and find an answer to what the dragon dreams were drawing him to. "What's your name?" Jon asked.
"I…" the girl stammered. "Mercy, my Lord."
"As you can see, she's educated enough for a Lord such as yourself," the proprietor spun. "I think she likes you. Such connection is hard to find."
"I can imagine," he muttered, eyes only for the girl. "Alright, then." Digging out a few gold dragons, he handed them out. "I'll take her for the night."
"Excellent choice. Plenty of free chambers on the top floor… only the best for a girl's first time." Right, she was a maiden. "Give the Lord all he wants, Mercy. Judging by this one, you'll be well satisfied." The girl, Mercy, bobbed her head and reached out to grab his hand and lead him upstairs.
A warmth covered his hand as their fingers brushed. Based on the hitch in her breath, she felt it too.
The chamber on the third floor of the brothel was one of the most opulent there. Only for the best clients - granted the Rosemary and Thyme wasn't the most opulent of establishments. Those likely looked like palaces, while the priciest of courtesans entertained in private villas of their own. Yet Arya was sure the plush carpet, silk upholstery, and large, poster bed were only reserved for those who paid top prices.
How did Jon get that much coin?
How did he flee from the Watch? Was he a deserter? Questions that swirled in his mind, but that she couldn't openly ask. Not as 'Mercy.' Not as someone disobeying her own order.
For Jon she would. After all, it was just a delay for now.
"So," he began, his gravelly voice making her legs quiver - oh, how things were different now. With her as a woman grown, fully flowered. "You're a maiden?"
She nodded. "Aye."
"Your first time, um… entertaining clients?"
"Aye." What could she say? Fuck, even her voice wasn't Arya Stark's. It felt so… wrong, deceiving Jon.
Would he bed you otherwise?
Arya wanted to bed him.
"We don't have to do anything, I promise." She blinked. What? "Something brought me here, not that I would ever visit a place like this."
She allowed herself a smirk, steadying her. "No, you do not." Gods, part of him was the same Jon. Her heart clenched at that. "But you paid for me… and better I lose my maidenhead to someone kind."
He cocked his head at her. "How do you know I'm kind?"
"You have that look. A girl can tell." Arya walked to him. "Do you want me to undress for you?" She tried to be seductive - Arya knew she failed.
Jon chuckled, but drew her in for a hug. A hand hesitatingly reaching her lower back… then cupping her arse. She yelped, but smiled at him. It felt good. "Let me first." She stepped back, her mouth watering without intending to. She'd seen Jon shirtless before - a star of her dreams before even realizing what lust was - but now everything was different.
Seeing his chest proved more was different than she expected. Littered with scars. "What… what happened?" Her voice was hesitant, fearful. Those weren't wounds one survived.
He winced. "Long story, but I lived…"
There was much hidden there, but Arya knew he didn't want to talk about it. She wouldn't pry, forcing herself to ignore it. Focus on his muscles. Made easier when he dropped his trousers, her eyes widening at his cock.
Fuck, it was huge.
She wanted to suck it.
She was about to get onto her knees, when a hand stopped her. "You truly haven't done anything before, have you?"
Could she bluff her way out of it? No, she couldn't. There was a difference between a lie of omission and a deliberate lie, and she couldn't deliberately lie to Jon - the brother she loved and the man she pined for. "I haven't."
He gave her a smile. "Alright then." Grabbing her, she yelped as Jon lifted her up by the waist with his strength, dropping her on the bed. Arya would be lying if the show of strength didn't make her cunt clench. "I won't say I wasn't yearning to feel your mouth on my cock, but I can't leave one's first time to be about me."
Arya's heart clenched, surging with love for him while desperate not to let 'Mercy' show tears. "You're awfully considerate over a whore, Lord Snow."
"You're a young woman, and a maiden. My father taught me honor." Their father. "Although… I'd not have an inexperienced girl biting my cock by accident." An attempt at humor, one that made Arya giggle. "I knew someone who that happened to. Hilarious, but not to him." Arya remembered that, the last time Theon purchased a maiden for a night. Her giggles turned to pure laughter…
And then to moans as Jon brought his mouth to her cunt.
Jon's heart thundered in his chest as Mercy lay back on the bed, her legs parting. It was a great contrast, the innocent glint in her eye and biting of her lower lip standing against the sultry sin of her glistening folds revealed to him. Jon's breath hitched, feeling a primal hunger at her pink, wet pussy.
He'd only bedded two women before, both whom had taken his heart captive. Why did he feel similarly for this… whore?
"Lord Snow?" Her voice was a hesitant murmur, though Jon caught the undercurrent of desire beneath. "Come here. Please?" The latter felt desperate.
The gods brought him here, so who was he to question them?
Licking his lips, Jon moved between her legs. His eyes locked on her exposed sex, caressing the pale skin of her thighs. It caused her to sigh breathlessly, while the scent of her arousal filled caused him to groan.
'Start slow,' Ygritte's instructions played through his mind. 'Slit first, then nub.'
Her juices tasted as sweet as they looked, Jon's tongue blazing a trail up her slit. Slow for the first swipe, but each coming after grew quicker and firmer. A smirk curled on his lips when her legs spasmed. Mercy gasped, hand reaching out to claw at the bedsheets. "Oh gods… what is this?"
"The Lord's Kiss, they call it," he replied, grabbing her thighs. Thumbs caressing the sensitive skin as he plunged his tongue deep into her. Earning a sharp gasp at his fervor. "Do you want…"
"Keep going, please," she begged. Encouraged by her response, Jon moved up. Reaching her clit and lapping at it with ardor. His tongue moved in practiced circles and flicks. No words needed to be shared, for Mercy's hands found his hair, pulling. Tugging. Holding him in place with a desperate need.
Jon obeyed, capturing her clit between his lips and sucking gently while his tongue continued its relentless assault. Her hips bucked against him, and he felt the slickness of her arousal increase.
Her cries grew louder, each one spurring Jon on as he devoured her with increasing urgency. These weren't those of a practiced whore, knowing what to say and how to please a man's ego - how did Jon tell? He just did. The utter ecstasy on Mercy's face couldn't be faked as he drank in her juices.
"Lord Snow," she gasped, her voice breaking with raw need. "I'm close… don't stop!" He ran his tongue back to her clit, lashing it while two fingers probed shallowly into her cunt. Careful as they brushed her maidenhead, proving to him that she was indeed a maiden.
How wild she bucked at his fingers, almost tearing out his hair, he didn't want to tear it yet.
"Yesss…" Finally did Mercy's entire body tense beneath him. She cried out as her orgasm overtook her, the sound echoing through the chamber. The most pleasing of songs to his ears. "Oh… I… Jon…" She whispered his name as if godly, hands gently caressing his scalp.
If he didn't know better, Jon would've sworn this girl was falling for him.
Mayhaps she is. The voice of his dreams, the melodic presence that had alerted him to so much since his…
No, he wouldn't think of it again.
"Come're." Quite demanding for a whore, but Jon saw firmness in her gaze as she beckoned him. Making his already solid cock pulse with need and he obeyed. Climbing up her, Mercy tugging on his shoulders to meet her lips in a searing kiss. Their tongues danced together passionately.
Her hand moved between them, wrapping around his cock. She stroked him firmly but tenderly. "How is this gonna fit in me?" she asked, a mix of apprehension and lust.
Jon chuckled. "Hasn't been too hard in the past." That drew a glare from her - almost… jealousy? "Just gotta get the girl wet enough. You're fine." His cock poked at her cunt, making her gasp. Yes, she was plenty wet. "This is… going to hurt." He winced, not wanting to cause her pain.
Remembering it from another encounter brought him nothing but regret, even if it had been amazing not long after.
Mercy encircled his neck, kissing him. "Just do it. I'll be fine." She smiled at him, one that crushed him. So familiar was it, his mind spinning to try and place it. "Fuck me, please."
How could he resist? With that, he pushed inside. Slowly at first, gritting his teeth as the incomprehensibly tight cunt melded around his head. Watching her mouth open, the girl spellbound. "Here it goes." A single thrust broke her maidenhead. Wetness slick, his cock bottomed out. Staying there.
She winced, tensing up in his arms. "Fuck…" Not in pleasure.
"Mercy?" A tenderness shocking to give to a whore.
"Hurts… but fine… oh gods, you're in me." Her eyes fluttered, legs encircling him. "Just wait a moment…" Suddenly Jon flipped them, Mercy gasping. "What are…"
His lips encircled around a nipple, making her moan. "You're in control. It'll be better." Jon couldn't deny he enjoyed suckling her, as if a babe at a mother's teat. Switching every minute, each suck or nibble made her cunt pulse, heaven upon his cock. Her tells of pain slowly began to disappear… until nothing but pleasure wrote itself on her face. "Ride me, please," he begged.
"Fuck…" Mercy cried. Pain a thing of the past, with a swift downward motion she impaled herself on his cock. The movements were at first hesitant, less from discomfort than inexperience of the petite beauty straddling a man much larger than she, but soon she began to ride him with abandon, her hips undulating in a sensual rhythm.
"Mercy…" he groaned as she took him deeper with each plunge.
"Ah fuck, yes!" She sat up, his lips detached from her nipple. It didn't bother him much, for the sight of her tits bouncing hypnotically with each upward thrust was a sight to behold. "How… how is it this good? Your cock?"
He chuckled. "You're good at this, love…" The girl rode Jon with wild abandon, her pussy clenching rhythmically. Her hands reached to brace themselves on his chest, near his scars - it ought to have made him tense, but not. It felt good, her palms. Her wild yet gentle touch. Even as she braced herself with them to practically leap upon his cock, the wet clap of pelvises echoing through the chamber.
Adding his upward thrusts to the mix, they made her wail. "Fuck me harder, Jon!" Mercy demanded breathlessly, throwing her head back in rapture. "Take me! Take me!" His hips slamming upwards to meet hers, the force of his thrusts jostling her entire body. "Yes… yes… Jon!"
Mercy's face was perfect when she came. A wailing cry, hands digging into the muscles of his chest for support as her rocking hips seized around him. Jaw dropped, eyes closed as she was lost to the pleasure. Squeezing her breasts, Jon was struck by a sudden urge. Needing to touch her, to caress her cheek as she cried through her first climax.
He did so. Reaching up, touching her face. Mercy acted on instinct, sucking his thumb into her mouth, biting it. Jon didn't expect it, jerking back…
And ripping her skin away with it.
The effect was delayed. The rational part of Arya's mind could piece it together if it was functional. So lost in the pleasure of the thickness stretching her insides - of her own undulating cunt snug around him in Jon's perspective no doubt - neither of them put it together till the seconds passed. To her credit, she felt the sea breeze against her now bare cheek before she heard his gasp. "What the…?"
His cock tensed inside her, stilling its motions.
Arya froze, a chill coursing through her. Not the pleasing sort - a deep fear, joined by a cold sweat.
"Seven Hells," she heard Jon hiss, reverence morphing into hostility even if he'd not removed himself from her.
No, no, no…! He would, of this Arya was sure. She was left with no choice. Jon would kill her unless she exposed herself - but would his certain rejection…
The thought made her want to die. Jon's rejection, after finally getting what she wanted all her life…
But she didn't.
Before he could shove her off - to come later, no doubt - Arya preempted her brother by reaching behind her hair. No, the hair of the long fled whore, feeling the skin tear off her own as she pulled. The breeze bracketed her face, the gentle fire from the hearth countering with a bath of warmth. Leaving no doubt as to her features.
She was a woman grown, but still Arya Stark. Her eyes were shot, not wanting to see the shock and disgust on his face. Still sheathed around him, Arya took one last snapshot of the pleasure. Leaving it as a final memory before Jon understood and hurled her away. Destroying the best moment of her life so far.
Silence reigned, only a twitch of his cock inside her that made Arya shudder in spite of herself proving him even alive. Until she heard his voice. "Arya? Is that you?"
Her lip quivered. Jon's voice, directed at her - her - for the first time in five years was like a knife to the heart. Arya's eyes stayed closed, unwilling to risk it. Even if Jon's voice was calm.
Even if his cock remained hard inside of her. The smallest of movements threatening to make her moan.
Damn her body.
Damn her love for him.
Arya's resolve suffered a fatal blow when she felt his palm on her cheek. The calloused hands, the veterans of many battles and struggles… but just as soft and caring as from their youth as Jon caressed her skin. They forced her to open her eyes, to lock with Jon's.
The same shade of grey.
"Arya… it is you," he choked out, looking so handsome.
Forced to nod, she sniffled. Trying not to move as she thought of the right words. "Aye, brother. It's me." Shaking her head back and forth, her hair covered her eyes. Obscuring a particular look on Jon's face. "When I saw you I… I just had to… I'm sorry. If you hate me now…"
Whatever words she managed to come up with died when Jon's loving touch grew powerful. Firm, grabbing her shoulder and yanking her down. Arya barely had time to gasp before his lips were on hers. This was not like before, a deep, ravenous hunger present. Forcing his tongue down her throat and drawing the most lustful moan from her.
Jon flipped her over, immediately thrusting. Yanking his cock out till only the tip remained… then bottoming out so hard it hurt. Hurt so good. Arya's arms encircled him by instinct. Digging into his flesh just to handle it.
Yes… yes… yes…
"I can't believe it's you," he breathed between kisses. "I thought you… fuck… that you were dead…" Jon panted against her cheek, only to start kissing down it. Reaching her neck, sending pulses of lightning down her body with sloppy licks and sucks. "You're so beautiful."
Arya continued to claw at his flesh, legs quivering as his thrusts changed. The Valyrian steel cock buried so deep it hit against the head of her womb. How was that even possible? "Oh… Jon…" Her lips warbled from the emotions… and his perfect thrusts. "I… I love you."
"I love you too." Warmth surged through her soul. "You were always pretty, but damned if you're… not fucking beautiful." His breath was hot on her ear, tongue drawing her earlobe betwixt his teeth. No one told her how wonderful sex could be, let alone that an earlobe could make her cunt pulse. "Why… why'd you hide from me?"
The lust jumbling her mind couldn't banish all logic. To explain she was trained as some demonic assassin wasn't wise for the moment in Arya's mind. "Jon…" She begged desperately, squeezing her legs tighter around his waist, begging him to fuck her faster. Deeper. But damn him, he continued slow. Slow but… agonizingly deep. "I always… wanted you."
"Really?" He chuckled and kissed her again. Arya plunged her tongue into his mouth, only to moan when he pulled back. "I would've chosen you in a heartbeat." He punctuated his statement with another thrust from another angle. Scraping against a spongy part of her cunt that just…
Arya screamed. Literally screamed. "You would've? I… I never thought…" She pulled Jon's mouth back to hers, kissing him again.
"Lot changed," he murmured against her lips. "Now tell me, do you like my cock, sweet sister?"
Sweet sister? Why did it make her cunt gush? "Fuck it, yes!" Arya exclaimed. "Gods help me, keep calling me that!"
"Sweet sister. I want you to cum for me."
"Yes, make me cum! Big brother!" It wasn't just her ignited by their relation. Jon dragged her lips to his, kissing her deeply and this time never letting go. Arya screamed into his mouth, moaning like a bitch in heat. That's what she was, as much a snarling wolf as she was.
Only an hour before she had her maidenhead, but Arya felt as if she'd been fucking him for ages. The kiss was almost violent, the powerful clap of his pelvis against hers bruising him while she was sure her fingernails gouged so deep into his skin that they left blood. She hoped it did, marking him as hers.
"Oh gods!" Arya cried. Yet again he pulled out to just the tip of his cunt, only to slam to the hilt in her sopping cunt, stretching her nether lips wide.
"You're so fucking tight," Jon groaned. "Tighter than a vice."
"No cock can be as big as yours," Arya growled, wiggling her hips. "I'm so close. Fuck me harder. Hurt me. Wreck me for others."
He bit her lip. "There will be no other men." Arya gasped at how feral he sounded. Almost a roar. "Only me."
"Only you!" She kissed him again, bucking her hips. Taking more and more of his massive cock. Conquering him. Arya moaned in ecstasy. "Oh gods, fuck me!" Arya cried. "I'm so close!"
"Fuck, Arry!" Jon's cock pulsed, and she felt the first squirt of seed.
"Oh gods, Jon…" Her own scream drowned in his mouth, the two of them never breaking their kiss while her cunt came undone. Milking him, begging for his seed.
The unbidden thought emerged from her. Of a home. A son or daughter playing with her father. Looking perfectly Stark, if but a flash of purple eyes.
A thought she never imagined, but one she now desired with him - if his seed took root. Please let it quicken…
One moment they were tense, riding the wave… only for him to collapse on top of her. Limp as anything. Only enough energy to flip them over. She hummed, loving his consideration. "I love you," she murmured, the common words between them taking a new meaning.
He idly reached to stroke her back. "I love you too." To this they laid together, simply enjoying themselves.
Inhaling his scent, Arya sighed happily. On a whim she nuzzled the skin of his chest. "I know not why you're here in Braavos, but I thank the gods all the same." She'd be content to lay here in his arms - his hand ghosting down her spine in a way that made her shiver - but her words stuck in her mind. "Brother?" Arya lifted her head, looking at him. "Why are you in Braavos?"
The serenity on his face changed. First he sighed, then he narrowed his eyes with a firm expression. "A journey… something important I had to do."
"Was it because…?" Arya trailed off, looking at his scars. Lip quivering at the painful thoughts.
Jon reached for her. His kiss bruising, only pulling back after his stroking tongue coaxed a moan from her. "I am here." He took her hand to cover his heart
Feeling his warmth, his heartbeat, Arya smiled softly. He still knew her well - and now knew her intimately. That thought made her grin. "So why are you here… lover?"
He chuckled at the last. "Lover, eh? Suppose I am." Jon ran his hand up and down her waist and she almost tackled him then and there… but she still needed to know. "I'm going to Meereen."
"Meereen?" It clicked and she frowned. "Daenerys Targaryen?" Jon nodded. "You know what her family did to ours, right?"
Something looked to be on the tip of his tongue, but he demurred. "She's the only one who can give me refuge right now." Arya blinked, skeptical… only for him to take her hand. "I'll tell you everything, trust me." Gods help her, she did. "But first we need to get you out of the city."
"Right… right, of course." The city, what she would give up to go with him… Oh fuck. Her heart started to beat.
Her brother had already sat up. "Whatever you're doing here, it stops. We'll go to wherever you're staying and…"
"No!" Her snap seemed to startle him, Arya sucking in deep breaths to calm herself. "We need to leave now. I mean within the hour."
"Within the hour?" He eyed her panic with confusion. "Arya, what have you…"
"I'll tell you everything later," she threw his words back at him. "Just trust me." Arya didn't need to worry. He nodded immediately, making her kiss him.
She could do that now.
Whenever she wanted. Arya hadn't felt this great a joy since father had first hired Syrio to train her. "Let me get dressed." She scrambled out of bed, grabbing her clothes. "You already paid and no one expects my face here so we can probably slip out quickly…" Trailing off, she felt his eyes on her. "What?" Arya turned around.
Jon said nothing, his eyes merely moving from her hips to her chest. Tongue wetting his lips.
She quickly understood. "Lecher!" Arya grabbed his tunic and threw it at him. "You're worse than Theon."
"You love it."
That mollified her, and she smiled. "I do… and I love you." Words with a different - and better - meaning now.
"I love you too."
Biting her lip, Arya turned away. "Now get dressed, idiot." He laughed, the same laugh from their youth. Before she knew it, Arya laughed as well.
"You realize the further we get away from the sea, the less likely there'll be a boat to hire to get us to Slaver's Bay."
Arya derived a perverse satisfaction from watching her brother - her newfound lover - roll his eyes. Exasperation covering his face. "For the last time, we're not hiring a boat." He pulled himself up the hill, hands gripping the rocks before he turned to offer her a hand. Arya scoffed, but took the proffered grip. Jon was taller than her after all. "And I believe it's called something else now, given Daenerys ended slavery."
"One of the few good things the Targaryens have done," she muttered under her breath, too focused on wiping the sheen of sweat off her forehead to notice him tensing. "But how the fuck are we gonna get there? By land?" She shook her head. "That'll take fucking forever, if we don't get ambushed by bandits or Dothraki."
"No, we're not going by land," he replied cryptically. "Same way I got to Braavos."
She blinked, staring at the back of his head in confusion. "How else would you get here, if not by boat?" Pushing aside the bushes of the forest outside Braavos, Jon did not answer her. "Jon? Brother?" Arya had it in her mind to thump him. "You're starting to annoy me."
The smirk on his face was obvious even without seeing his face. "It's as if we didn't even leave Winterfell… well, you're prettier now."
Petty and vain as it could be, that comment made her blush. "Charmer." So this was flirting. This was what it was like to flirt with one's lover.
It still felt stupid, but doing it with Jon felt… good as well. Only with him.
So distracted was she in her new relationship, Arya didn't notice the giant ball of white fur until it collided with Jon. "Ghost! Down boy!" he shouted, but mixed with laughter.
Arya covered her mouth with her fingers to stifle the giggle. It was so damn sweet, seeing the overgrown pup lick his face with that big pink tongue. "He's grown a lot." She approached, ruffling the fur. "Still a cutie." Ghost leaned into her pets, tongue rolled out.
Her hands were still on Ghost when the ground rumbled under her feet. "Boy, wait!" she heard Jon cry, this time a more fearful sort of frantic. "Not yet, I need to tell Arya…"
Tensing as the ground continued to rumble, a loud roar curdled her very blood. She looked up and almost screamed when a large head covered in green scales emerged from the forest to stare at them. "Jon! Run!" That… that was a fucking dragon! Didn't need to see one before to know what it was.
But Jon ran towards the maddening beast… and Arya's jaw dropped when the monster lowered his head to lick his face. "Rhaegal, enough!" he blubbered.
Another voice cried out. If Arya had been in any mental state to notice it, she would've recognized it as immediately as she had Jon's in the brothel. "Thank the gods you're… Arya!"
It wasn't until a delicate pair of arms wrapped around her and lifted her up did Arya snap out of her utter shock and terror. Red hair flashed in the sun, as did the blue eyes. "Sansa?"
"So you're what the dreams said… oh, gods, Arya. Thank the gods you're here." Tears streamed down her sister's face, and for the briefest of moments Arya felt the same emotions, hugging Sansa back. "I thought you were dead…"
"I thought the Lannisters killed you," she breathed. Reunited with Jon and Sansa in the same day… "Wait…" She peeked over Sansa's shoulder and saw Jon next to the dragon. "We need to get out of here…"
"What…" Sansa seemed to realize, only to start laughing. "You sweet summer's child." Letting go of her sister, Sansa walked to Jon. "You didn't tell her about Rhaegal?"
"I thought it best for her to see him, but she didn't give me much time before we had to leave Braavos."
Sansa's brows furrowed. "Why were you in such a hurry, little sister…?"
Hands raised to interrupt, Arya opened her mouth several times, only for the words to die on her tongue. How can I find the right words?
When would anyone, let alone me, find a living dragon in possession of Jon and Sansa?! That hadn't been something she'd ever thought she'd experience, and her life was one of shock and surprise - often of the horrible sort.
Sansa, crossing her arms, ended up smirking at her. Something akin to when they were still innocent children. "Tongue tied, sister?"
Arya scowled. "Shut up." She shook her head. "What in the seven hells?! I mean, you showing up in Braavos is shocking, Jon. Then I see Sansa here, which also surprised me. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy about it and the surprise isn't illogical in the sense of…" Arya paused, she was rambling. "But how in the fuck is there a dragon here? That you're petting as if Ghost, brother?" An eyelid drew back to reveal an amber eye flickering towards Arya, and she flinched a bit. Taking a step back.
Furrowing her brows, Sansa turned to Jon. "You didn't tell her?"
Hand still on the dragon's snout, Jon shrugged. Looking sheepish. "Never had the right moment to… um… tell her."
Sansa rolled her eyes, looking at Arya before chuckling. "Gods, what am I to do with you, husband?" With that, she pecked Jon on the cheek. Not anything by itself, but paired with her words, lingering lips, and a brush of her fingers against his, it was altogether intimate. Akin to their mother when particularly close to their father.
Arya felt her anger rise without thinking. "Husband?! He's mi…" She clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing it was best to shut up.
Too late. Sansa blinked, then glared at Jon. "You lecher." She smacked Jon on the shoulder once, then twice… then a few more times. It was clear from her efforts - or lack thereof - and his reaction of just letting her that Sansa's heart wasn't into it. "I suppose I should've had an inkling. We'll be discussing this later," there was some venom in her voice. "But I knew what I was getting into by marrying a Targaryen."
"Targaryen?!" Everything was too much for Arya… everything. Her legs wobbled, causing her to stumble back until she rested her back against a tree. "Jon?" she managed to get out.
His eyes shifted to Sansa, then back to Arya. He covered his face with his hand, only to be roused when the green dragon nudged him. As if nudged and nuzzled by Ghost's snout, only two hundred times bigger. The gesture seemed to calm him, and he turned his head to rest his forehead against the beast. "Jaehaerys."
Arya blinked. "What?"
"That's my name, Jaehaerys."
"Jaehaerys Targaryen," Sansa repeated in a breathless voice, rubbing her hand up and down Jon's arm with look full of adoration.
"And this is Rhaegal." He met Arya's gaze and had the decency to look sheepish in the face of her dumbfounded stare. "It's a long story."
Thank the gods the tree held her up.
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