fic, ASOIAF: bless his ever loving heart (Jon/Sam), NC17
Title: bless his ever loving heart
Pairing: Jon/Sam
Rating: NC17
Word count: 1500 ca
Spoilers: for 1x04 [this is show-based].
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: everything belongs to HBO and GRRM, the title to Nick Cave, I don't own anything.
Summary: wherein Allister Thorne doesn't interrupt Jon and Sam's conversation about knowing where to put it.
A/N: written for the last porn battle round, for the prompt warmth and trust. Pure self-indulgence.
Honestly, Sam hadn’t thought that this would happen. Fine, he knows that knowing where to put it might be a touchy subject, but he really hadn’t thought about it much before saying it for the second time. It’s just - he’s never really had friends and he hasn’t really had the occasion to joke about this kind of thing with anyone. And while with everyone else he wouldn’t have dared, with Jon it just came naturally. Being around Jon doesn’t make him feel as self-conscious as being around the rest of the world does, and so he had said it, just because he thought they’d have a laugh and maybe it’d stop Jon from looking this gloomy (he likes it better when Jon smiles).
He hadn’t expected Jon to look up at him and run to the other side of the table or to find himself pushed against the wall.
He definitely hadn’t expected Jon to kiss him.
For a moment he just freezes there without an idea of what he should do, but it doesn’t last long. He’d have never had the guts to do this himself (but he has thought about it, oh he has, from the moment Jon came into his line of sight and earned bruises that were meant for him, and he might have dreamed about that too, a couple of times), but the moment he realizes that Jon might stop this if he thinks that it’s not welcomed, he starts kissing back, and then - then he also forgets that anyone might catch them. He forgets about everything that isn’t Jon’s mouth on his, that isn’t Jon’s cold, cracked lips turning to warm and soft as they kiss, that isn’t Jon’s tongue moving against his own, that isn’t Jon’s hands moving down towards his hips and gripping hard enough to bruise.
When their lips part, Jon is breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed, and Sam suddenly doesn’t really feel cold anymore. There’s heat everywhere, his blood feels as if boiling, Jon’s body against his feels warm in the way nothing else has felt since Sam arrived here. When he brings a hand up to Jon’s neck and kisses him again, it feels even better - Jon doesn’t rush it when Sam keeps it slow, and he has thought about kissing girls, fine, but fantasies that he knew weren’t coming true anytime soon pale in comparison to the way Jon’s tongue rungs along his teeth or to the soft moan that escapes from Jon’s mouth when they part again.
“So,” Jon whispers, “do you know where to put it?”
He sounds - oh gods, Sam doesn’t even know how to put into words what that tone is doing to him, and he doesn’t know which part of him finds the courage to move his hand down until it presses flat on the small of Jon’s back.
“A little lower than that, I reckon,” he says, and he knows he’s blushing, and while he feels his cock stirring inside his breeches he can also feel Jon’s pressing against his leg, and Sam can’t seriously believe that this is happening because of him - he can believe the contrary without many problems, but this? He needs to wrap his head around it.
And then he realizes that there’s no way they can stop this now, not when Jon’s pupils are slightly blown and when in a minute or two he’ll physically need to have his cock out of his breeches. Then he remembers that there’s a small storage room to their left.
“Jon - we should -” he glances at the door and Jon nods when he figures out what Sam is suggesting.
Thirty seconds later, the door is shut behind Sam’s back and Jon is working at his own belt while Sam does the same. He needs it to be gone. Now.
He pushes his breeches down and then Jon is on him again, his cock rubbing against Sam’s, and Sam doesn’t moan out loud only because he’s smart enough to bite down on his own tongue hard enough that it almost bleeds.
It’s almost dark in here - there’s a small window on the top of the wall, but as things are he feels Jon more than seeing him properly, and Sam doesn’t know whether he likes it better or not.
But there’s one thing that he knows and that he can’t ignore (he knows how this works between two men, he had plenty of time to read before coming here).
“Do you think -” he starts, then swallows when Jon’s hand starts moving down from his hip. “Maybe - if we both haven’t, I’m not sure this is the right place.”
He just hopes that Jon gets it, because that surely wasn’t his most eloquent speech (not that he’s good at eloquence at all), and then he feels Jon smiling against his cheek while that hand wraps around Sam’s cock, giving it a slow stroke.
“Then maybe you should - come to my room when we’re both off duty?” Jon’s voice sounds slightly hesitant now, and Sam would really like to know why (he should be the one hesitating), but he’ll worry about that later.
“So… you’d like that?”
Jon doesn’t answer, but his fingers stroking Sam’s cock again before his lips find Sam’s again after a bit of fumbling don’t leave much doubt.
Sam tries to move his own hand down as well, feeling for Jon’s, and Jon bites into his shoulder the second his fingers brush against his and find Jon’s cock. Which is hard and wet against Sam’s hand, but it doesn’t really feel strange than touching his own, and then he moves so that the two of them are lined up, Jon’s cock touching his own. Jon bites down into his shoulder again when they start moving and rubbing against each other, both of their hands stroking each other here and there and brushing in between, and it’s not as rushed as he’d have thought. It’s - nice, really, just to do it without hurrying, when he can feel everything Jon says as he whispers it against his skin, and it’s nothing like doing it on your own.
He’s not surprised that when they find their release it’s almost as the same time; Jon comes a moment first, spilling against Sam’s hand, his head still pressed against Sam’s shoulder. Sam wishes he didn’t have to do it, he wishes he didn’t have to bite down on his tongue again, but maybe if they do bring it to Jon’s room they won’t risk getting caught, will they. And that’s what sends Sam over the edge - the idea of the two of them doing this in a bed (relatively comfortable, in comparison to the kitchen’s storage room), a fire going on nearby, enough time to touch Jon in every way he’d like to; before he knows, he’s coming all over Jon’s hand and Jon’s stomach, and it feels so good, nothing like the release brought by his own hands while thinking about girls who’d never look at him twice. He shudders in pleasure while Jon shakes against him for the same reasons, his hands holding on to Sam’s shoulders as if he’d fall down on his knees if he let go, and Sam feels warmth wash all over him, making him forget the cold of this place completely.
He’s also glad that this is the place where they keep the rags they use to clean the tables - they’ll find something to clean up with at least. Jon moves his head away a moment later, but he doesn’t take a step back or attempt to move further.
“So,” Sam blurts before he can change idea. “Should I - this evening? I’m off duty.”
With his eyes having adjusted to the darkness, he can see Jon smiling as he answers, pulling away and reaching for one of the rags folded on a shelf nearby.
“I really think that you should.” He throws Sam a second rag and Sam tries not to think about what’s going to happen this evening. Otherwise he might as well not even attempt to clean himself up.
When they’re both done, Jon takes both rags and throws them into the small fire burning in the corner. If not for his flushed cheeks and hair that looks more unkempt than usual, no one would even suspect that they have - that they just - gods, Sam can feel himself blush just thinking about it. He goes straight back to the table and resumes cleaning, and when Jon does the same coming on his side rather than the opposite, Sam moves so that they’re standing close enough to touch even if there’s still some space between them.
When some other recruit whose name he doesn’t know comes inside a moment later and asks them why would the two of them would look so glad when scrubbing the place clean, Sam is almost tempted to answer that cleaning has nothing to do with it. He keeps his mouth shut though, and he doesn’t even pay attention to what excuse Jon manages to find.
While coming here he had thought he’d never learn to like this place, but as things are, he thinks that learning to love it might come easier than he’d have ever thought.
End.
Pairing: Jon/Sam
Rating: NC17
Word count: 1500 ca
Spoilers: for 1x04 [this is show-based].
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: everything belongs to HBO and GRRM, the title to Nick Cave, I don't own anything.
Summary: wherein Allister Thorne doesn't interrupt Jon and Sam's conversation about knowing where to put it.
A/N: written for the last porn battle round, for the prompt warmth and trust. Pure self-indulgence.
Honestly, Sam hadn’t thought that this would happen. Fine, he knows that knowing where to put it might be a touchy subject, but he really hadn’t thought about it much before saying it for the second time. It’s just - he’s never really had friends and he hasn’t really had the occasion to joke about this kind of thing with anyone. And while with everyone else he wouldn’t have dared, with Jon it just came naturally. Being around Jon doesn’t make him feel as self-conscious as being around the rest of the world does, and so he had said it, just because he thought they’d have a laugh and maybe it’d stop Jon from looking this gloomy (he likes it better when Jon smiles).
He hadn’t expected Jon to look up at him and run to the other side of the table or to find himself pushed against the wall.
He definitely hadn’t expected Jon to kiss him.
For a moment he just freezes there without an idea of what he should do, but it doesn’t last long. He’d have never had the guts to do this himself (but he has thought about it, oh he has, from the moment Jon came into his line of sight and earned bruises that were meant for him, and he might have dreamed about that too, a couple of times), but the moment he realizes that Jon might stop this if he thinks that it’s not welcomed, he starts kissing back, and then - then he also forgets that anyone might catch them. He forgets about everything that isn’t Jon’s mouth on his, that isn’t Jon’s cold, cracked lips turning to warm and soft as they kiss, that isn’t Jon’s tongue moving against his own, that isn’t Jon’s hands moving down towards his hips and gripping hard enough to bruise.
When their lips part, Jon is breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed, and Sam suddenly doesn’t really feel cold anymore. There’s heat everywhere, his blood feels as if boiling, Jon’s body against his feels warm in the way nothing else has felt since Sam arrived here. When he brings a hand up to Jon’s neck and kisses him again, it feels even better - Jon doesn’t rush it when Sam keeps it slow, and he has thought about kissing girls, fine, but fantasies that he knew weren’t coming true anytime soon pale in comparison to the way Jon’s tongue rungs along his teeth or to the soft moan that escapes from Jon’s mouth when they part again.
“So,” Jon whispers, “do you know where to put it?”
He sounds - oh gods, Sam doesn’t even know how to put into words what that tone is doing to him, and he doesn’t know which part of him finds the courage to move his hand down until it presses flat on the small of Jon’s back.
“A little lower than that, I reckon,” he says, and he knows he’s blushing, and while he feels his cock stirring inside his breeches he can also feel Jon’s pressing against his leg, and Sam can’t seriously believe that this is happening because of him - he can believe the contrary without many problems, but this? He needs to wrap his head around it.
And then he realizes that there’s no way they can stop this now, not when Jon’s pupils are slightly blown and when in a minute or two he’ll physically need to have his cock out of his breeches. Then he remembers that there’s a small storage room to their left.
“Jon - we should -” he glances at the door and Jon nods when he figures out what Sam is suggesting.
Thirty seconds later, the door is shut behind Sam’s back and Jon is working at his own belt while Sam does the same. He needs it to be gone. Now.
He pushes his breeches down and then Jon is on him again, his cock rubbing against Sam’s, and Sam doesn’t moan out loud only because he’s smart enough to bite down on his own tongue hard enough that it almost bleeds.
It’s almost dark in here - there’s a small window on the top of the wall, but as things are he feels Jon more than seeing him properly, and Sam doesn’t know whether he likes it better or not.
But there’s one thing that he knows and that he can’t ignore (he knows how this works between two men, he had plenty of time to read before coming here).
“Do you think -” he starts, then swallows when Jon’s hand starts moving down from his hip. “Maybe - if we both haven’t, I’m not sure this is the right place.”
He just hopes that Jon gets it, because that surely wasn’t his most eloquent speech (not that he’s good at eloquence at all), and then he feels Jon smiling against his cheek while that hand wraps around Sam’s cock, giving it a slow stroke.
“Then maybe you should - come to my room when we’re both off duty?” Jon’s voice sounds slightly hesitant now, and Sam would really like to know why (he should be the one hesitating), but he’ll worry about that later.
“So… you’d like that?”
Jon doesn’t answer, but his fingers stroking Sam’s cock again before his lips find Sam’s again after a bit of fumbling don’t leave much doubt.
Sam tries to move his own hand down as well, feeling for Jon’s, and Jon bites into his shoulder the second his fingers brush against his and find Jon’s cock. Which is hard and wet against Sam’s hand, but it doesn’t really feel strange than touching his own, and then he moves so that the two of them are lined up, Jon’s cock touching his own. Jon bites down into his shoulder again when they start moving and rubbing against each other, both of their hands stroking each other here and there and brushing in between, and it’s not as rushed as he’d have thought. It’s - nice, really, just to do it without hurrying, when he can feel everything Jon says as he whispers it against his skin, and it’s nothing like doing it on your own.
He’s not surprised that when they find their release it’s almost as the same time; Jon comes a moment first, spilling against Sam’s hand, his head still pressed against Sam’s shoulder. Sam wishes he didn’t have to do it, he wishes he didn’t have to bite down on his tongue again, but maybe if they do bring it to Jon’s room they won’t risk getting caught, will they. And that’s what sends Sam over the edge - the idea of the two of them doing this in a bed (relatively comfortable, in comparison to the kitchen’s storage room), a fire going on nearby, enough time to touch Jon in every way he’d like to; before he knows, he’s coming all over Jon’s hand and Jon’s stomach, and it feels so good, nothing like the release brought by his own hands while thinking about girls who’d never look at him twice. He shudders in pleasure while Jon shakes against him for the same reasons, his hands holding on to Sam’s shoulders as if he’d fall down on his knees if he let go, and Sam feels warmth wash all over him, making him forget the cold of this place completely.
He’s also glad that this is the place where they keep the rags they use to clean the tables - they’ll find something to clean up with at least. Jon moves his head away a moment later, but he doesn’t take a step back or attempt to move further.
“So,” Sam blurts before he can change idea. “Should I - this evening? I’m off duty.”
With his eyes having adjusted to the darkness, he can see Jon smiling as he answers, pulling away and reaching for one of the rags folded on a shelf nearby.
“I really think that you should.” He throws Sam a second rag and Sam tries not to think about what’s going to happen this evening. Otherwise he might as well not even attempt to clean himself up.
When they’re both done, Jon takes both rags and throws them into the small fire burning in the corner. If not for his flushed cheeks and hair that looks more unkempt than usual, no one would even suspect that they have - that they just - gods, Sam can feel himself blush just thinking about it. He goes straight back to the table and resumes cleaning, and when Jon does the same coming on his side rather than the opposite, Sam moves so that they’re standing close enough to touch even if there’s still some space between them.
When some other recruit whose name he doesn’t know comes inside a moment later and asks them why would the two of them would look so glad when scrubbing the place clean, Sam is almost tempted to answer that cleaning has nothing to do with it. He keeps his mouth shut though, and he doesn’t even pay attention to what excuse Jon manages to find.
While coming here he had thought he’d never learn to like this place, but as things are, he thinks that learning to love it might come easier than he’d have ever thought.
End.