Fanfiction: My Name and Yours
Title: My Name and Yours
Author: lokiyan
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Sansa Stark, Aegon VI Targaryen
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: first-time, gentle, identity, royalty. Fill for Game of Ships comm.
It was a credit to Jon Connington, Sansa thought, that her new husband was unlike any man she encountered in Westeros. When he draped the black and scarlet cloak over her shoulders, a move that secured the North to him by marriage rather than war, Sansa felt a strange calm settle in her belly. Perhaps it was the swiftness of his long, elegant fingers or the way his intense, violet eyes softened when he beheld her, but for the first time since the sack of the Red Keep all those years ago, Sansa felt that things may finally be all right.
She brought that sense of calm to their marriage bed and as she waited in her wedding gown for her husband, she could not help but contrast this sense of peace with the jumble of sickening nerves she felt at her last wedding to Tyrion Lannister. He had been a lion, one who had been kind to her, but a lion nonetheless. In truth, she should be rather more frightened of a dragon - their families have a long, sordid history together entwined in love and death and hate and regret. It was impossible to be nervous with him, though, and even if Alayne Stone knew that it was foolish to trust anyone at all in this gods forsaken city, Sansa stark couldn't help but feel a rush of affection at the man who had taken her from the Vale and kept her by his side as he avenged her fallen kin. Not once had he physically pursued her during their companionship, only a brush of the hand here or a tuck of the hair there, and that only made Sansa want him more.
She stood when the door opened, and the king stumbled in drunkenly and in good spirits.
Robert came to me on our wedding night reeking of wine with another woman's name on his lips.
She swallowed and stepped toward him, silencing the voices in her head. Sometimes it was Cersei, or Littlefinger, and in those moments, she believed she was cursed and rotten. No, she would not allow herself to feel it on her wedding night of all nights. "Griff," she called out softly to him.
He paused and looked at her, his eyes softening to a warm violet in the way that she loved. "You must be what heaven looks like." He stumbled toward her, hands held out in front of him to cup her face and finger her hair. "Sansa, my wife," he whispered it as though he could hardly believe it himself.
She was puzzled. In private, he had always called her by the name she held when he first met her, and she the same. He kissed her furrowed brow as his hand softly cradled her chin. "Your hair... the dye has completely worn off."
Sansa reached up to run her fingers through his own silver hair. "Yours as well."
He took her hands and led her to their ornate marriage bed, carved in weirwood with dragons drawn in intricate detail. "When I first realized who you were, you wanted me to call you Alayne because Sansa's memories were so much worse than a bastard girl's and I asked you to call me Griff in return because it was a name I felt with the freedom of boyhood." He paused and redness spotted his cheek uncharacteristically, from embarrassment or wine, she could not fathom to guess. "This is terribly unbecoming and sentimental for a king, but I hope for us to be happy together, as ourselves. Even if the world falls apart outside, we would still have each other in here. Sansa doesn't need to be afraid anymore, and Aegon can just be a man hopelessly in love with his wife. I was taught that ruling was a duty and although I do not wish to burden you with my troubles, I wish to share all my days, the good and the bad, with you."
The words were from a song, surely, Sansa told herself.
When you're older, I'll make you a match with someone who's worthy of you. Someone who's brave and gentle and strong.
She swallowed that voice, a voice she hadn't heard in the longest time and her lower lip trembled. It was a voice she thought she had forgotten. Even his face now was only a blotched spot in her mind. "What's wrong, sweetling?"
She shook her head and felt the tears that threatened to flow down her cheeks. She smiled softly at him through her watery eyes. "My father would have liked you. He would have liked you for me."
He kissed her then, their first kiss so painfully sweet it hurt her heart. He held her face in his hands, the tips of his fingers gently tracing her cheekbones. “I promise to be a good husband to you, Sansa,” he muttered against her lips. She gasped when he nuzzled her neck a brought her flush against him.
“Aegon,” she whispered as his hands worked at the laces in the back of her gown. His lips were soft as rose petals against her skin and he touched her with such gentleness that she wanted to cry. Her gown fell to a pile on the floor and he kissed her bare shoulders. She could feel the warmth of his chest through her corset and pressed closer to him, an arm curled around his head with a hand in his hair. “Aegon.” She could not seem to stop saying his name as she felt an unfamiliar spark build deep within her belly. Her legs rubbed together beneath her thin underskirt and she felt the heat pool in her small clothes.
She moaned when he pulled back and feasted his eyes on her, eyes bright and skin flushed. His shoulders rose and fell with his harsh breathing and she felt as though they shared the same lungs and heart. She was a dragon now too. “Doing away with the old bedding tradition seemed the right thing to do. No one could resist carrying you away after seeing you thus.” He ran his fingers across her collarbone and down to the laces of her corset. He swallowed hard when he tugged gently at the knot and Sansa’s heart fluttered at his nervousness. Her affection for him spread like wildfire such that she had forgotten to be shy when she is bare before him. Just as he gently peeled away her the cottons and silks, the armor around her heart peeled away to reveal something she had long thought to be dead.
“Do I please you, your Grace?” she asked when he paused to stare at her.
He nodded, his breathing shallow and shaky as his hand reached forward to cover the curve of her breast. “Surely you can’t be real.” He gently kneaded the soft flesh of her chest and her head fell back, mouth open. “Surely, I am only dreaming of this again.” She fell back onto the bed, her legs hanging bonelessly off the side before he swept her up and gently laid her head on the pillow. He peppered light kisses all over her skin, down her torso and back to her mouth. Sansa never wanted him to stop.
She twined her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist until he kneeled just above her. Her underskirt fell around her hips and she gasped when she felt his clothed hardness against her bare thigh. He rocked forward, his lips and tongue attacking her neck just as he pressed himself against her entrance and he alternated between moans and whispers of her name. Sansa was certain her skin was flush red when he pulled away to and sat back on his knees. He tugged at the laces to his breeches and pulled them down with his small clothes, leaving him completely bare. “I promise I will be gentle. I never want to hurt you, Sansa.”
She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. As much as she had come to love Aegon, trust was another issue all together. The pain, she knew, was inevitable and she clenched her teeth in preparation. Her tension exploded in a puff of air when she felt his fingers gently rubbing her through her small clothes - one, then another, up and down. She squealed at the sensation when he pressed harder through the cotton inside “Gods, Sansa. You’re so wet.”
Sansa turned her face to the side, pressing her cheek against the pillow in embarrassment. Were ladies supposed to behave thus on their wedding night? Queens, certainly should not feel such... such satisfaction in coupling. It was their duty to bring little princes and princesses in the world - a duty, not enjoyment (It is the greatest honor for a queen). It was impossible to conceal it, however, and the pleasure seemed almost too much as she choked back a sob when Aegon finds that special place within her.
Through the haze, she vaguely registered her small clothes sliding off her hips but jolted awake when she felt him press against her. Her nerves returned, her body turning to steel when he began to enter. (A woman's greatest weapon is between her legs) She whimpered in anticipation and he froze. She felt his lips work hers into a soft kiss and when she opened for his tongue, she felt her legs relax as well and fall to the side. Gently, but firmly, he held her hips in place and, with one thrust, took her maidenhead.
The pain was sharp and as her mouth fell open to gasp for air, Aegon gently worried her lower lip with apologies spilling intermittently. His hips remained pressed against hers, but his hands ran up and down the side of her body as a calming gesture. He touched her breasts again and as the pain became a blurred memory, she felt the pull again in her belly and her hips shifted on their own accord.
Slowly, he began to move, careful and gentle as though she was spun from glass. She arched her back as he filled her and her head came clean off her pillow when a thumb pressed down right above their joining. She felt herself tighten around him and his thrusts became erratic until he spilled his royal seed within her, a strangled cry of her name on his lips.
He pulled her on top of him after, and she buried her face into his neck in embarrassment. He laughed lightly at her, claiming that she had better get used to it all or she may blush herself into an early grave with the way her heart beat so quickly for him. She swatted his chest lightly at the jest, but for the first time in a long time, joy bubbled within her chest just so she thought her world would explode.
Her thighs were sticky and she felt sore between her legs, though she relished in the ache. She was his now, and he was hers, whoever they may be.
Author: lokiyan
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Sansa Stark, Aegon VI Targaryen
Rating: NC-17
Prompt: first-time, gentle, identity, royalty. Fill for Game of Ships comm.
It was a credit to Jon Connington, Sansa thought, that her new husband was unlike any man she encountered in Westeros. When he draped the black and scarlet cloak over her shoulders, a move that secured the North to him by marriage rather than war, Sansa felt a strange calm settle in her belly. Perhaps it was the swiftness of his long, elegant fingers or the way his intense, violet eyes softened when he beheld her, but for the first time since the sack of the Red Keep all those years ago, Sansa felt that things may finally be all right.
She brought that sense of calm to their marriage bed and as she waited in her wedding gown for her husband, she could not help but contrast this sense of peace with the jumble of sickening nerves she felt at her last wedding to Tyrion Lannister. He had been a lion, one who had been kind to her, but a lion nonetheless. In truth, she should be rather more frightened of a dragon - their families have a long, sordid history together entwined in love and death and hate and regret. It was impossible to be nervous with him, though, and even if Alayne Stone knew that it was foolish to trust anyone at all in this gods forsaken city, Sansa stark couldn't help but feel a rush of affection at the man who had taken her from the Vale and kept her by his side as he avenged her fallen kin. Not once had he physically pursued her during their companionship, only a brush of the hand here or a tuck of the hair there, and that only made Sansa want him more.
She stood when the door opened, and the king stumbled in drunkenly and in good spirits.
Robert came to me on our wedding night reeking of wine with another woman's name on his lips.
She swallowed and stepped toward him, silencing the voices in her head. Sometimes it was Cersei, or Littlefinger, and in those moments, she believed she was cursed and rotten. No, she would not allow herself to feel it on her wedding night of all nights. "Griff," she called out softly to him.
He paused and looked at her, his eyes softening to a warm violet in the way that she loved. "You must be what heaven looks like." He stumbled toward her, hands held out in front of him to cup her face and finger her hair. "Sansa, my wife," he whispered it as though he could hardly believe it himself.
She was puzzled. In private, he had always called her by the name she held when he first met her, and she the same. He kissed her furrowed brow as his hand softly cradled her chin. "Your hair... the dye has completely worn off."
Sansa reached up to run her fingers through his own silver hair. "Yours as well."
He took her hands and led her to their ornate marriage bed, carved in weirwood with dragons drawn in intricate detail. "When I first realized who you were, you wanted me to call you Alayne because Sansa's memories were so much worse than a bastard girl's and I asked you to call me Griff in return because it was a name I felt with the freedom of boyhood." He paused and redness spotted his cheek uncharacteristically, from embarrassment or wine, she could not fathom to guess. "This is terribly unbecoming and sentimental for a king, but I hope for us to be happy together, as ourselves. Even if the world falls apart outside, we would still have each other in here. Sansa doesn't need to be afraid anymore, and Aegon can just be a man hopelessly in love with his wife. I was taught that ruling was a duty and although I do not wish to burden you with my troubles, I wish to share all my days, the good and the bad, with you."
The words were from a song, surely, Sansa told herself.
When you're older, I'll make you a match with someone who's worthy of you. Someone who's brave and gentle and strong.
She swallowed that voice, a voice she hadn't heard in the longest time and her lower lip trembled. It was a voice she thought she had forgotten. Even his face now was only a blotched spot in her mind. "What's wrong, sweetling?"
She shook her head and felt the tears that threatened to flow down her cheeks. She smiled softly at him through her watery eyes. "My father would have liked you. He would have liked you for me."
He kissed her then, their first kiss so painfully sweet it hurt her heart. He held her face in his hands, the tips of his fingers gently tracing her cheekbones. “I promise to be a good husband to you, Sansa,” he muttered against her lips. She gasped when he nuzzled her neck a brought her flush against him.
“Aegon,” she whispered as his hands worked at the laces in the back of her gown. His lips were soft as rose petals against her skin and he touched her with such gentleness that she wanted to cry. Her gown fell to a pile on the floor and he kissed her bare shoulders. She could feel the warmth of his chest through her corset and pressed closer to him, an arm curled around his head with a hand in his hair. “Aegon.” She could not seem to stop saying his name as she felt an unfamiliar spark build deep within her belly. Her legs rubbed together beneath her thin underskirt and she felt the heat pool in her small clothes.
She moaned when he pulled back and feasted his eyes on her, eyes bright and skin flushed. His shoulders rose and fell with his harsh breathing and she felt as though they shared the same lungs and heart. She was a dragon now too. “Doing away with the old bedding tradition seemed the right thing to do. No one could resist carrying you away after seeing you thus.” He ran his fingers across her collarbone and down to the laces of her corset. He swallowed hard when he tugged gently at the knot and Sansa’s heart fluttered at his nervousness. Her affection for him spread like wildfire such that she had forgotten to be shy when she is bare before him. Just as he gently peeled away her the cottons and silks, the armor around her heart peeled away to reveal something she had long thought to be dead.
“Do I please you, your Grace?” she asked when he paused to stare at her.
He nodded, his breathing shallow and shaky as his hand reached forward to cover the curve of her breast. “Surely you can’t be real.” He gently kneaded the soft flesh of her chest and her head fell back, mouth open. “Surely, I am only dreaming of this again.” She fell back onto the bed, her legs hanging bonelessly off the side before he swept her up and gently laid her head on the pillow. He peppered light kisses all over her skin, down her torso and back to her mouth. Sansa never wanted him to stop.
She twined her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist until he kneeled just above her. Her underskirt fell around her hips and she gasped when she felt his clothed hardness against her bare thigh. He rocked forward, his lips and tongue attacking her neck just as he pressed himself against her entrance and he alternated between moans and whispers of her name. Sansa was certain her skin was flush red when he pulled away to and sat back on his knees. He tugged at the laces to his breeches and pulled them down with his small clothes, leaving him completely bare. “I promise I will be gentle. I never want to hurt you, Sansa.”
She swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut. As much as she had come to love Aegon, trust was another issue all together. The pain, she knew, was inevitable and she clenched her teeth in preparation. Her tension exploded in a puff of air when she felt his fingers gently rubbing her through her small clothes - one, then another, up and down. She squealed at the sensation when he pressed harder through the cotton inside “Gods, Sansa. You’re so wet.”
Sansa turned her face to the side, pressing her cheek against the pillow in embarrassment. Were ladies supposed to behave thus on their wedding night? Queens, certainly should not feel such... such satisfaction in coupling. It was their duty to bring little princes and princesses in the world - a duty, not enjoyment (It is the greatest honor for a queen). It was impossible to conceal it, however, and the pleasure seemed almost too much as she choked back a sob when Aegon finds that special place within her.
Through the haze, she vaguely registered her small clothes sliding off her hips but jolted awake when she felt him press against her. Her nerves returned, her body turning to steel when he began to enter. (A woman's greatest weapon is between her legs) She whimpered in anticipation and he froze. She felt his lips work hers into a soft kiss and when she opened for his tongue, she felt her legs relax as well and fall to the side. Gently, but firmly, he held her hips in place and, with one thrust, took her maidenhead.
The pain was sharp and as her mouth fell open to gasp for air, Aegon gently worried her lower lip with apologies spilling intermittently. His hips remained pressed against hers, but his hands ran up and down the side of her body as a calming gesture. He touched her breasts again and as the pain became a blurred memory, she felt the pull again in her belly and her hips shifted on their own accord.
Slowly, he began to move, careful and gentle as though she was spun from glass. She arched her back as he filled her and her head came clean off her pillow when a thumb pressed down right above their joining. She felt herself tighten around him and his thrusts became erratic until he spilled his royal seed within her, a strangled cry of her name on his lips.
He pulled her on top of him after, and she buried her face into his neck in embarrassment. He laughed lightly at her, claiming that she had better get used to it all or she may blush herself into an early grave with the way her heart beat so quickly for him. She swatted his chest lightly at the jest, but for the first time in a long time, joy bubbled within her chest just so she thought her world would explode.
Her thighs were sticky and she felt sore between her legs, though she relished in the ache. She was his now, and he was hers, whoever they may be.