Fic: Bath
Title: Bath
Author: mrstater
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairing: Jorah Mormont/Lynesse Hightower
Rating & Warnings: R for explicit sex
Word Count: 1047 words
Summary: Lynesse asks Jorah to tell her about certain aspects of life on Bear Island; he prefers to show her. [pre-canon]
Author's Note: Written for Tag! Your Ship! at gameofships.
Bath
"Ugh."
The crinkling of Lynesse's nose accompanied the sound of revulsion emitted by her throat as she dipped her sponge into the wash basin of lukewarm water. From his vantage point stretched out on their narrow bunk onboard the ship, Jorah watched her face in the mirror and wondered if there was anything she could do that was not completely endearing; she was so lovely, even when clearly displeased, and he knew there was nothing he would not do to see her satisfied.
"The first thing I mean to do when we land on Bear Island," she went on in her pouting tone, "is to have a proper bath."
Jorah made a small sound in his throat that was quite the opposite of displeasure as he watched the water roll down in rivulets from the sponge where she squeezed it at the hollow of her throat; it glistened over her full breasts and cling to her pink nipples like jewels before dripping onto the cinch of her waist. His eyes lingered for a moment on the flat plane of her stomach between her narrow hips, and he couldn't help but smile a little with the happy thought that even now his hoped-for heir might be forming in the secret of her womb; gods knew they'd had little enough to occupy them during the fortnight since they'd wed in Lannisport but engage in the act that resulted in children.
"I stand in full support of that notion," he said.
As if to illustrate his point, Jorah pushed himself upright on the mattress and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, the mat of woven rushes an uneven texture but more comfortable surface than the rough floorboards beneath the soles of his bare feet . He crossed the small cabin to her in a few strides, his cock hardening as the tip brushed against her arse. He put his arms about her. One large tanned hand covering her pale one to take the sponge from her; the other cupped her breast, pinching the peak of her nipple between his callused fingers.
"Tell me about the baths on Bear Island," Lynesse said; her lower lip reddened between her teeth as Jorah swept the sponge--and his fingers--over her mound.
"Well, for one, they're not bathhouses such as you're like to have visited in Oldtown," he said.
When he noticed a furrow form in her brow in the mirror he gave her breast a gentle squeeze, while the sponge struck the floor with a faint squashing sound as the hand on her hips drew her back tighter against him.
Leaning over her shoulder to brush a kiss to her temple, he added, "Though I've always found a hot spring nestled in the lichen carpet of a forest floor contains a grace no artisan can capture in the most intricate mosaic. And no carved columns of stone could match the grandeur of ancient pines that grew tall around the pools before any man dipped so much as a toe in to bathe."
He dipped a finger into Lynesse's warm folds and found her wet, but the whimper she gave seemed not to be in response to his touch as she turned her head, which had been lolled back against his chest, to glance up at him over her shoulder.
"Hot springs? You mean you bathe in the forest? Outside?"
Chuckling, Jorah's hand left her breast to cup her chin, tilting it up so he could kiss her lips.
"We have wash tubs, of course, but you did say you wanted a proper bath."
He slipped his fingers deeper inside her, and she clenched around them; the other hand trailed over her body to fit into the notch of her hipbone revealed by her sharp indrawn breath as he stooped, sweeping the cascade of golden hair out of the way, to kiss a path from her neck that meandered along the curves of her shoulder blades before progressing downward over her spine.
"But the island is called Bear Island." Her verbal protestations were belied by her physical compliance as Jorah, kneeling now, gripped her hips and turned her to face him so he could press his lips to the insides of her knees. "Aren't you afraid of being…eaten?"
Jorah lifted his eyes to his bride, but his mouth never left her thigh as it twitched into a smile against her skin and he replied, "Well. I can think of one bear who might have acquired a taste for you."
Goosebumps prickled up beneath the pads of his fingers where they stroked be backs of her legs just beneath her arse, and Lynesse's high laugh pierced the quiet of the cabin as her fingernails raked through his thinning hair and dug into his scalp when he nuzzled at her entrance.
"My bear!" she squealed. "My bear so fair!" But she bit back her giggle as she caught her lip between her teeth again, peering down at him wantonly. "Now lick the honey from my hair?"
Jorah had loathed the bawdy even before a handful of the knights he'd bested at tourney slurred it tunelessly during the bedding at the Lannisport inn where they'd passed their wedding night. Soon enough, however, Lynesse's tongue ceased to sing the words as Jorah's swept over her. She didn't taste like honey, but she may as well. Her distinct flavor of mingled femininity and passion satiated every craving he'd ever had for a mate.
A worry flickered through his mind as he relived the exchange that had led up to this moment and recalled the uncertainty that creased Lynesse's untroubled young brow when he told her Bear Island could not boast the luxury of her home at Oldtown: could what he had to offer satisfy what she'd dreamed of in a husband? But that was quickly forgotten as he applied himself more intently to the task of pleasuring her.
Certainly Lynsesse seemed satiated when she bucked her hips against his mouth with an unintelligible cry, and then collapsed atop him on the cabin floor.
"I think your hot springs shall suit me very well," she said, stroking her hand along the length of his arousal, "if you can promise I'll always be hunted by my bear."
Author: mrstater
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Characters & Pairing: Jorah Mormont/Lynesse Hightower
Rating & Warnings: R for explicit sex
Word Count: 1047 words
Summary: Lynesse asks Jorah to tell her about certain aspects of life on Bear Island; he prefers to show her. [pre-canon]
Author's Note: Written for Tag! Your Ship! at gameofships.
Bath
"Ugh."
The crinkling of Lynesse's nose accompanied the sound of revulsion emitted by her throat as she dipped her sponge into the wash basin of lukewarm water. From his vantage point stretched out on their narrow bunk onboard the ship, Jorah watched her face in the mirror and wondered if there was anything she could do that was not completely endearing; she was so lovely, even when clearly displeased, and he knew there was nothing he would not do to see her satisfied.
"The first thing I mean to do when we land on Bear Island," she went on in her pouting tone, "is to have a proper bath."
Jorah made a small sound in his throat that was quite the opposite of displeasure as he watched the water roll down in rivulets from the sponge where she squeezed it at the hollow of her throat; it glistened over her full breasts and cling to her pink nipples like jewels before dripping onto the cinch of her waist. His eyes lingered for a moment on the flat plane of her stomach between her narrow hips, and he couldn't help but smile a little with the happy thought that even now his hoped-for heir might be forming in the secret of her womb; gods knew they'd had little enough to occupy them during the fortnight since they'd wed in Lannisport but engage in the act that resulted in children.
"I stand in full support of that notion," he said.
As if to illustrate his point, Jorah pushed himself upright on the mattress and swung his legs over the edge of the bunk, the mat of woven rushes an uneven texture but more comfortable surface than the rough floorboards beneath the soles of his bare feet . He crossed the small cabin to her in a few strides, his cock hardening as the tip brushed against her arse. He put his arms about her. One large tanned hand covering her pale one to take the sponge from her; the other cupped her breast, pinching the peak of her nipple between his callused fingers.
"Tell me about the baths on Bear Island," Lynesse said; her lower lip reddened between her teeth as Jorah swept the sponge--and his fingers--over her mound.
"Well, for one, they're not bathhouses such as you're like to have visited in Oldtown," he said.
When he noticed a furrow form in her brow in the mirror he gave her breast a gentle squeeze, while the sponge struck the floor with a faint squashing sound as the hand on her hips drew her back tighter against him.
Leaning over her shoulder to brush a kiss to her temple, he added, "Though I've always found a hot spring nestled in the lichen carpet of a forest floor contains a grace no artisan can capture in the most intricate mosaic. And no carved columns of stone could match the grandeur of ancient pines that grew tall around the pools before any man dipped so much as a toe in to bathe."
He dipped a finger into Lynesse's warm folds and found her wet, but the whimper she gave seemed not to be in response to his touch as she turned her head, which had been lolled back against his chest, to glance up at him over her shoulder.
"Hot springs? You mean you bathe in the forest? Outside?"
Chuckling, Jorah's hand left her breast to cup her chin, tilting it up so he could kiss her lips.
"We have wash tubs, of course, but you did say you wanted a proper bath."
He slipped his fingers deeper inside her, and she clenched around them; the other hand trailed over her body to fit into the notch of her hipbone revealed by her sharp indrawn breath as he stooped, sweeping the cascade of golden hair out of the way, to kiss a path from her neck that meandered along the curves of her shoulder blades before progressing downward over her spine.
"But the island is called Bear Island." Her verbal protestations were belied by her physical compliance as Jorah, kneeling now, gripped her hips and turned her to face him so he could press his lips to the insides of her knees. "Aren't you afraid of being…eaten?"
Jorah lifted his eyes to his bride, but his mouth never left her thigh as it twitched into a smile against her skin and he replied, "Well. I can think of one bear who might have acquired a taste for you."
Goosebumps prickled up beneath the pads of his fingers where they stroked be backs of her legs just beneath her arse, and Lynesse's high laugh pierced the quiet of the cabin as her fingernails raked through his thinning hair and dug into his scalp when he nuzzled at her entrance.
"My bear!" she squealed. "My bear so fair!" But she bit back her giggle as she caught her lip between her teeth again, peering down at him wantonly. "Now lick the honey from my hair?"
Jorah had loathed the bawdy even before a handful of the knights he'd bested at tourney slurred it tunelessly during the bedding at the Lannisport inn where they'd passed their wedding night. Soon enough, however, Lynesse's tongue ceased to sing the words as Jorah's swept over her. She didn't taste like honey, but she may as well. Her distinct flavor of mingled femininity and passion satiated every craving he'd ever had for a mate.
A worry flickered through his mind as he relived the exchange that had led up to this moment and recalled the uncertainty that creased Lynesse's untroubled young brow when he told her Bear Island could not boast the luxury of her home at Oldtown: could what he had to offer satisfy what she'd dreamed of in a husband? But that was quickly forgotten as he applied himself more intently to the task of pleasuring her.
Certainly Lynsesse seemed satiated when she bucked her hips against his mouth with an unintelligible cry, and then collapsed atop him on the cabin floor.
"I think your hot springs shall suit me very well," she said, stroking her hand along the length of his arousal, "if you can promise I'll always be hunted by my bear."