Ask Me (Catelyn x Ned)
For the ASOIAF kink meme. Specifically, a completely-misses-the-moment story for a prompt from like a year and a half ago. What can I say? Mining is fun. *adjusts headlamp and shoulders pick*
Prompt: Ned/Cat, bondage
(Don't care who's tied up, but it was totally Catelyn's idea. XD)
Adult content in this one, and a little bit of bondage fun, of the fluffiest possible variety.
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Two weeks ago, Ned held her hands tight against the pillow while they made love.
Catelyn doubts that he was aware of doing it, of how his grip tightened when she tried to tug her hands free to pull him closer, suspects that he mistook it for clasping his hands and responded in kind.
Still, that entirely sensible explanation did nothing to stop a rush of heat blazing through her, through the sweet, building pleasure of him over her, inside her, and she came apart almost at once beneath his startled, but hardly displeased eyes.
A handful of days later, when she followed him to the library and patiently waited for him to set down the book he was perusing before pouncing, his haste to get her undressed left her hands tangled together in half-discarded clothing. She did not try especially hard to free herself, simply fisted her loosely bound hands in his shirt and pulled him closer. Obligingly, he lifted her onto a nearby table and impatiently pushed her skirts up to move between her spread legs, pinning her hands tightly between their sweat-dampened bodies.
For the past week, she has waited eagerly to see if he will do it again, if this is perhaps something that has occurred and appeals to him too, and he is looking, as she is, for a way to suggest it.
For the past week, she has been disappointed.
Tonight, she means to take no such chances.
Tonight, as Ned kisses her and walks her back towards the bed, she tugs his belt loose and presses it into his hands, in the hope that this will be clear enough a message.
This hope dies swiftly, as he looks first at the soft leather as though he has never seen a belt before, and then at Catelyn as though she is something similarly new and perplexing.
And regardless of all that she has shared with this man in their years of marriage, all that he has shared with her, she cannot keep the hot blush from her cheeks as she leans closer and murmurs in his ear what purpose his belt is to serve, cannot keep from biting her lip as his stare remains blank and bewildered.
A little uneasily, she continues.
“I've heard that such a thing can be enjoyable. If you do not wish to--”
“No,” he breaks in quickly. “No, it could be very...enjoyable.” With the playful smile that she rarely sees but dearly loves on those rare occasions, Ned presses the belt back into her hands. “I confess, my lady, I can think of many fates more terrible than being at your mercy.”
She is not quick enough to stop her face from falling slightly at this, and he frowns.
“Is that not what you meant?”
Briefly, she ponders the idea, the images it calls to mind - because it is hardly her idea of a terrible fate either, to have her husband bound beneath her, straining up into her touch. She wonders how much teasing he might endure before he commands her to untie him, and what might happen once she complies, particularly if she takes her time about it.
But this idea has been at the forefront of her mind nearly every time he has touched her since two weeks past.
The other, she tucks carefully away for another night - soon.
For now, she smiles up at him.
“I had hoped to spend the evening at your mercy, my lord.”
This seems to surprise him, and his frown returns, deepens, as he thinks this over.
“I don't want to hurt you, Cat.”
Her eyes widen in feigned shock and indignation.
“And what do you plan to do tonight that might hurt me?”
He hesitates.
“If I should become too rough, and you are not free to stop me...”
I will enjoy every moment, she thinks. They are many years from the hesitation that at first made her feel entirely unwanted, but rarely does Ned allow himself to become so swept away that he forgets to exercise more caution and gentleness than she finds strictly necessary.
“I don't want you to gag me, Ned,” she tells him instead. “If I become uneasy, I am quite capable of asking you to untie me.” He still looks uncertain, so she smiles her most winning smile, the one that he cannot seem to refuse, and hopes that the pattern holds true. “If you think I have asked prettily enough, you may comply. If not, you may have me ask again until I have gotten it right.”
This seems to cause him more distress than amusement, and when she moves to kiss him, he pulls away and regards her very seriously.
“If you ask me to untie you, I will do so right away. Do you honestly believe I would keep you tied against your will?”
Catelyn takes his hand and gives it a brief, reassuring squeeze.
“Then I shall be certain not to ask unless I mean it.”
He chuckles at this, and kisses her lightly before dragging her shift up over her head and tossing it aside, helps her wriggle free of her smallclothes, but catches her hand when she reaches for his shirt.
“Not just yet,” he tells her, and pulls her close again before she can voice her protest.
She sighs against his mouth at the rasp of the fabric of his clothes on her bare skin, hardly aware that they are moving backwards again until he lifts her onto the bed.
As he reaches for the belt, she holds her hands out eagerly, enthusiasm dampened only slightly by the uncertainty still clear in his face.
“I will tell you if I grow uneasy,” she assures him again, catching his hand and brushing a light kiss over the back.
At this, the troubled look fades slightly; now, he seems merely to be mulling something over.
She wonders briefly if she ought to be concerned, but then he is taking her hands, bringing her wrists together, thumb rubbing gentle circles over her quickening pulse. He wraps the belt around her wrists and her breath hitches slightly as he passes the end of the leather through the loop and pulls it snug. His eyes fly to her face at the soft sound.
“Not too tight?”
Her breathing is somewhat faster than usual as she shakes her head.
“Just tight enough.”
Ned frowns again, and loosens the belt.
Once she is secured - not very tightly at all, she thinks she could pull free if she really wanted to, but highly doubts that he will even consider making it otherwise - he stretches out beside her. She tries to reach up to kiss him, but his eyes are focused above her head. He runs one finger along the skin of her wrist at the edge of the belt, and the worried look comes back to him.
“Perhaps it is still too tight. Shall I--”
“It's fine, Ned,” she interjects, casting him a beseeching look. “Please, my love, come here and kiss me.”
After a brief pause, he smiles, and runs his hand lightly down the length of her arm as he leans over her, brushes her lips with his own as his hand ghosts lightly over the curve of her waist and hip. When she tries again to stretch up into his touch, to deepen the kiss, he pulls away entirely.
“And now?” he asks, watching her expectantly.
She stares, bewildered.
“What?”
“You have already promised to tell me if anything is wrong, but since you cannot show me what you want tonight, as long as you are bound, you must tell me that too.”
Catelyn cannot help but laugh as his meaning dawns on her; she knows quite well how her husband enjoys it when she guides his touch on her body, or shows him how she wants to be touched by demonstrating on him. It is something that began years ago, on those nights when they were still learning one another, but something that still earns a happy response, to say the least, and the main reason that she was able to gather up the courage to ask for this.
And if he is asking her to put her desires into words, he must recall with equal fondness the way that she would encourage him to tell her how he might like to be touched, naming suggestions when he could not find his voice quickly enough.
If this is what he needs to help him over the fear of harming her, to let him enjoy this with her, she is more than glad to do it.
“Are you certain, my lord?” she asks, as solemnly as she can when she lies bound beneath him and he, her husband of nearly a decade, is waiting for detailed instructions on how to touch her. “I have thought far more today about having you than I ought; you have no way to know what I might have come up with.”
Ned's expression as he leans over her again is remarkably similar to a child who has just been promised something sweet.
“There is no way that I do not love to touch you. You need only ask.”
“You would like to hear, then, of early this morning in the hot pools, when I nearly came just thinking about your mouth on my breasts?”
There is barely time to enjoy the way his eyes darken at her words, before he moves to kiss a soft trail down her throat, over the swell of her breast, tongue darting out to capture the tip. A high, pleading noise escapes her as he nips gently, and his low chuckle vibrates through her.
“This morning,” he murmurs. “Did you help your thoughts along?”
To illustrate, he slides a hand between her legs and runs a finger lightly over her sex, and she can feel him smile against her skin as she tries to squirm into closer contact.
“A little,” she confesses, falling back in defeat when his hand slides over her thigh and up to trace her hipbone.
“Did you finish?”
She huffs a slightly embarrassed laugh.
“No, I realized how long I had been already, and got out and dressed before someone happened by.”
“Is that why you are so impatient tonight?” he asks, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when she shoots him a scathing look. “You might have come to find me.”
“And what might I have told those with matters requiring your immediate attention: that their very important business would have to wait, as you were were needed right away to see to your wife's vivid imagination?”
“I enjoy the thought of letting anyone who cares to look, see that you are glad to be mine.”
He lowers his head again, and she cannot say for certain if the bolt of pleasure is the heat of his mouth, or the possession in his words, in his grip at her thigh as he spoke them. As he kisses soft trails over her breast, she thinks that it has been many years since they sat as high and round as they do with her arms stretched over her head, so it is no wonder he is enjoying them.
Before the laugh bubbling up at the thought can escape, he draws her nipple into his mouth, the other hardening against his palm as he cups her soft flesh. His other hand still rests at her thigh, and she squirms beneath him, tries to direct his touch where she wants it, but he remains stubbornly where he is, eyes flicking up briefly to meet hers, amusement lighting them.
“Please, my love,” she gasps. “Touch me, please. Feel how much I want you.”
The breath leaves him in a low growl that makes her shiver, and then he is lying over her, kissing her breathless as his hand slides between her legs. She moans into his mouth in anticipation, and again in deep dismay when he merely traces her opening and lets his fingertip rest just inside, his thumb brushing lightly over her clit.
The pleasure builds agonizingly slow, but very sweet, and it is only when the ache becomes unbearable that she relents and asks, orders him to stop teasing, but to no avail. His eyes are stormy with his own need, his cock hard against her hip, but still his touch is whisper soft, and she cannot stop a noise of frustration as she tries again to arch into his hand and he once again pulls away.
“I thought I needed only to ask!”
“Perhaps you did not ask prettily enough,” he murmurs into her hair, resuming that maddeningly light touch.
“Just wait until your turn,” she half-moans, half-grumbles.
“I look forward to it,” he assures her, relenting and deepening his caress, just a little, just enough.
As she feels herself shudder hotly around his fingers, tenses at the wave of bliss that sweeps over her, she is vaguely aware that she is speaking, pleading for him, please, Ned, please, come here and fuck me.
Catelyn has barely caught her breath when she feels him move away. Her eyes fly open in alarm, and widen in appreciation at the sight of him pulling almost frantically at his clothes.
“I asked prettily enough this time, then?” she surmises with a weak grin as he shoves her legs further apart and settles between them, his cock teasing at her slick entrance.
His laugh is low and breathless.
“I can think of nothing I could deny you if you asked it of me like that.”
Any number of ridiculous responses pop to mind, and are driven away just as quickly when he pulls her legs up and tight around his waist, and enters her with a swift, sure motion that leaves her gasping at the sweetness of the sensation.
He is too far gone for this to be gentle, and she thrills to it, to his breath gusting hot over her shoulder, the rasp of his beard against the soft skin.
It is when she hears him gasp her name amid wordless sounds of pleasure that she forgets the belt and tries to reach for him, and instantly his hand finds her wrists, pulling at the leather until it comes loose.
And though it has been just as enjoyable as she imagined, to have him take his pleasure of her while she is tied, to be entirely his for a time to do with as he wishes, she is not terribly disappointed to be freed, not with the way her fingers have been itching to touch him. Her hands fly to his shoulders, one threading into his hair and the other running feverishly over the broad expanse of his back, muscles jumping under her touch as he moves over her.
“No, don't stop!” she implores frantically, rolling her hips up into his and clutching him closer when he stills with an expression of intense concentration, sweat beading on his forehead.
With another breathless laugh, he starts to move again, and her fingers tighten in his hair until he winces in pain, but does not stop until she is tensing and crying out beneath him. As she catches her breath, his movements grow rapidly harder and unsteadier, and she reaches up to press a trail of kisses over his neck, kneads at his shoulders, until he spends inside her with a shaky groan.
They remain that way for a long while, panting, damp with sweat, still joined, exchanging gentle kisses and touches intended to speak of tenderness and devotion rather than desire.
Eventually, he rolls to his back and pulls her close to nestle against his shoulder. As she reaches to stroke his cheek, something tickles at the back of her hand, and with an embarrassed cough, she moves to pull his belt free of where they have secured it.
Ned stops her with a hand, pulls her back into his arms.
“I have others,” he explains when she looks at him strangely. “And we may need it again tomorrow night.”
She quirks an eyebrow.
“Really.”
He nods gravely.
“I think that I hardly took full advantage of the opportunity to repay a little of your teasing without receiving claw marks for my pains.” He catches her hand as she swats at him, and chuckles. “And I did not lie before - I do look forward to my turn.”
Her head shoots up at this, and in an instant, she is on top of him, seizing his hands and bringing them up over his head. A grin spreads over her face as his lights up.
“If that is so, my love, why wait until tomorrow night?”
Prompt: Ned/Cat, bondage
(Don't care who's tied up, but it was totally Catelyn's idea. XD)
Adult content in this one, and a little bit of bondage fun, of the fluffiest possible variety.
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Two weeks ago, Ned held her hands tight against the pillow while they made love.
Catelyn doubts that he was aware of doing it, of how his grip tightened when she tried to tug her hands free to pull him closer, suspects that he mistook it for clasping his hands and responded in kind.
Still, that entirely sensible explanation did nothing to stop a rush of heat blazing through her, through the sweet, building pleasure of him over her, inside her, and she came apart almost at once beneath his startled, but hardly displeased eyes.
A handful of days later, when she followed him to the library and patiently waited for him to set down the book he was perusing before pouncing, his haste to get her undressed left her hands tangled together in half-discarded clothing. She did not try especially hard to free herself, simply fisted her loosely bound hands in his shirt and pulled him closer. Obligingly, he lifted her onto a nearby table and impatiently pushed her skirts up to move between her spread legs, pinning her hands tightly between their sweat-dampened bodies.
For the past week, she has waited eagerly to see if he will do it again, if this is perhaps something that has occurred and appeals to him too, and he is looking, as she is, for a way to suggest it.
For the past week, she has been disappointed.
Tonight, she means to take no such chances.
Tonight, as Ned kisses her and walks her back towards the bed, she tugs his belt loose and presses it into his hands, in the hope that this will be clear enough a message.
This hope dies swiftly, as he looks first at the soft leather as though he has never seen a belt before, and then at Catelyn as though she is something similarly new and perplexing.
And regardless of all that she has shared with this man in their years of marriage, all that he has shared with her, she cannot keep the hot blush from her cheeks as she leans closer and murmurs in his ear what purpose his belt is to serve, cannot keep from biting her lip as his stare remains blank and bewildered.
A little uneasily, she continues.
“I've heard that such a thing can be enjoyable. If you do not wish to--”
“No,” he breaks in quickly. “No, it could be very...enjoyable.” With the playful smile that she rarely sees but dearly loves on those rare occasions, Ned presses the belt back into her hands. “I confess, my lady, I can think of many fates more terrible than being at your mercy.”
She is not quick enough to stop her face from falling slightly at this, and he frowns.
“Is that not what you meant?”
Briefly, she ponders the idea, the images it calls to mind - because it is hardly her idea of a terrible fate either, to have her husband bound beneath her, straining up into her touch. She wonders how much teasing he might endure before he commands her to untie him, and what might happen once she complies, particularly if she takes her time about it.
But this idea has been at the forefront of her mind nearly every time he has touched her since two weeks past.
The other, she tucks carefully away for another night - soon.
For now, she smiles up at him.
“I had hoped to spend the evening at your mercy, my lord.”
This seems to surprise him, and his frown returns, deepens, as he thinks this over.
“I don't want to hurt you, Cat.”
Her eyes widen in feigned shock and indignation.
“And what do you plan to do tonight that might hurt me?”
He hesitates.
“If I should become too rough, and you are not free to stop me...”
I will enjoy every moment, she thinks. They are many years from the hesitation that at first made her feel entirely unwanted, but rarely does Ned allow himself to become so swept away that he forgets to exercise more caution and gentleness than she finds strictly necessary.
“I don't want you to gag me, Ned,” she tells him instead. “If I become uneasy, I am quite capable of asking you to untie me.” He still looks uncertain, so she smiles her most winning smile, the one that he cannot seem to refuse, and hopes that the pattern holds true. “If you think I have asked prettily enough, you may comply. If not, you may have me ask again until I have gotten it right.”
This seems to cause him more distress than amusement, and when she moves to kiss him, he pulls away and regards her very seriously.
“If you ask me to untie you, I will do so right away. Do you honestly believe I would keep you tied against your will?”
Catelyn takes his hand and gives it a brief, reassuring squeeze.
“Then I shall be certain not to ask unless I mean it.”
He chuckles at this, and kisses her lightly before dragging her shift up over her head and tossing it aside, helps her wriggle free of her smallclothes, but catches her hand when she reaches for his shirt.
“Not just yet,” he tells her, and pulls her close again before she can voice her protest.
She sighs against his mouth at the rasp of the fabric of his clothes on her bare skin, hardly aware that they are moving backwards again until he lifts her onto the bed.
As he reaches for the belt, she holds her hands out eagerly, enthusiasm dampened only slightly by the uncertainty still clear in his face.
“I will tell you if I grow uneasy,” she assures him again, catching his hand and brushing a light kiss over the back.
At this, the troubled look fades slightly; now, he seems merely to be mulling something over.
She wonders briefly if she ought to be concerned, but then he is taking her hands, bringing her wrists together, thumb rubbing gentle circles over her quickening pulse. He wraps the belt around her wrists and her breath hitches slightly as he passes the end of the leather through the loop and pulls it snug. His eyes fly to her face at the soft sound.
“Not too tight?”
Her breathing is somewhat faster than usual as she shakes her head.
“Just tight enough.”
Ned frowns again, and loosens the belt.
Once she is secured - not very tightly at all, she thinks she could pull free if she really wanted to, but highly doubts that he will even consider making it otherwise - he stretches out beside her. She tries to reach up to kiss him, but his eyes are focused above her head. He runs one finger along the skin of her wrist at the edge of the belt, and the worried look comes back to him.
“Perhaps it is still too tight. Shall I--”
“It's fine, Ned,” she interjects, casting him a beseeching look. “Please, my love, come here and kiss me.”
After a brief pause, he smiles, and runs his hand lightly down the length of her arm as he leans over her, brushes her lips with his own as his hand ghosts lightly over the curve of her waist and hip. When she tries again to stretch up into his touch, to deepen the kiss, he pulls away entirely.
“And now?” he asks, watching her expectantly.
She stares, bewildered.
“What?”
“You have already promised to tell me if anything is wrong, but since you cannot show me what you want tonight, as long as you are bound, you must tell me that too.”
Catelyn cannot help but laugh as his meaning dawns on her; she knows quite well how her husband enjoys it when she guides his touch on her body, or shows him how she wants to be touched by demonstrating on him. It is something that began years ago, on those nights when they were still learning one another, but something that still earns a happy response, to say the least, and the main reason that she was able to gather up the courage to ask for this.
And if he is asking her to put her desires into words, he must recall with equal fondness the way that she would encourage him to tell her how he might like to be touched, naming suggestions when he could not find his voice quickly enough.
If this is what he needs to help him over the fear of harming her, to let him enjoy this with her, she is more than glad to do it.
“Are you certain, my lord?” she asks, as solemnly as she can when she lies bound beneath him and he, her husband of nearly a decade, is waiting for detailed instructions on how to touch her. “I have thought far more today about having you than I ought; you have no way to know what I might have come up with.”
Ned's expression as he leans over her again is remarkably similar to a child who has just been promised something sweet.
“There is no way that I do not love to touch you. You need only ask.”
“You would like to hear, then, of early this morning in the hot pools, when I nearly came just thinking about your mouth on my breasts?”
There is barely time to enjoy the way his eyes darken at her words, before he moves to kiss a soft trail down her throat, over the swell of her breast, tongue darting out to capture the tip. A high, pleading noise escapes her as he nips gently, and his low chuckle vibrates through her.
“This morning,” he murmurs. “Did you help your thoughts along?”
To illustrate, he slides a hand between her legs and runs a finger lightly over her sex, and she can feel him smile against her skin as she tries to squirm into closer contact.
“A little,” she confesses, falling back in defeat when his hand slides over her thigh and up to trace her hipbone.
“Did you finish?”
She huffs a slightly embarrassed laugh.
“No, I realized how long I had been already, and got out and dressed before someone happened by.”
“Is that why you are so impatient tonight?” he asks, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when she shoots him a scathing look. “You might have come to find me.”
“And what might I have told those with matters requiring your immediate attention: that their very important business would have to wait, as you were were needed right away to see to your wife's vivid imagination?”
“I enjoy the thought of letting anyone who cares to look, see that you are glad to be mine.”
He lowers his head again, and she cannot say for certain if the bolt of pleasure is the heat of his mouth, or the possession in his words, in his grip at her thigh as he spoke them. As he kisses soft trails over her breast, she thinks that it has been many years since they sat as high and round as they do with her arms stretched over her head, so it is no wonder he is enjoying them.
Before the laugh bubbling up at the thought can escape, he draws her nipple into his mouth, the other hardening against his palm as he cups her soft flesh. His other hand still rests at her thigh, and she squirms beneath him, tries to direct his touch where she wants it, but he remains stubbornly where he is, eyes flicking up briefly to meet hers, amusement lighting them.
“Please, my love,” she gasps. “Touch me, please. Feel how much I want you.”
The breath leaves him in a low growl that makes her shiver, and then he is lying over her, kissing her breathless as his hand slides between her legs. She moans into his mouth in anticipation, and again in deep dismay when he merely traces her opening and lets his fingertip rest just inside, his thumb brushing lightly over her clit.
The pleasure builds agonizingly slow, but very sweet, and it is only when the ache becomes unbearable that she relents and asks, orders him to stop teasing, but to no avail. His eyes are stormy with his own need, his cock hard against her hip, but still his touch is whisper soft, and she cannot stop a noise of frustration as she tries again to arch into his hand and he once again pulls away.
“I thought I needed only to ask!”
“Perhaps you did not ask prettily enough,” he murmurs into her hair, resuming that maddeningly light touch.
“Just wait until your turn,” she half-moans, half-grumbles.
“I look forward to it,” he assures her, relenting and deepening his caress, just a little, just enough.
As she feels herself shudder hotly around his fingers, tenses at the wave of bliss that sweeps over her, she is vaguely aware that she is speaking, pleading for him, please, Ned, please, come here and fuck me.
Catelyn has barely caught her breath when she feels him move away. Her eyes fly open in alarm, and widen in appreciation at the sight of him pulling almost frantically at his clothes.
“I asked prettily enough this time, then?” she surmises with a weak grin as he shoves her legs further apart and settles between them, his cock teasing at her slick entrance.
His laugh is low and breathless.
“I can think of nothing I could deny you if you asked it of me like that.”
Any number of ridiculous responses pop to mind, and are driven away just as quickly when he pulls her legs up and tight around his waist, and enters her with a swift, sure motion that leaves her gasping at the sweetness of the sensation.
He is too far gone for this to be gentle, and she thrills to it, to his breath gusting hot over her shoulder, the rasp of his beard against the soft skin.
It is when she hears him gasp her name amid wordless sounds of pleasure that she forgets the belt and tries to reach for him, and instantly his hand finds her wrists, pulling at the leather until it comes loose.
And though it has been just as enjoyable as she imagined, to have him take his pleasure of her while she is tied, to be entirely his for a time to do with as he wishes, she is not terribly disappointed to be freed, not with the way her fingers have been itching to touch him. Her hands fly to his shoulders, one threading into his hair and the other running feverishly over the broad expanse of his back, muscles jumping under her touch as he moves over her.
“No, don't stop!” she implores frantically, rolling her hips up into his and clutching him closer when he stills with an expression of intense concentration, sweat beading on his forehead.
With another breathless laugh, he starts to move again, and her fingers tighten in his hair until he winces in pain, but does not stop until she is tensing and crying out beneath him. As she catches her breath, his movements grow rapidly harder and unsteadier, and she reaches up to press a trail of kisses over his neck, kneads at his shoulders, until he spends inside her with a shaky groan.
They remain that way for a long while, panting, damp with sweat, still joined, exchanging gentle kisses and touches intended to speak of tenderness and devotion rather than desire.
Eventually, he rolls to his back and pulls her close to nestle against his shoulder. As she reaches to stroke his cheek, something tickles at the back of her hand, and with an embarrassed cough, she moves to pull his belt free of where they have secured it.
Ned stops her with a hand, pulls her back into his arms.
“I have others,” he explains when she looks at him strangely. “And we may need it again tomorrow night.”
She quirks an eyebrow.
“Really.”
He nods gravely.
“I think that I hardly took full advantage of the opportunity to repay a little of your teasing without receiving claw marks for my pains.” He catches her hand as she swats at him, and chuckles. “And I did not lie before - I do look forward to my turn.”
Her head shoots up at this, and in an instant, she is on top of him, seizing his hands and bringing them up over his head. A grin spreads over her face as his lights up.
“If that is so, my love, why wait until tomorrow night?”