ASOIAF KINK FOR KINK EXCHANGE - DAY 10
To: Alayne
From: ?
Title: At the Edge of the World
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Sansa
Word Count: 1653
Summary: Newly married Jon Snow shows his lady wife the top of the infamous Wall.
Warnings: AU
The wind was a thing alive atop the Wall, cold beyond the measure of cold, and fierce. It tugged at Sansa Stark's cloak and the heavy dress underneath, seeming as though it meant to pitch her from the rampart.
"Here," he spoke gruffly, taking one of her hands into his own and pulling her near to one of the sputtering braziers, "it'll warm you some."
Sansa smiled shyly, meeting his dark eyes. Gray, she recalled absently, Stark gray. The thought was troubling, but oddly compelling at the same time. The young man dropped her hand quickly, but returned the smile, and produced a flask for her to sip from. "This'll warm you as well," he offered. Sansa tasted the strong drink and made a wry face, handing the flask back to him and shaking her head as she forced it down. He chuckled, and for a moment those gray Stark eyes brightened.
"Will you warm me also, Lord Commander Snow?" She asked, trying to be coy like Myranda Royce, and worrying the words sounded silly. Jon's face froze, the laugher gone, and Sansa was certain that somewhere Randa was laughing at her.
"Well, I'm not the Lord Commander anymore," he mumbled, shuffling his feet. Sansa nodded politely and looked down at her hands. With the threat of the Others erased forever, the Dragon Queen had released the men of the Night's Watch from their vows, and pardoned the trespasses of those who had served faithfully. But the Queen's nephew would never truly be a free man; bound as he was to the fate of his royal blood. It had been the Targaryen Queen's wish, when Sansa had bent the knee and place the Crown of the North at the feet of the Dragon, that their two great Houses be joined by marriage.
So now she was Lady Sansa once more, the Stark in Winterfell, and her new husband was a man she had once believed to be her father's son.
"Well then, will the Warden of the North share his warmth with me?" She tried again, rather more sheepishly than she'd intended.
For a heartbeat she thought he'd balk, but then he came forward and wrapped her in a tentative embrace. Sansa tried her hands at his waist, looking at his neck instead of his face. His arms were rigid and his breath came unevenly against her ear. She wished dearly that she could know his thoughts, but Jon had always been an inward sort of young man. Her own heart was fluttering against her breastbone, and she felt like crying all of a sudden. This will never work, she told herself sullenly, we are still brother and sister in our minds. Jon shifted his weight, and looked out over the edge of the world. They stood in silence for a time. Sansa bit her lip and dared to lean in closer against him, feigning a shiver.
"Will it be torn down?" She asked, "the Wall, I mean."
"Truly, I do not know," his voice sounded pained.
"Will you miss it?"
Jon seemed startled by the question, and looked down at her pale face, frowning. "Truly, I do not know."
Sansa fed him a little grin, "you don't know very much, do you my Lord?"
He flashed her a sad smile, "indeed, my Lady, as it is, I have been told many times that I know nothing."
Sansa gathered her courage and pressed a little kiss into his mouth. He stiffened, but after a moment made an attempt to return the gesture. She tried to recall their wedding night once again, but once again the memories eluded her, born away on a tide of wine dreams.
She'd been near to passing out with drunkenness by the time the small crowd of guests had dropped them bare and terrified into their bed; but for the stain of blood upon the sheet and the ache between her legs the next morning, she would have had her doubts they'd managed to consummate it at all.
"I hope that they do not," she whispered, pulling away just enough to speak, "it is a very nice wall."
Jon smiled, and his eyes brightened again, "I'm glad it has your approval, my Lady, no doubt it would have felt very sorry for itself if it had failed to impress the Lady of Winterfell."
Sansa giggled at his joke and slipped one of her arms up around his neck, pulling just a bit. He ducked his head closer, and paused. Sansa felt his heavy sigh against her lips. "I am sorry, Sansa."
"There is no need to be sorry," she assured him.
"Then why do I feel so ashamed of myself?" His voice was almost too quiet to hear. Sansa closed her eyes and touched his cheek, her stomach suddenly heavy from the weight of her dismay. She knew she was failing at being the proper wife a lady should be. What would her mother have done? Not married bastard kin, for one, the nasty little voice sprung up from nowhere and Sansa felt her cheeks flare.
"There is no shame in not wanting a woman you thought to be your sister, Jon, perhaps in time you will come to--"
"It's not that!" He cut her off hurriedly, "I mean before, maybe, but then after the bedding--" he gave her a look that pleaded with her to understand, "what do the gods think of a man who desires his own sister? I mean, I know you are not truly my sister, but--"
The dismay evaporated like dust, and Sansa felt a rush of triumph. "I am sure they will forgive it of a Targaryen, my Lord," she teased, "you really can't help it after all; you dragons are all prone to chasing after your sisters, are you not?"
Jon's lips twitched, and she could tell he was trying very hard not to smirk. She seized the opportunity to kiss him again, holding him closer. One of his arms tightened around her, and she felt his other hand press against her bottom experimentally. Sansa made an encouraging noise in her throat and touched the corner of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. His lips parted easily over hers, and he explored her mouth boldly and eagerly. The kissing and touching went on for quite some time and Sansa felt little prickles of excitement stirring in her blood. Flushed with pleasure and arousal, she pulled her mouth away from his and pressed it into his ear.
"You should take me down to your chambers, my Lord, I think I have seen enough of the Wall for one afternoon."
"No."
"No?" Sansa blinked, then huffed, confused, "but surely--"
"No," he repeated himself, then grasped her firmly by the waist and set her up on one of the blocks of ice that made up the top of the tower. Sansa caught his meaning quickly and gasped, scandilized, as he made to kiss her neck.
"Here--?"
"Yes," he breathed, groping one of her breasts through the thick fabric of her dress, "here."
Sansa felt her body tremble at the thought. It was so very wicked. "But what if someone should see?" She gasped.
He wormed a gloved hand beneath the fabric, caressing one of her pert little pink nipples into a rigid peak. Icy cold air breathed against her skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. Her question went unanswered.
It was as though a damn had been breeched, the water pouring out over a dry valley below; his hands and mouth grew hungry and demanding, sucking, caressing, biting, and pinching. Sansa felt herself become a gasping ruin; little hitching breaths escaping her parted lips, her body wriggling and heated despite the suffocating cold.
Suddenly she felt strong hands grasping her shoulders, and had only a moment to meet her husband's eyes before he turned her to face away from him and thrust her towards the edge of the world.
Sansa cried out as her hair tumbled past her cheeks, dangling like copper ribbons into the abyss. It was not fully light anymore, and the half-darkness had swallowed the ground below in a hazy mist. The young woman grasped the edge of ice, and felt the bite of cold against her legs and buttocks as Jon raised her heavy skirts.
He entered her quickly, replacing the shock of icy air with the warmth of his body against hers. Their union came easily, and Sansa blushed, realizing how ready she'd been for him.
"Oh Gods, Jon," she gasped as he thrust into her with a firm slap of flesh. The world disappeared beneath her eyes, a cold wind harassed her exposed cheeks, and between her legs, an ache began to build into a blazing fire.
Sansa heard him groan, and her name escaped his lips in a fevered whisper. The moment escalated quickly, and she heard the most unladylike noises begin to emanate from her person; gasps and moans, little cries of pleasure, and even the occasional gutteral groan.
Had it been like this the first time? Sansa could not recall, and then lost interest entirely as a flood of warmth gushed from her core and poured out of her mouth in a shriek, body trembling, fingers clutching white-knuckled at the ice.
Behind her, the Warden of the North was unable to maintain his composure as her flesh rippled around him, and he pressed his mouth into her neck as he came. "Sansa," he hissed, and she felt the pulse of his body inside hers.
Sansa’s heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the sound of the wind and the ravens circling above; she stared out over the edge of the world and felt her brother’s tears freeze against her neck, even as his seed ran in a thin rivulet down her leg.
Husband she corrected herself with a secret smile, not brother.
From: ?
Title: At the Edge of the World
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jon/Sansa
Word Count: 1653
Summary: Newly married Jon Snow shows his lady wife the top of the infamous Wall.
Warnings: AU
The wind was a thing alive atop the Wall, cold beyond the measure of cold, and fierce. It tugged at Sansa Stark's cloak and the heavy dress underneath, seeming as though it meant to pitch her from the rampart.
"Here," he spoke gruffly, taking one of her hands into his own and pulling her near to one of the sputtering braziers, "it'll warm you some."
Sansa smiled shyly, meeting his dark eyes. Gray, she recalled absently, Stark gray. The thought was troubling, but oddly compelling at the same time. The young man dropped her hand quickly, but returned the smile, and produced a flask for her to sip from. "This'll warm you as well," he offered. Sansa tasted the strong drink and made a wry face, handing the flask back to him and shaking her head as she forced it down. He chuckled, and for a moment those gray Stark eyes brightened.
"Will you warm me also, Lord Commander Snow?" She asked, trying to be coy like Myranda Royce, and worrying the words sounded silly. Jon's face froze, the laugher gone, and Sansa was certain that somewhere Randa was laughing at her.
"Well, I'm not the Lord Commander anymore," he mumbled, shuffling his feet. Sansa nodded politely and looked down at her hands. With the threat of the Others erased forever, the Dragon Queen had released the men of the Night's Watch from their vows, and pardoned the trespasses of those who had served faithfully. But the Queen's nephew would never truly be a free man; bound as he was to the fate of his royal blood. It had been the Targaryen Queen's wish, when Sansa had bent the knee and place the Crown of the North at the feet of the Dragon, that their two great Houses be joined by marriage.
So now she was Lady Sansa once more, the Stark in Winterfell, and her new husband was a man she had once believed to be her father's son.
"Well then, will the Warden of the North share his warmth with me?" She tried again, rather more sheepishly than she'd intended.
For a heartbeat she thought he'd balk, but then he came forward and wrapped her in a tentative embrace. Sansa tried her hands at his waist, looking at his neck instead of his face. His arms were rigid and his breath came unevenly against her ear. She wished dearly that she could know his thoughts, but Jon had always been an inward sort of young man. Her own heart was fluttering against her breastbone, and she felt like crying all of a sudden. This will never work, she told herself sullenly, we are still brother and sister in our minds. Jon shifted his weight, and looked out over the edge of the world. They stood in silence for a time. Sansa bit her lip and dared to lean in closer against him, feigning a shiver.
"Will it be torn down?" She asked, "the Wall, I mean."
"Truly, I do not know," his voice sounded pained.
"Will you miss it?"
Jon seemed startled by the question, and looked down at her pale face, frowning. "Truly, I do not know."
Sansa fed him a little grin, "you don't know very much, do you my Lord?"
He flashed her a sad smile, "indeed, my Lady, as it is, I have been told many times that I know nothing."
Sansa gathered her courage and pressed a little kiss into his mouth. He stiffened, but after a moment made an attempt to return the gesture. She tried to recall their wedding night once again, but once again the memories eluded her, born away on a tide of wine dreams.
She'd been near to passing out with drunkenness by the time the small crowd of guests had dropped them bare and terrified into their bed; but for the stain of blood upon the sheet and the ache between her legs the next morning, she would have had her doubts they'd managed to consummate it at all.
"I hope that they do not," she whispered, pulling away just enough to speak, "it is a very nice wall."
Jon smiled, and his eyes brightened again, "I'm glad it has your approval, my Lady, no doubt it would have felt very sorry for itself if it had failed to impress the Lady of Winterfell."
Sansa giggled at his joke and slipped one of her arms up around his neck, pulling just a bit. He ducked his head closer, and paused. Sansa felt his heavy sigh against her lips. "I am sorry, Sansa."
"There is no need to be sorry," she assured him.
"Then why do I feel so ashamed of myself?" His voice was almost too quiet to hear. Sansa closed her eyes and touched his cheek, her stomach suddenly heavy from the weight of her dismay. She knew she was failing at being the proper wife a lady should be. What would her mother have done? Not married bastard kin, for one, the nasty little voice sprung up from nowhere and Sansa felt her cheeks flare.
"There is no shame in not wanting a woman you thought to be your sister, Jon, perhaps in time you will come to--"
"It's not that!" He cut her off hurriedly, "I mean before, maybe, but then after the bedding--" he gave her a look that pleaded with her to understand, "what do the gods think of a man who desires his own sister? I mean, I know you are not truly my sister, but--"
The dismay evaporated like dust, and Sansa felt a rush of triumph. "I am sure they will forgive it of a Targaryen, my Lord," she teased, "you really can't help it after all; you dragons are all prone to chasing after your sisters, are you not?"
Jon's lips twitched, and she could tell he was trying very hard not to smirk. She seized the opportunity to kiss him again, holding him closer. One of his arms tightened around her, and she felt his other hand press against her bottom experimentally. Sansa made an encouraging noise in her throat and touched the corner of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. His lips parted easily over hers, and he explored her mouth boldly and eagerly. The kissing and touching went on for quite some time and Sansa felt little prickles of excitement stirring in her blood. Flushed with pleasure and arousal, she pulled her mouth away from his and pressed it into his ear.
"You should take me down to your chambers, my Lord, I think I have seen enough of the Wall for one afternoon."
"No."
"No?" Sansa blinked, then huffed, confused, "but surely--"
"No," he repeated himself, then grasped her firmly by the waist and set her up on one of the blocks of ice that made up the top of the tower. Sansa caught his meaning quickly and gasped, scandilized, as he made to kiss her neck.
"Here--?"
"Yes," he breathed, groping one of her breasts through the thick fabric of her dress, "here."
Sansa felt her body tremble at the thought. It was so very wicked. "But what if someone should see?" She gasped.
He wormed a gloved hand beneath the fabric, caressing one of her pert little pink nipples into a rigid peak. Icy cold air breathed against her skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake. Her question went unanswered.
It was as though a damn had been breeched, the water pouring out over a dry valley below; his hands and mouth grew hungry and demanding, sucking, caressing, biting, and pinching. Sansa felt herself become a gasping ruin; little hitching breaths escaping her parted lips, her body wriggling and heated despite the suffocating cold.
Suddenly she felt strong hands grasping her shoulders, and had only a moment to meet her husband's eyes before he turned her to face away from him and thrust her towards the edge of the world.
Sansa cried out as her hair tumbled past her cheeks, dangling like copper ribbons into the abyss. It was not fully light anymore, and the half-darkness had swallowed the ground below in a hazy mist. The young woman grasped the edge of ice, and felt the bite of cold against her legs and buttocks as Jon raised her heavy skirts.
He entered her quickly, replacing the shock of icy air with the warmth of his body against hers. Their union came easily, and Sansa blushed, realizing how ready she'd been for him.
"Oh Gods, Jon," she gasped as he thrust into her with a firm slap of flesh. The world disappeared beneath her eyes, a cold wind harassed her exposed cheeks, and between her legs, an ache began to build into a blazing fire.
Sansa heard him groan, and her name escaped his lips in a fevered whisper. The moment escalated quickly, and she heard the most unladylike noises begin to emanate from her person; gasps and moans, little cries of pleasure, and even the occasional gutteral groan.
Had it been like this the first time? Sansa could not recall, and then lost interest entirely as a flood of warmth gushed from her core and poured out of her mouth in a shriek, body trembling, fingers clutching white-knuckled at the ice.
Behind her, the Warden of the North was unable to maintain his composure as her flesh rippled around him, and he pressed his mouth into her neck as he came. "Sansa," he hissed, and she felt the pulse of his body inside hers.
Sansa’s heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the sound of the wind and the ravens circling above; she stared out over the edge of the world and felt her brother’s tears freeze against her neck, even as his seed ran in a thin rivulet down her leg.
Husband she corrected herself with a secret smile, not brother.