Bite Down - Game of Thrones - Jon/Robb
Title: Bite Down
Pairing: Jon/Robb
Word Count: 1008
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for the "silence" square of my kink bingo card.
Summary: Together in Winterfell, Robb struggles to keep quiet while he's with Jon.
"Robb, hush," Jon urges. "We need to be quiet. Shut up."
Jon's words breathe over his skin, a whispered warning. It's enough to grant Robb the presence of mind to realise how loud his moans had been getting - but it's not his fault. It's Jon and his lips and his evil fingers. How is he supposed to be quiet when his prick is hard and aching in Jon's hand?
He tries to swallow the cries that want to spill from his mouth when Jon continues to stroke him, but it's so hard. All he wants to do is shout loud enough for all of Winterfell to hear. He doesn't want this to be a secret: he's proud of this, proud of Jon, and the whole world should know.
Targaryans married their siblings, and everyone knows how close the Lannisters are.
It's different for them, for boys. It's different even when Jon's lips are the softest things he's ever felt and even when Jon's hand is the most talented one in all of Westboros. Robb bites down on his bottom lip as Jon's mouth finds his neck, teasing him with the faintest hint of his teeth.
Gods, he wants a mark there. He wants Jon to sink his teeth into his skin and suck a great bruise right where everyone will be able to see it. Curious eyes would trace the mark tomorrow, wondering who left it there, and Robb would be able to smirk in satisfaction with a secret that's all his.
Jon is too careful for that.
Jon is always, always too careful.
Robb's fingers bury in the mass of black curls at the back of Jon's head, holding him tight against him. Jon hushes against his neck again, as worried as he always is, but the rush of air makes Robb tremble. He sucks air through clenched teeth and tries his hardest to keep quiet, to hold his tongue.
Jon's hand on his cock is fast and tight, just the way he likes it. They know each other as well as they know themselves, now, but having Jon touch him is always a thousand times better than touching himself. He never comes as hard when he's wanking off; it doesn't make the entire world go white.
Jon does. There's something about the way that Jon touches him; it's in the way that Jon looks at him with his eyes blown black, as if he's something special. No one else looks at him like that. In their eyes, he sees expectations and disappointment. From Jon, there is only desire.
"Kiss me," he mutters. "I can't keep quiet."
Jon responds in a split-second, crushing their mouths together and swallowing down every sound that spills from Robb's mouth. His tongue pushes forward while his hand smears pre-come over his cock, allowing his hand to move more smoothly. The movement leaves a wet, slapping sound in its wake, perfectly obscene against the puffing of their breath.
Robb groans and the sound vibrates through the pair of them. Jon is moaning by now as well, as if he is the one being jacked off, even if Robb's hands are tangled in his hair far away from his prick. He should help him out, but the way that Jon pants and groans when he's left wanting is too perfect. It makes him want to force him to wait forever. Whenever Jon begs it has the opposite effect than intended. He hasn't picked up on that yet, thankfully.
Robb thrusts into Jon's waiting hand, working with him to get the best rhythm, while he allows Jon to assault his open mouth. He'd give Jon anything he wanted, he thinks. He hopes Jon knows that: everything he has, everything he is, he would hand it over in an instant if he could. They're half-brothers, but they're more than that too.
Sometimes Robb thinks they must be the same person. They're joined. Nothing could separate them - not even winter on the horizon or the Wall in Jon's future. Robb tells himself that over and over again. He tells himself that they are stronger than every other force in all seven kingdoms.
With Jon's tongue his mouth and hand on his cock, he almost believes it.
His nails dig into the nape of Jon's neck when he comes, air hissing from his chest as if he's been punched. Jon groans against him and strokes him through it, as Robb spills spunk against his tunic and splatters some onto the ground.
"Fuck," Robb pants. His head falls back against the stone wall behind him and he struggles to catch his breath again. Jon's hand pulls back from his spent cock in order to tuck him away and pull his trousers shut for him, tying the laces of his breeches with sticky, nimble hands.
"You're bloody gorgeous," Robb tells him in a whisper - because, with Jon, words are better than silence. He needs to tell him everything, because otherwise he'd never believe it. Left to his own devices, Jon will always choose to brood and pout and think the worst of the world. It is Robb's job to shock him out of that. "I love you."
Jon looks down, hair falling in his eyes, but it's not enough to block his rare smile from Robb's view. "You love hand-jobs, you mean," he corrects.
"Don't be an idiot." Robb kicks Jon's ankle, just to make his point. It's more of a nudge, really. He kisses him again a moment later, open-mouthed and lazy; he thinks that makes his point far better than words or a kick ever could.
You're the best thing in this entire frigid place, that's what he means.
Pairing: Jon/Robb
Word Count: 1008
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for the "silence" square of my kink bingo card.
Summary: Together in Winterfell, Robb struggles to keep quiet while he's with Jon.
"Robb, hush," Jon urges. "We need to be quiet. Shut up."
Jon's words breathe over his skin, a whispered warning. It's enough to grant Robb the presence of mind to realise how loud his moans had been getting - but it's not his fault. It's Jon and his lips and his evil fingers. How is he supposed to be quiet when his prick is hard and aching in Jon's hand?
He tries to swallow the cries that want to spill from his mouth when Jon continues to stroke him, but it's so hard. All he wants to do is shout loud enough for all of Winterfell to hear. He doesn't want this to be a secret: he's proud of this, proud of Jon, and the whole world should know.
Targaryans married their siblings, and everyone knows how close the Lannisters are.
It's different for them, for boys. It's different even when Jon's lips are the softest things he's ever felt and even when Jon's hand is the most talented one in all of Westboros. Robb bites down on his bottom lip as Jon's mouth finds his neck, teasing him with the faintest hint of his teeth.
Gods, he wants a mark there. He wants Jon to sink his teeth into his skin and suck a great bruise right where everyone will be able to see it. Curious eyes would trace the mark tomorrow, wondering who left it there, and Robb would be able to smirk in satisfaction with a secret that's all his.
Jon is too careful for that.
Jon is always, always too careful.
Robb's fingers bury in the mass of black curls at the back of Jon's head, holding him tight against him. Jon hushes against his neck again, as worried as he always is, but the rush of air makes Robb tremble. He sucks air through clenched teeth and tries his hardest to keep quiet, to hold his tongue.
Jon's hand on his cock is fast and tight, just the way he likes it. They know each other as well as they know themselves, now, but having Jon touch him is always a thousand times better than touching himself. He never comes as hard when he's wanking off; it doesn't make the entire world go white.
Jon does. There's something about the way that Jon touches him; it's in the way that Jon looks at him with his eyes blown black, as if he's something special. No one else looks at him like that. In their eyes, he sees expectations and disappointment. From Jon, there is only desire.
"Kiss me," he mutters. "I can't keep quiet."
Jon responds in a split-second, crushing their mouths together and swallowing down every sound that spills from Robb's mouth. His tongue pushes forward while his hand smears pre-come over his cock, allowing his hand to move more smoothly. The movement leaves a wet, slapping sound in its wake, perfectly obscene against the puffing of their breath.
Robb groans and the sound vibrates through the pair of them. Jon is moaning by now as well, as if he is the one being jacked off, even if Robb's hands are tangled in his hair far away from his prick. He should help him out, but the way that Jon pants and groans when he's left wanting is too perfect. It makes him want to force him to wait forever. Whenever Jon begs it has the opposite effect than intended. He hasn't picked up on that yet, thankfully.
Robb thrusts into Jon's waiting hand, working with him to get the best rhythm, while he allows Jon to assault his open mouth. He'd give Jon anything he wanted, he thinks. He hopes Jon knows that: everything he has, everything he is, he would hand it over in an instant if he could. They're half-brothers, but they're more than that too.
Sometimes Robb thinks they must be the same person. They're joined. Nothing could separate them - not even winter on the horizon or the Wall in Jon's future. Robb tells himself that over and over again. He tells himself that they are stronger than every other force in all seven kingdoms.
With Jon's tongue his mouth and hand on his cock, he almost believes it.
His nails dig into the nape of Jon's neck when he comes, air hissing from his chest as if he's been punched. Jon groans against him and strokes him through it, as Robb spills spunk against his tunic and splatters some onto the ground.
"Fuck," Robb pants. His head falls back against the stone wall behind him and he struggles to catch his breath again. Jon's hand pulls back from his spent cock in order to tuck him away and pull his trousers shut for him, tying the laces of his breeches with sticky, nimble hands.
"You're bloody gorgeous," Robb tells him in a whisper - because, with Jon, words are better than silence. He needs to tell him everything, because otherwise he'd never believe it. Left to his own devices, Jon will always choose to brood and pout and think the worst of the world. It is Robb's job to shock him out of that. "I love you."
Jon looks down, hair falling in his eyes, but it's not enough to block his rare smile from Robb's view. "You love hand-jobs, you mean," he corrects.
"Don't be an idiot." Robb kicks Jon's ankle, just to make his point. It's more of a nudge, really. He kisses him again a moment later, open-mouthed and lazy; he thinks that makes his point far better than words or a kick ever could.
You're the best thing in this entire frigid place, that's what he means.