fic, ASOIAF: cover me (Jon/Sam), NC17
Title: cover me
Pairing: Jon/Sam
Rating: NC17
Word count: 1750
Spoilers: set during GOT, so.. none really.
Warnings: none that I can think of.
Disclaimer: everything belongs to GRRM, I'm not worthy, I don't own these two or anything else.
Summary: wherein Sam wants to cheer Jon up. And it goes beyond that.
A/N: written for a comment porn post for ozmissage, for the prompt I'll be your brother now; or, this is how I totally indulged myself. these two need more porn written about them dammit
Sam waits until dinner is over before heading for Jon’s barrack.
Or better, he waits for dinner to be over and a good hour to pass. He feels bad for waiting, but he doesn’t have the nerve to risk being caught. Maybe nothing would happen, but he’d rather not chance anything, not when the reason he’s going at all is Ser Thorne.
Well, Sam never claimed to be the kind of person braving danger at any occasion.
Still, this evening the more or less daily altercation between Jon and Ser Thorne during dinner was worse than usual, and Jon had looked quite beat when leaving the hall. It hasn’t happened in a while, though, which is why Sam is worrying and why he’s trying to get to Jon’s barrack without being noticed. Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t encounter too many obstacles; no one tried to stop him when he left the common room. The yard is almost empty except for whoever is keeping watch for the night. He keeps his head down and no one stops him either.
He breathes heavily and tries not to run. He’s tempted but it would probably draw attention, and so he keeps on with his pace and breathes out in relief when he gets to the barrack. He knocks - no one answers. When he opens the door, there’s only Ghost inside. For a second Sam worries that the direwolf might start barking and give him out, but Ghost doesn’t make a noise, merely looks at him. It’s as friendly an expression as a direwolf can have; Sam walks inside and Ghost doesn’t object. Sam smiles at that; he kind of likes the idea that the direwolf might understand why Sam is actually here. Ghost doesn’t retreat when Sam reaches out to pet his side, either; and that’s how Jon finds them a couple of minutes later, when he comes back inside.
“Sam?” he asks, sounding surprised, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.
“Uh, yes. I hope I’m not - see, it’s that… I wanted to, well, see how you were doing. You know. After tonight.”
Jon’s shoulders relax slightly as he sits on his bunk, not exactly close but not as far as he could either.
“Thank you, but… it’s fine. I don’t even hear him most of the time anymore. It’s just that sometimes... no, it’s nothing.”
“I dare say it’s more than nothing,” Sam mumbles. It’s obvious from the way Jon is hunching his shoulders, and from how he’s worrying the corner of the cloak he’s wearing in his hands. He never does that when he isn’t upset.
“Fine. I guess I can’t hide anything from you, can I? It’s that, I didn’t come here because of my family. I came here because of all the rest. I mean, even if I had a different surname, none of my brothers ever treated me like less than one, but the world doesn’t work that way. When I decided to come here, I thought that it wouldn’t matter anymore. Your surname shouldn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Not for everyone. I thought I could leave it behind, but whenever Thorne opens his mouth I get a reminder that I can’t.”
Sam understands that well enough, even if in his case he’d have been lucky not to have been a legitimate firstborn, but he shuts his mouth about that. “If - if it makes you feel better, I might have lost the one brother I had, but I don’t regret who I changed him with.”
It’s just then that Sam realizes that at some point his hand covered Jon’s - he has no memory whatsoever of moving it.
If he takes it away now maybe he can still try to pass it off as an accident, but Jon hasn’t flinched or moved his own hand away either.
Sam’s hand doesn’t shake as his fingers squeeze Jon’s slightly, and he could swear it’s the bravest thing he has done in his life. He’s expecting Jon to react though, and he’s sure it won’t be what he has been hoping for pretty much since his second day at the Wall; but then Jon turns his hand and threads his fingers with Sam’s.
“It makes me feel better,” Jon answers, the corners of his mouth slightly curled up. Sam knows he should stop here and now, this was already more than he could have hoped for, but apparently some part of him has forgotten that he’s supposed to be the craven one; before he can dissuade himself, he has leant forward and kissed Jon’s smiling lips. He expects Jon to pull away now, but he figures it’s fine - he knows how Jon’s mouth feels when pressed against his, that’s enough, but then Jon’s free hand reaches for Sam’s head and gods Jon is kissing him back and that’s when Sam stops thinking. He parts his lips eagerly when he feels Jon’s tongue tracing them, and then his own tongue meets Jon’s and the last coherent thing Sam thinks before the kiss is over is that he’s glad that Jon doesn’t sleep in the common room with everyone else.
He’s breathing heavily when they’re done, and he’s sure that his cheeks must be as flushed as Jon’s. His free hand ended somehow on the side of Jon’s head. He likes the way Jon’s hair feels under his fingers - he thinks he’d like to know how it’d feel to tug on it just a bit, but right now he just can’t move.
“I - I’m not sorry for this,” he blurts a second later. He probably shouldn’t have spoken either, but he wants Jon to know that.
“Good, because I’m not sorry you did it either,” Jon answers, and Sam’s heart is beating so fast that Jon is probably hearing it. “I was wondering if you’d prove me that you really know where to put it.”
Sam has to bite his tongue at that - he’d have laughed, and hard enough to hear from the outside. “Maybe - maybe when I can steal some oil from the kitchens. If you’re serious about it.”
(Sam has read enough books to know that it would be a bad idea.)
He doesn’t expect Jon to move and throw one of his legs over Sam’s. And oh - Jon isn’t really that heavy, and his lithe frame seems almost small against Sam’s, and for a second Sam thinks that it was madness. He couldn’t possibly -
Jon’s hand palms the front of his breeches and there’s no hiding. Sam has been hard since the kiss, but now that Jon is actually touching him, it’s clear exactly how much.
“I’m serious about it,” Jon answers, his voice suddenly lower, as if he’s half sure that he overstepped his boundaries, and Sam might be a lot of things he wishes he wasn’t, but a liar isn’t one of them.
“Then next time I will… be ready,” he answers before bringing Jon’s head down so that they can kiss again. Sam’s hands start working on Jon’s breeches, unlacing them enough for Sam to reach down. It’s too cold to attempt undressing.
Sam can’t help feeling clumsy as he reaches down and his unsteady fingers close around Jon’s cock, but then Jon bites his tongue and his cheeks flush further, and that’s all the confidence Sam needs to start giving slow strokes. His fingers aren’t unsteady anymore after a short while, and then Jon’s eyes close as he moans low in the back of his throat; Jon bares his throat just enough for Sam to lean forward and kiss his pulse point. He can feel Jon’s cock harden further, and Sam can only think, I’m doing this, he’s looking like this because of me. It sends a thrill down Sam’s spine, knowing that he can make Jon look this undone and that he can apparently put his hands to good use when needed. Jon’s hands are gripping Sam’s sides, so hard that they might bruise, but no one will ever see them and Sam thinks that he’d like bruises left by Jon’s hands more than the ones left by sword blows. Jon bites his tongue again and he isn’t even trying to hold up his weight anymore - it’s all on Sam now. That’s fine - Sam can take it. He makes the pace quicker, thinking that he’d like if there was a next time. A next time during which they’d do this properly, because if Jon looks like this just because of Sam’s hand, how would he look if it was Sam’s mouth? Or - gods be good - because of Sam’s cock? He’d look so much lovelier, and he’d moan so much louder, and Jon himself suggested it. And then Jon’s hips sway a bit, rolling forward, and that’s it - Jon crushes his lips to Sam’s as he comes against Sam’s hand. Before Sam can realize it Jon’s thigh brushes against his cock and he’s gone, too, almost untouched. But it doesn’t matter, not when Jon is whimpering inside Sam’s mouth and every inch of Sam’s body is shaking with pleasure. He keeps on stroking Jon’s cock until it’s spent, though it’s nowhere near refined.
When it’s over, Sam expects Jon to pull away, but instead Jon only moves his head so that it’s on Sam’s shoulder. If they don’t clean up someway no one will guess wrong on what they just did, and he really should start worrying now, but then Jon speaks, always keeping his voice low.
“Tomorrow morning is my turn for washing. If we go there early enough I’m sure no one will stop you from doing the same.”
“I - shouldn’t I be back?”
“Will anyone miss you?”
It isn’t even worth to think about the answer - no one would notice.
“I guess… I guess not.”
“Then no one is saying you should go.”
Sam doesn’t.
It isn’t until a hour later or so, when they’re both more or less sharing the bunk instead of one piled on the other that he remembers Ghost being there all along. The direwolf hadn’t made a noise - no wonder, considering his name. He also looks as if he doesn’t mind Sam being in the barrack at all.
Sam figures that if it’s the case, then at least he did this right. And if in the morning Jon is still set on a next time, then Sam won’t even think about refusing.
End.
Pairing: Jon/Sam
Rating: NC17
Word count: 1750
Spoilers: set during GOT, so.. none really.
Warnings: none that I can think of.
Disclaimer: everything belongs to GRRM, I'm not worthy, I don't own these two or anything else.
Summary: wherein Sam wants to cheer Jon up. And it goes beyond that.
A/N: written for a comment porn post for ozmissage, for the prompt I'll be your brother now; or, this is how I totally indulged myself. these two need more porn written about them dammit
Sam waits until dinner is over before heading for Jon’s barrack.
Or better, he waits for dinner to be over and a good hour to pass. He feels bad for waiting, but he doesn’t have the nerve to risk being caught. Maybe nothing would happen, but he’d rather not chance anything, not when the reason he’s going at all is Ser Thorne.
Well, Sam never claimed to be the kind of person braving danger at any occasion.
Still, this evening the more or less daily altercation between Jon and Ser Thorne during dinner was worse than usual, and Jon had looked quite beat when leaving the hall. It hasn’t happened in a while, though, which is why Sam is worrying and why he’s trying to get to Jon’s barrack without being noticed. Surprisingly enough, he doesn’t encounter too many obstacles; no one tried to stop him when he left the common room. The yard is almost empty except for whoever is keeping watch for the night. He keeps his head down and no one stops him either.
He breathes heavily and tries not to run. He’s tempted but it would probably draw attention, and so he keeps on with his pace and breathes out in relief when he gets to the barrack. He knocks - no one answers. When he opens the door, there’s only Ghost inside. For a second Sam worries that the direwolf might start barking and give him out, but Ghost doesn’t make a noise, merely looks at him. It’s as friendly an expression as a direwolf can have; Sam walks inside and Ghost doesn’t object. Sam smiles at that; he kind of likes the idea that the direwolf might understand why Sam is actually here. Ghost doesn’t retreat when Sam reaches out to pet his side, either; and that’s how Jon finds them a couple of minutes later, when he comes back inside.
“Sam?” he asks, sounding surprised, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.
“Uh, yes. I hope I’m not - see, it’s that… I wanted to, well, see how you were doing. You know. After tonight.”
Jon’s shoulders relax slightly as he sits on his bunk, not exactly close but not as far as he could either.
“Thank you, but… it’s fine. I don’t even hear him most of the time anymore. It’s just that sometimes... no, it’s nothing.”
“I dare say it’s more than nothing,” Sam mumbles. It’s obvious from the way Jon is hunching his shoulders, and from how he’s worrying the corner of the cloak he’s wearing in his hands. He never does that when he isn’t upset.
“Fine. I guess I can’t hide anything from you, can I? It’s that, I didn’t come here because of my family. I came here because of all the rest. I mean, even if I had a different surname, none of my brothers ever treated me like less than one, but the world doesn’t work that way. When I decided to come here, I thought that it wouldn’t matter anymore. Your surname shouldn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Not for everyone. I thought I could leave it behind, but whenever Thorne opens his mouth I get a reminder that I can’t.”
Sam understands that well enough, even if in his case he’d have been lucky not to have been a legitimate firstborn, but he shuts his mouth about that. “If - if it makes you feel better, I might have lost the one brother I had, but I don’t regret who I changed him with.”
It’s just then that Sam realizes that at some point his hand covered Jon’s - he has no memory whatsoever of moving it.
If he takes it away now maybe he can still try to pass it off as an accident, but Jon hasn’t flinched or moved his own hand away either.
Sam’s hand doesn’t shake as his fingers squeeze Jon’s slightly, and he could swear it’s the bravest thing he has done in his life. He’s expecting Jon to react though, and he’s sure it won’t be what he has been hoping for pretty much since his second day at the Wall; but then Jon turns his hand and threads his fingers with Sam’s.
“It makes me feel better,” Jon answers, the corners of his mouth slightly curled up. Sam knows he should stop here and now, this was already more than he could have hoped for, but apparently some part of him has forgotten that he’s supposed to be the craven one; before he can dissuade himself, he has leant forward and kissed Jon’s smiling lips. He expects Jon to pull away now, but he figures it’s fine - he knows how Jon’s mouth feels when pressed against his, that’s enough, but then Jon’s free hand reaches for Sam’s head and gods Jon is kissing him back and that’s when Sam stops thinking. He parts his lips eagerly when he feels Jon’s tongue tracing them, and then his own tongue meets Jon’s and the last coherent thing Sam thinks before the kiss is over is that he’s glad that Jon doesn’t sleep in the common room with everyone else.
He’s breathing heavily when they’re done, and he’s sure that his cheeks must be as flushed as Jon’s. His free hand ended somehow on the side of Jon’s head. He likes the way Jon’s hair feels under his fingers - he thinks he’d like to know how it’d feel to tug on it just a bit, but right now he just can’t move.
“I - I’m not sorry for this,” he blurts a second later. He probably shouldn’t have spoken either, but he wants Jon to know that.
“Good, because I’m not sorry you did it either,” Jon answers, and Sam’s heart is beating so fast that Jon is probably hearing it. “I was wondering if you’d prove me that you really know where to put it.”
Sam has to bite his tongue at that - he’d have laughed, and hard enough to hear from the outside. “Maybe - maybe when I can steal some oil from the kitchens. If you’re serious about it.”
(Sam has read enough books to know that it would be a bad idea.)
He doesn’t expect Jon to move and throw one of his legs over Sam’s. And oh - Jon isn’t really that heavy, and his lithe frame seems almost small against Sam’s, and for a second Sam thinks that it was madness. He couldn’t possibly -
Jon’s hand palms the front of his breeches and there’s no hiding. Sam has been hard since the kiss, but now that Jon is actually touching him, it’s clear exactly how much.
“I’m serious about it,” Jon answers, his voice suddenly lower, as if he’s half sure that he overstepped his boundaries, and Sam might be a lot of things he wishes he wasn’t, but a liar isn’t one of them.
“Then next time I will… be ready,” he answers before bringing Jon’s head down so that they can kiss again. Sam’s hands start working on Jon’s breeches, unlacing them enough for Sam to reach down. It’s too cold to attempt undressing.
Sam can’t help feeling clumsy as he reaches down and his unsteady fingers close around Jon’s cock, but then Jon bites his tongue and his cheeks flush further, and that’s all the confidence Sam needs to start giving slow strokes. His fingers aren’t unsteady anymore after a short while, and then Jon’s eyes close as he moans low in the back of his throat; Jon bares his throat just enough for Sam to lean forward and kiss his pulse point. He can feel Jon’s cock harden further, and Sam can only think, I’m doing this, he’s looking like this because of me. It sends a thrill down Sam’s spine, knowing that he can make Jon look this undone and that he can apparently put his hands to good use when needed. Jon’s hands are gripping Sam’s sides, so hard that they might bruise, but no one will ever see them and Sam thinks that he’d like bruises left by Jon’s hands more than the ones left by sword blows. Jon bites his tongue again and he isn’t even trying to hold up his weight anymore - it’s all on Sam now. That’s fine - Sam can take it. He makes the pace quicker, thinking that he’d like if there was a next time. A next time during which they’d do this properly, because if Jon looks like this just because of Sam’s hand, how would he look if it was Sam’s mouth? Or - gods be good - because of Sam’s cock? He’d look so much lovelier, and he’d moan so much louder, and Jon himself suggested it. And then Jon’s hips sway a bit, rolling forward, and that’s it - Jon crushes his lips to Sam’s as he comes against Sam’s hand. Before Sam can realize it Jon’s thigh brushes against his cock and he’s gone, too, almost untouched. But it doesn’t matter, not when Jon is whimpering inside Sam’s mouth and every inch of Sam’s body is shaking with pleasure. He keeps on stroking Jon’s cock until it’s spent, though it’s nowhere near refined.
When it’s over, Sam expects Jon to pull away, but instead Jon only moves his head so that it’s on Sam’s shoulder. If they don’t clean up someway no one will guess wrong on what they just did, and he really should start worrying now, but then Jon speaks, always keeping his voice low.
“Tomorrow morning is my turn for washing. If we go there early enough I’m sure no one will stop you from doing the same.”
“I - shouldn’t I be back?”
“Will anyone miss you?”
It isn’t even worth to think about the answer - no one would notice.
“I guess… I guess not.”
“Then no one is saying you should go.”
Sam doesn’t.
It isn’t until a hour later or so, when they’re both more or less sharing the bunk instead of one piled on the other that he remembers Ghost being there all along. The direwolf hadn’t made a noise - no wonder, considering his name. He also looks as if he doesn’t mind Sam being in the barrack at all.
Sam figures that if it’s the case, then at least he did this right. And if in the morning Jon is still set on a next time, then Sam won’t even think about refusing.
End.