Fic: And All This Peace Has Been Deceiving (Jon/Sansa, M)
Complete and total PWP for midnightblack07 from, naturally, the ASoIaF kink meme with the prompt, "Jon/Sansa, she wakes to his mouth on her." Happening in the same universe as And If You Want Me I'm Your Country and Come Raise Your Flag Upon Me.
It's not unusual for her to dream of her husband when he is gone. Just the other night, she'd awoken with every nerve in her body alight, images of the two of them entwined in the hot pools still unfurling in her mind. But this dream seems much more...vivid.
Sighing, Sansa shifts her legs as warm lips move up her inner thigh. Beneath her, the sheets are somehow soft and irritating all at once. As is her shift, inching up past her waist until she can feel the coolness of the room against her bare stomach. Only when hot fingers part her folds, opening her to the first long, slow lick of his tongue does Sansa realize this is no dream at all.
Keeping her eyes closed, she smiles, not only in pleasure, but in pure, simple joy that he's returned at last. She drops her hands, tangling her fingers in his hair, delighting in the way the strands curl against her fingers. His hair is silky and slightly damp, and she remembers now that it had started raining before she'd gone to bed. The thought of him, riding through a storm in the middle of the night just to get home to her, is as touching as it is arousing, and she lets her thighs spread wider.
He licks and sucks, slowly, so slowly, and Sansa rolls her hips to his easy, gentle rhythm. The first time he'd done this had been on their wedding night. It was the first time any man had kissed her there, and the pleasure had been so dark and heady that she'd had a brief moment of something like panic, afraid that she would stop breathing, that her heart would actually hammer out of her chest.
Afterward, she'd felt horribly embarrassed by the wetness on his lips, the taste of her on his tongue, and how eager she'd been to lick those lips, to suck that tongue inside her own mouth. It had been weeks into their marriage before she'd stopped blushing every time he emerged from between her legs, face slick and eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Weeks before she'd realized that nothing between them could ever be shameful or wrong, and that he took every bit as much enjoyment in this act as she did.
Jon's lips shift, capturing that spot that makes her eyes cross and her legs shake, and...well, perhaps he does not take quite as much enjoyment as she does.
His tongue moves over her in gentle circles and she feels him crook one, then two fingers inside her. Usually when he does this, Sansa's release hits her like thunderbolt, shaking everything within her. She has come apart under his mouth so many times, hands tight in his hair, cries spilling from her lips, heedless of who hears them, heedless of anything except the flicking of his tongue, the sucking of his lovely mouth.
Tonight, her peak is a soft, pulsing thing, breaking over her like waves lapping the shore. Her toes curl and she sighs, lifting her hips from the bed, the arch of her foot rubbing against the rain-slicked leather of his jerkin.
His kisses grow gentle enough to be thought of as chaste, were they not pressed against her still throbbing sex, and Sansa lets her fingers go slack on his hair, petting rather than pulling.
Eyes still closed, Sansa cannot suppress a grin and gives a theatrically lusty sigh."Thank you, Mathias," she says, naming one of Winterfell's stablehands. "It's so good of you to service me when my lord husband is away."
From between her legs, Jon huffs out a laugh and then gently applies his teeth to the inside of her knee. "Faithless woman," he mock-growls, and Sansa pushes herself to her elbows, eyes wide.
"My Lord!" she breathes, pressing a hand to her chest. "I had no idea you had return-,"
Before she can finish, Jon is launching himself up her body, grabbing her by the waist and pushing her to the mattress. She laughs against his mouth as he fists his hands in her hair, and then he's kissing her dizzy, tasting like rain and wine and her...
When he finally pulls away, he's smiling, and his dark eyes are suddenly the most dear things she can imagine seeing. "You're home," she tells him, pressing a palm to his cheek.
He turns and kisses the inside of her wrist. "I am."
It's not unusual for her to dream of her husband when he is gone. Just the other night, she'd awoken with every nerve in her body alight, images of the two of them entwined in the hot pools still unfurling in her mind. But this dream seems much more...vivid.
Sighing, Sansa shifts her legs as warm lips move up her inner thigh. Beneath her, the sheets are somehow soft and irritating all at once. As is her shift, inching up past her waist until she can feel the coolness of the room against her bare stomach. Only when hot fingers part her folds, opening her to the first long, slow lick of his tongue does Sansa realize this is no dream at all.
Keeping her eyes closed, she smiles, not only in pleasure, but in pure, simple joy that he's returned at last. She drops her hands, tangling her fingers in his hair, delighting in the way the strands curl against her fingers. His hair is silky and slightly damp, and she remembers now that it had started raining before she'd gone to bed. The thought of him, riding through a storm in the middle of the night just to get home to her, is as touching as it is arousing, and she lets her thighs spread wider.
He licks and sucks, slowly, so slowly, and Sansa rolls her hips to his easy, gentle rhythm. The first time he'd done this had been on their wedding night. It was the first time any man had kissed her there, and the pleasure had been so dark and heady that she'd had a brief moment of something like panic, afraid that she would stop breathing, that her heart would actually hammer out of her chest.
Afterward, she'd felt horribly embarrassed by the wetness on his lips, the taste of her on his tongue, and how eager she'd been to lick those lips, to suck that tongue inside her own mouth. It had been weeks into their marriage before she'd stopped blushing every time he emerged from between her legs, face slick and eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Weeks before she'd realized that nothing between them could ever be shameful or wrong, and that he took every bit as much enjoyment in this act as she did.
Jon's lips shift, capturing that spot that makes her eyes cross and her legs shake, and...well, perhaps he does not take quite as much enjoyment as she does.
His tongue moves over her in gentle circles and she feels him crook one, then two fingers inside her. Usually when he does this, Sansa's release hits her like thunderbolt, shaking everything within her. She has come apart under his mouth so many times, hands tight in his hair, cries spilling from her lips, heedless of who hears them, heedless of anything except the flicking of his tongue, the sucking of his lovely mouth.
Tonight, her peak is a soft, pulsing thing, breaking over her like waves lapping the shore. Her toes curl and she sighs, lifting her hips from the bed, the arch of her foot rubbing against the rain-slicked leather of his jerkin.
His kisses grow gentle enough to be thought of as chaste, were they not pressed against her still throbbing sex, and Sansa lets her fingers go slack on his hair, petting rather than pulling.
Eyes still closed, Sansa cannot suppress a grin and gives a theatrically lusty sigh."Thank you, Mathias," she says, naming one of Winterfell's stablehands. "It's so good of you to service me when my lord husband is away."
From between her legs, Jon huffs out a laugh and then gently applies his teeth to the inside of her knee. "Faithless woman," he mock-growls, and Sansa pushes herself to her elbows, eyes wide.
"My Lord!" she breathes, pressing a hand to her chest. "I had no idea you had return-,"
Before she can finish, Jon is launching himself up her body, grabbing her by the waist and pushing her to the mattress. She laughs against his mouth as he fists his hands in her hair, and then he's kissing her dizzy, tasting like rain and wine and her...
When he finally pulls away, he's smiling, and his dark eyes are suddenly the most dear things she can imagine seeing. "You're home," she tells him, pressing a palm to his cheek.
He turns and kisses the inside of her wrist. "I am."