Fic: A Language All Our Own (Jon/Sansa, R)
Title: A Language All Our Own
Pairing: Jon/Sansa
Rating: R? It's not that porny, really. Surprisingly.
Note: From the prompt, "Jon/Sansa, experimenting with new positions." Probably going to be a series of drabbles courtesy of me and honey_wheeler . Could be seen as happening in the same universe as "And If You Want Me, I'm Your Country," et al.
Considering the late hour, the wine, and the beautiful woman currently occupying his lap, Jon could not be blamed for his befuddlement as he lifted his face from his wife's lovely throat. "What?"
Pulling back slightly, Sansa looked at him from under her lashes. Even in the dim light, he could make out a blush staining her cheeks, and Jon suddenly realized that the fire had burned down considerably since they'd entered her chambers. Gods, how long had they sat here in this chair, kissing like a pair of besotted youths?
But then Sansa pulled her lower lip between her teeth, and all Jon wanted to do was to run his tongue along that lip, to kiss her again and again until she was all he could taste.
But no. She had said something. And from the look on her face, part desire, part embarrassment, it was something he definitely wanted to hear. "What was it you said, love?" he repeated, jostling her slightly in his arms.
"I...there is...," Her teeth pressed down on her lip again, and this time, Jon could not stop himself from tightening his grip on her hair and pulling her face down to his, kissing her breathless.
When they finally parted, Sansa lowered her forehead to his, her lips wet and swollen. "I want to try something," she breathed, and Jon wondered if he had ever heard a sentence more arousing.
His hands dropped to her hips, pulling her firmly against him, and she gave a gasp that had his blood practically singing. "If it's fucking you in this chair," he said roughly, "I am more than game."
Sansa's laugh was sweet and the littlest bit shaky. "We've done that before."
They had, the night Jon had returned from a trip to the Neck, and he still had very vivid memories of how perfect she'd looked- and felt- moving over him in this very seat. Still, he tilted his head to the side, doing his best to appear puzzled. "Have we? I don't recall. Perhaps you could remind me how it went."
His hands were already pushing her nightdress up her thighs, but Sansa merely shook her head and, to his intense dismay, climbed off his lap. "No, this is something new. Something different." She held out her hand to him. "I...I would like very much to try it."
Her face was nearly as red as her hair, and her nightdress had slipped off one milky shoulder. The fire's glow clearly showed the silhouette of her body through the thin linen, and she was watching him with so much affection and want and trust that Jon's chest felt tight.
Perhaps there were men who could resist a breathtakingly beautiful girl holding her hand out and asking them to try something.
Jon was not one of them.
Which is how he came to find himself, many heated moments later, on his knees in their bed, staring down at his wife with a mixture of lust and consternation. "Sansa, I don't believe-,"
"Hush," she instructed, as though he were offering her a suggestion on her sewing rather than holding her ankles against his shoulders. Her own shoulders were pushed firmly against the bed, hips lifted high, and while Jon had to admit this position offered a particularly lovely view down Sansa's body, he was not entirely sure people were meant to...contort themselves in such ways.
It didn't help that they were both slicked with sweat from all the things they'd done before they'd found themselves in their current arrangement. Her legs kept sliding against his chest, and finding the correct angle was proving difficult. His cock ached to be inside her, and twice now he had mused that perhaps the chair had not been an altogether terrible idea, but she seemed determined to master this.
Whatever this was.
By now, Sansa's whole body was flushed, and she was biting that lip again. Unfortunately, situated as they were, Jon could not kiss her now. He made up for that by releasing one of her ankles and dropping a hand to the thatch of auburn curls between her legs.
As his fingers pressed and circled, Sansa pressed her head back further into the mattress, heels digging into his shoulders. "You- you're distracting me," she panted, and he could not help but laugh. Only his lovely girl would complain that his fingers on her were distracting her from fucking him properly.
"Where did you even learn such a thing as this?" he asked, laying his palm flat on her lower belly as his thumb worked over her.
"I saw it-," she started, only to arch her back, eyes fluttering shut. "Oh, yes, oh, there...in a-Jon- a book."
Surprised, Jon's fingers stilled. "A book?" he asked, eyes widening. "They make books about this?"
Her eyes flew open, bright blue and a little irritated. "Of course they do. They make books about all manner of things. And in the book, this...looked pleasant."
The idea of Sansa perusing a filthy book, thinking of things she'd like him to do to her...
It was almost more than Jon could stand, and he no longer cared that the muscles in his thighs were burning and his neck was beginning to twinge. "Sansa," he groaned, leaning forward. But as he did, she shifted slightly, and then he dropped her other ankle, and suddenly they were tumbling onto the bed in a mass of sweaty limbs.
Jon managed to keep himself from falling entirely on top of Sansa, but she still gave a little shriek, hands reflexively coming up to clutch his shoulders.
He could feel her chest heaving under his, and Jon pushed up on his arms, staring down at her in alarm. "Are you alright?" he asked, only to realize that she wasn't gasping for breath, but giggling.
"Oh," she laughed, dropping her hands from his shoulders to cover her face. "Oh, gods, we made a mess of that, didn't we?"
Jon chuckled as well, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "It wasn't a complete mess," he said, but that only made her giggle again, and soon they were both laughing like mischievous children, foreheads pressed together.
After a long moment, their chuckles began to subside until they were smiling at each other, Sansa's arms around his neck, his hands loosely cupping her cheeks. "Do you know," Jon said conversationally, dropping a kiss at the corner of her mouth, "while new things are all well and good, there is something to be said for this."
She was lying under him, pliant and warm, and as Jon nudged her legs apart with one knee, Sansa gave a soft sigh that went straight to his heart.
"I couldn't do this before," he murmured, dropping his lips to hers and kissing her slowly and thoroughly until her hands had lifted from his shoulders to clutch at his hair.
When Jon pulled back, Sansa's eyes were dreamy and slightly glazed. Still, there was a gleam in them as she opened her legs further, sliding one silken thigh against his hips. "And I could not do this," she said, arching against him.
"Very true," Jon replied, his voice pained. "And then of course, this was completely impossible." He slid his hand down from her face to cup one breast, fingers feathering her nipple until Sansa's eyes fluttered shut.
"Truly a travesty," she managed to get out. "Someone should inform the author."
"Someone should," he agreed, and then she was opening her legs even further and he was sliding into her. All the erotic illustrations in the world could not have been more arousing than the sight of her lips parting, the way her hair clung to her cheeks and neck, the curve of her knee as she slid one foot up the bed, letting him go even deeper.
"Gods, you're beautiful," he rasped against her ear. Every bit of his skin seemed to be firmly pressed to hers, her hands hot against his back, and when he pushed up on one arm to snake a hand between them, he could feel every tremor, every ripple of pleasure.
When she shattered apart around him, their faces were close enough for Jon to see that drugged, hazy look come into her eyes, to take her lip between his own teeth this time, to tangle his hands in her hair as he followed her over the edge.
Afterward, they lay in the rumpled sheets, his body curled around hers. Jon kissed the spot behind her ear, purposely rubbing his beard against the soft skin so that she shivered.
"We can try again," he murmured against her temple. "Perhaps if we did some sort of training exercise beforehand-,"
Sansa drove her elbow back, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him give a slight grunt.
Jon gently bit her shoulder in retaliation before pulling her closer to him, draping a leg over hers. "It...I'm pleased that," he broke off with a sigh. Words would never come that easily to him. At least not words like this.
Rolling in his arms, Sansa turned to face him. "You're pleased that what?"
"That you wanted to try something like that with me. That you...," Jon pushed her hair away from her face, marveling as he always did at the strong line of her nose, the delicate slope of her cheekbones. "That you trust me that much."
Expression softening, Sansa raised up and kissed the very tip of his nose. "Of course I trust you," she said as though to think otherwise would be the silliest thing in the world.
She rolled back over, and Jon kissed her neck one more time, linking his fingers with hers over her stomach. Sighing happily, she snuggled against him, the curve of her backside pressed into his lap.
Only moments before, Jon had felt content and exhausted. Now it seemed his body might have other ideas. "Sansa?" he whispered.
"Mmm?" She sounded drowsy, but she could hardly fail to notice he was anything but tired.
"Were there...other things in that book?"
She stirred, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were sleepy, but her lips were already curving up in a smile. "Indeed there were," she purred, rolling over and throwing a leg over his hips.