Holiday Fic #3
Title: What things may follow
Rating: E
Word Count: 1604
For: lit_chick08
Prompt: Ned/Cat: Ned learns what Cat likes (interpret as you want, but they did have five kids, sooo...)
(Aka, MEG WANTED PORN SO HERE YOU GO)
He finds himself outside Catelyn’s chambers before he even realizes he is heading there. The castle is quiet, their guests sleeping, and the sound of Catelyn’s rich, warm laughter is still ringing in his ear, sounding in his memory as it did when it rang off the walls of the Great Hall.
Ned has never made her laugh that way, and that shouldn’t bother him - their marriage has settled into a sort of peace now that the sting of the awful night she asked of Jon’s mother has mostly abated. It is the sort of respectable match his father would be glad to see him make, and he should be content if it never comes to anything more than what it is. And yet he had found his head lifting at the sound of her laugh, had felt an odd sort of twist in his gut that he could not quite identify - be it jealousy or regret or sorrow, whatever it had been had left him unsatisfied with the state of things, had left him with the realization that perhaps there could be something more, a desire to try and bridge the gap between them.
Catelyn answers his knock already dressed for bed, the nightgown almost translucent when lit from behind by the crackling fire in the hearth. Catelyn’s rooms are the warmest in the castle, and yet she lights a fire still - I have not yet adjusted to the cold, she had told him wryly, and he had wondered if she meant the air alone.
“My lord,” she greets, and Ned notes with a sinking stomach that she always sounds so surprised when he comes to her chambers - not unwelcoming, not unwilling, but surprised, and that alone is nearly enough to turn him back to his own rooms. The nights they spend together are for duty, for Winterfell, in hopes of making another child, but he oft times wonders if she would rather he leave her on her own.
“My lady,” he inclines his head, hovering in the doorway, hesitating though she steps back so that he may enter. “Did I wake you?”
“No,” she assures him, though he thinks her eyes look clouded with sleep. She leans against the heavy oaken door, tilting her head and smiling at him, and the light from the fireplace catches on the curve of her neck, brings out the thousand shades of shining red in her auburn hair. Ned licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry, and steps within.
She latches the door behind him, offering him a cup of wine (he refuses), commenting on the success of the feast (he agrees). Their conversation is easy enough as he follows her through to the bedchamber, if overly polite, and as they speak in circles, of things that do not truly matter, she reaches up to unlace her nightgown, easily deducing the reason for his late night visit - the reasons for his visits to her chambers are always the same, to do their duty. She gathers the hem in her hands and pulls the garment over her head - her maiden’s shame, he thinks, had faded quickly enough, and he smiles at the thought. Her eyes are curious as she gazes at him, when he makes no move to remove his own clothing, but she slips her smallclothes down the length of her white thighs and moves to climb into bed.
Catelyn pauses when Ned lays a forestalling hand upon her waist, glancing over her shoulder to where he stands behind her. “Is something wrong?” she asks, a hint of doubt lacing her words, wariness in her eyes. Undoubtedly, he thinks, she is remembering his anger the last time they had argued in this room, and he feels a jolt of guilt for thinking that such wounds could be easily healed.
He sighs, letting his thumb brush the smooth skin of her stomach, raising his other hand to rest on the jut of her hip, unable to articulate the desire for a different sort of intimacy. He wants to point out her easy manner with Jorah Mormont at dinner, the way she had laughed, but he fears that she would take such a comment as a reproach. He is glad for whatever joy his wife can find in her new home, but he cannot help but resent that someone else should strike such an easy rapport with her, while they remain within dutiful, respectful boundaries drawn clearly in the sand. “No,” he assures her, and hesitantly, he kisses the back of her neck, atop the mass of red hair.
He feels her shiver at his touch, and with an uncharacteristic boldness, he slides his hand down her belly, slipping his fingers between her legs, pausing when she lets out a surprised murmur. Since their wedding night, he has always striven to be gentle, to be considerate, to be undemanding and unobtrusive. Their beddings are not without pleasure, but they are primarily a thing of duty, another responsibility to fulfill as the lord and lady of the castle. And so her surprise is not unwarranted, as he holds her naked body fast to his fully clothed one, her back pressed to his chest and his fingers lingering just inside the warm folds of her sex.
Catelyn’s breath hitches, and she leans back into him ever so slightly, and he takes that as permission, sliding his thumb up to rest on her clit, beginning to trace small circles there. Catelyn exhales, the breath passing through her with a shudder, and he can feel the beginnings of wetness against his fingertips. He slides them along her cunt, and she gasps when he slips a finger instead of her, crooking it slightly as he draws back, twisting it as he pushes forward. Catelyn’s hand comes down on his forearm, and she whimpers when he hesitates, thinking she means to stop him. She moans in protest as he pauses, rocking forward against his hand and he begins again, adding a second finger, thrusting them in tempo with the motions of his thumb.
Within a few strokes, her arousal coats his fingers, so that his movements are slick and easy. Ned finds himself unconsciously pushing his hips flush against her as his cock hardens in his breeches, his free arm slipping around her waist to hold her to him. She arches her back in a graceful curve, her head falling to his shoulder, her breath hot against his neck until he tips his head to capture her mouth with his own. She hums against his lips, her hand coming up to cup his jaw. She tries to turn in his arms, her fingers grasping at the material of his breeches over his thigh, and he holds tighter, increasing his tempo.
He hardly knows what he is seeking, grinding against her to try and ease his aching hardness, moving his hand faster and harder until his ministrations near roughness. Catelyn twists upwards in his arms, her breath coming quick and hard, and he groans at the movement against his cock, burying his face against her neck and nipping at the skin there.
Suddenly, Catelyn cries out sharply, and Ned feels a rush of warm satisfaction as she quivers in his arms as the waves of her climax wash over her. He slows his touch as she shakes, his fingers stroking almost lazily now. For a moment, she leans back against him, catching her breath, and then she turns in his arms to lower herself to the bed, her legs trembling from the aftershock. Nearly reluctantly, he releases her, allowing his eyes to skim along the curves of her body. Her eyes are dark with lust, and still surprise lingers there when she gazes up at him. He reaches out to touch her hair, to wrap a strand of it around his forefinger, and the silence that hangs between them is, for once, an easy one. Catelyn smiles, leaning slightly into his touch in a way that twists his gut, much as her laugh had done earlier in the evening, and she unlaces his breeches to take him in her hand.
It takes no more than half a dozen strokes of her smooth, white hand before he spills onto her fingers. It is a different sort of intimacy, he thinks when he leans down to kiss her, and she arches up to meet him despite the questions remaining in her eyes - pleasure for pleasure’s sake alone. Her sudden eagerness spurs him, and he joins her on the bed, urging her back onto the thick feather mattress. She yields easily, watching him with a curious interest as his hands tracing along her body before his mouth follows a similar trail - sliding down her neck and closing around her nipple so that she sighs in pleasure and pushes up from the bed, bracing herself on her elbows.
When he drops down further, to lay his mouth on her cunt, she cries his name out suddenly, and he feels his cock begin to stir again in response. She pants his name in a series of soft whimpers, her hand catching in his hair, and he is struck with the desire to never leave this bed, to discover every inch of her body with his mouth and hands, the places that make her weak and undone. It is not love, or even companionship, but the desire to please one another is new and thrilling unto itself.
Perhaps, he thinks, if they learn to seek each other for pleasure and not merely for duty, the rest will someday follow.
Rating: E
Word Count: 1604
For: lit_chick08
Prompt: Ned/Cat: Ned learns what Cat likes (interpret as you want, but they did have five kids, sooo...)
(Aka, MEG WANTED PORN SO HERE YOU GO)
He finds himself outside Catelyn’s chambers before he even realizes he is heading there. The castle is quiet, their guests sleeping, and the sound of Catelyn’s rich, warm laughter is still ringing in his ear, sounding in his memory as it did when it rang off the walls of the Great Hall.
Ned has never made her laugh that way, and that shouldn’t bother him - their marriage has settled into a sort of peace now that the sting of the awful night she asked of Jon’s mother has mostly abated. It is the sort of respectable match his father would be glad to see him make, and he should be content if it never comes to anything more than what it is. And yet he had found his head lifting at the sound of her laugh, had felt an odd sort of twist in his gut that he could not quite identify - be it jealousy or regret or sorrow, whatever it had been had left him unsatisfied with the state of things, had left him with the realization that perhaps there could be something more, a desire to try and bridge the gap between them.
Catelyn answers his knock already dressed for bed, the nightgown almost translucent when lit from behind by the crackling fire in the hearth. Catelyn’s rooms are the warmest in the castle, and yet she lights a fire still - I have not yet adjusted to the cold, she had told him wryly, and he had wondered if she meant the air alone.
“My lord,” she greets, and Ned notes with a sinking stomach that she always sounds so surprised when he comes to her chambers - not unwelcoming, not unwilling, but surprised, and that alone is nearly enough to turn him back to his own rooms. The nights they spend together are for duty, for Winterfell, in hopes of making another child, but he oft times wonders if she would rather he leave her on her own.
“My lady,” he inclines his head, hovering in the doorway, hesitating though she steps back so that he may enter. “Did I wake you?”
“No,” she assures him, though he thinks her eyes look clouded with sleep. She leans against the heavy oaken door, tilting her head and smiling at him, and the light from the fireplace catches on the curve of her neck, brings out the thousand shades of shining red in her auburn hair. Ned licks his lips, his throat suddenly dry, and steps within.
She latches the door behind him, offering him a cup of wine (he refuses), commenting on the success of the feast (he agrees). Their conversation is easy enough as he follows her through to the bedchamber, if overly polite, and as they speak in circles, of things that do not truly matter, she reaches up to unlace her nightgown, easily deducing the reason for his late night visit - the reasons for his visits to her chambers are always the same, to do their duty. She gathers the hem in her hands and pulls the garment over her head - her maiden’s shame, he thinks, had faded quickly enough, and he smiles at the thought. Her eyes are curious as she gazes at him, when he makes no move to remove his own clothing, but she slips her smallclothes down the length of her white thighs and moves to climb into bed.
Catelyn pauses when Ned lays a forestalling hand upon her waist, glancing over her shoulder to where he stands behind her. “Is something wrong?” she asks, a hint of doubt lacing her words, wariness in her eyes. Undoubtedly, he thinks, she is remembering his anger the last time they had argued in this room, and he feels a jolt of guilt for thinking that such wounds could be easily healed.
He sighs, letting his thumb brush the smooth skin of her stomach, raising his other hand to rest on the jut of her hip, unable to articulate the desire for a different sort of intimacy. He wants to point out her easy manner with Jorah Mormont at dinner, the way she had laughed, but he fears that she would take such a comment as a reproach. He is glad for whatever joy his wife can find in her new home, but he cannot help but resent that someone else should strike such an easy rapport with her, while they remain within dutiful, respectful boundaries drawn clearly in the sand. “No,” he assures her, and hesitantly, he kisses the back of her neck, atop the mass of red hair.
He feels her shiver at his touch, and with an uncharacteristic boldness, he slides his hand down her belly, slipping his fingers between her legs, pausing when she lets out a surprised murmur. Since their wedding night, he has always striven to be gentle, to be considerate, to be undemanding and unobtrusive. Their beddings are not without pleasure, but they are primarily a thing of duty, another responsibility to fulfill as the lord and lady of the castle. And so her surprise is not unwarranted, as he holds her naked body fast to his fully clothed one, her back pressed to his chest and his fingers lingering just inside the warm folds of her sex.
Catelyn’s breath hitches, and she leans back into him ever so slightly, and he takes that as permission, sliding his thumb up to rest on her clit, beginning to trace small circles there. Catelyn exhales, the breath passing through her with a shudder, and he can feel the beginnings of wetness against his fingertips. He slides them along her cunt, and she gasps when he slips a finger instead of her, crooking it slightly as he draws back, twisting it as he pushes forward. Catelyn’s hand comes down on his forearm, and she whimpers when he hesitates, thinking she means to stop him. She moans in protest as he pauses, rocking forward against his hand and he begins again, adding a second finger, thrusting them in tempo with the motions of his thumb.
Within a few strokes, her arousal coats his fingers, so that his movements are slick and easy. Ned finds himself unconsciously pushing his hips flush against her as his cock hardens in his breeches, his free arm slipping around her waist to hold her to him. She arches her back in a graceful curve, her head falling to his shoulder, her breath hot against his neck until he tips his head to capture her mouth with his own. She hums against his lips, her hand coming up to cup his jaw. She tries to turn in his arms, her fingers grasping at the material of his breeches over his thigh, and he holds tighter, increasing his tempo.
He hardly knows what he is seeking, grinding against her to try and ease his aching hardness, moving his hand faster and harder until his ministrations near roughness. Catelyn twists upwards in his arms, her breath coming quick and hard, and he groans at the movement against his cock, burying his face against her neck and nipping at the skin there.
Suddenly, Catelyn cries out sharply, and Ned feels a rush of warm satisfaction as she quivers in his arms as the waves of her climax wash over her. He slows his touch as she shakes, his fingers stroking almost lazily now. For a moment, she leans back against him, catching her breath, and then she turns in his arms to lower herself to the bed, her legs trembling from the aftershock. Nearly reluctantly, he releases her, allowing his eyes to skim along the curves of her body. Her eyes are dark with lust, and still surprise lingers there when she gazes up at him. He reaches out to touch her hair, to wrap a strand of it around his forefinger, and the silence that hangs between them is, for once, an easy one. Catelyn smiles, leaning slightly into his touch in a way that twists his gut, much as her laugh had done earlier in the evening, and she unlaces his breeches to take him in her hand.
It takes no more than half a dozen strokes of her smooth, white hand before he spills onto her fingers. It is a different sort of intimacy, he thinks when he leans down to kiss her, and she arches up to meet him despite the questions remaining in her eyes - pleasure for pleasure’s sake alone. Her sudden eagerness spurs him, and he joins her on the bed, urging her back onto the thick feather mattress. She yields easily, watching him with a curious interest as his hands tracing along her body before his mouth follows a similar trail - sliding down her neck and closing around her nipple so that she sighs in pleasure and pushes up from the bed, bracing herself on her elbows.
When he drops down further, to lay his mouth on her cunt, she cries his name out suddenly, and he feels his cock begin to stir again in response. She pants his name in a series of soft whimpers, her hand catching in his hair, and he is struck with the desire to never leave this bed, to discover every inch of her body with his mouth and hands, the places that make her weak and undone. It is not love, or even companionship, but the desire to please one another is new and thrilling unto itself.
Perhaps, he thinks, if they learn to seek each other for pleasure and not merely for duty, the rest will someday follow.