Character: Jon Snow
Fandom: Game of Thrones
OC: Ayanna, golden hair, blue eyes, playful
Inspiration: Cause Jon Snow is perfect in every way :)
It snowed for three days straight. On the morning of the forth, the ground was layered with a mountain of white. There was also twice as much work as normal, as shovels were handed around and pathways were cleared. Ladies did not do such work; it was the men who labored to move the piles of snow off the rooftops and stairs. But there was nothing that prohibited said ladies from observing.
Jon Snow made quite the sight, more so because he had taken his fur cloak off due to the intensity of the labor. He had already worked up a sweat, and had stripped down to his thin gray undershirt. His musculature was inspiring, though his red nose and cheeks were rather counterproductive in terms of producing a more masculine effect.
No matter – what he presently lacked in masculinity, he made up for in all other areas, and no one could ever claim that Jon Snow was not a man. Least of all Ayanna. Besides, she rather liked the boyish charm that he was achieving at the moment. It was just as attractive.
Then again, nearly everything he did was attractive to her.
A smirk drifted over Ayanna’s features as she stepped out onto the landing above him. He was alone, for now – the other men were working on shoving the heavy snow from the roof of the stables on the other side of the courtyard. Small favors. She didn’t need anyone else privy to the conversation (or there lack of) that she intended to have with him.
“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Ayanna called from above, her voice carrying just enough to reach his ears and no one else’s. Jon paused, frowned, and looked up. The brooding way his dark eyes locked with hers made her tilt her head in amusement. Always so serious.
His eyes traveled over her briefly, taking note of her thick woolen dress and the customary fur collar she wore around her neck. She looked just the same as ever: fresh, mischievous, and shivering. Her southern blood had yet to get used to the frigid northern winters despite having been in the north for the better part of her life.
As always, the sight of her shivering form gave way to the instinctual desire to hold her and breathe his warmth into her. He resisted, naturally. They were, after all, in a very public place.
“Don’t you have chores to do?” he asked instead, leaning against the handle of his shovel as he peered up at her. She made quite a sight too, with all that golden hair tumbling over her shoulders.
Ayanna leaned her elbows onto the railing and blinked down at him, not even trying to hide the way her eyes roved over his body. He pretended not to notice (naturally) and was glad, at least, that the cold air was good for one thing: it did a very good job at hiding the slight blush that spread over his cheeks from her attention.
He wouldn’t normally admit that he sometimes got a little nervous around her. He’d rather die than give Ayanna any reason to laugh at him. Her mischievous spirit was just a part of her nature, and she often found amusement in small things. Still, her interest in him constantly baffled him. She was highborn, a young woman of considerable status, at least in comparison to him. And yet she had no qualms with sharing kisses (and occasionally her bed) with a bastard son. So yes, he did get nervous around her occasionally, because he could never really figure out why she didn’t extend her attention to a man more compatible to her station.
Ayanna smirked and made her way down the stairs to where he stood at the bottom. As she stepped down to his level, he couldn’t help but think that, despite her rather plain garments today, she looked every bit the lady that she was. Proud, strong, and lovely – her hot blooded nature could have melted the entirety of Winterfell.
“I finished those hours ago,” she said with a wave of her hand. His expression turned skeptical.
There was always work to be done. One was never finished with chores, even a lady such as herself. He knew from his sisters that a southern lady’s definition of ‘chores’ had more to do with sitting around a warm fire embroidering, but Winterfell was not the south. The women here had a more active role in day to day life.
Ayanna paused, no doubt reading his thoughts just from the expression on his face. She could read him fairly well by now, regardless of his constantly brooding eyes. Then again, such a degree of understanding often came naturally when intimacy was involved.
She laughed and admitted, “Alright, so I decided to take a break. Get some fresh air.” She shrugged.
A chuckle swept passed his lips and he gave her a rare smile. “Fresh air? It’s below freezing.”
The reminder seemed to make her shiver more intensely, and he very nearly reached out to touch her arm, only just barely refraining.
Ayanna’s mischievous smile widened into a downright sinful smirk. She drawled, “I thought I’d drag you inside for a little while. I only need…oh, half an hour of your time. Preferably.”
In hindsight, Jon really should have expected every bit of the reckless mischief that Ayanna was suggesting. He should have known what she wanted just from the look in her eyes. But his mind was muddled from the cold and her presence, his thoughts (and common sense) scattered to the frigid wind like so many snowflakes. And so he agreed, not quite understanding the full extent of her plans for him until they were already inside.
Ayanna led him down the busy halls of Winterfell, not stopping until she reached the north wing, where the bedrooms were. It was much quieter than the other bustling areas of the estate. Being the middle of afternoon as it was, no one was in their rooms and the maids had long finished with their customary cleaning.
Understanding was beginning to trickle into Jon the farther she pulled him.
He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. “I hope you don’t intend for me to help you clean,” he said dryly, giving her the out. As expected, she didn’t take it and he didn’t really want her to.
The words had barely left his lips before Ayanna suddenly pushed him rather forcibly against the closest wall, and his next sentence died on his tongue at her unanticipated proximity. It certainly did have a substantial affect on him, despite this not being the first (or last) of their encounters.
She gave him a small smile and murmured, “I didn’t drag you all the way here to help me clean.”
She was inches from him and he swallowed, fingers tightening reflexively around her waist, where they ended up during her sudden move. He pursed his lips.
“I don’t exactly have time right now, Ayanna,” he said, but didn’t push her away.
His eyes gleamed with interest, and she knew that no matter how much he complained, Jon would never say no to one of their trysts. He just liked playing hard to get.
She raised an eyebrow and whispered, “Like I said, I only need half an hour.”
He snorted. “That sounded like an insult to my stamina.”
Ayanna merely laughed, amused at his words. She twisted her hands down his body with a smirk, and traced along the edge of his pants. If she looked mischievous before, she looked downright wicked now.
He narrowed his eyes at her and asked, “What are you planning?”
His suspicion was not unwarranted: she often got him into situations that he never would have allowed before meeting her, and this particular one seemed to follow the same reckless path.
Ayanna raised an eyebrow, pressing her body into his with an almost feral smile. For a lady, she certainly had several less than ladylike qualities, but that was what had initially attracted him to her in the first place. And now…well, Jon had never much liked fine, aristocratic women. Ayanna was just reckless enough to fit into an entirely different category.
She was fire enflamed with passion, searing a path straight through to his heart each and every time her presence became a distraction – and every time it didn’t. And that fire wasn’t just reaching his heart at that moment.
His body thundered to life at the insistent press of hers. He clutched at her waist and shuddered a heavy breath, wanting nothing more than to kiss her. But propriety, as always, held him back, and Jon merely blinked at her even as the rest of him screamed for action. Fortunately, Ayanna seemed to have varying ideas of what propriety was.
She breathed in, and breathed out. Her face was centimeters from his own, her lips beckoning him forward with each inhale. She was warm and lovely. Her hair was gentle gold that simmered from the cold lighting that spilled through the snowy windows; her mouth full and void of the customary rouge that she tended to favor. He always liked it whenever she forwent staining her lips. Kissing her bare mouth was a luxury he could hardly live without.
“My plans involve my bedroom and a cup of tea. Join me, Jon,” she murmured, and then winked as she pulled away. Her hands delicately smoothed down the front of her dress, as if her teasing was a natural quality that everyone should possess, and expect.
He did expect it, of course, but the contradiction of her words left him reeling against the wall. Tea? Did she not drag him all this way to steal kisses and perhaps more? Had he misread her? No – he had only read what she wanted him to, and she had stirred his desires with an expert hand in the process. And just when he was starting to become agreeable to her terms…
“It just came in from the supply wagon,” she was saying as she opened the door nearest to them. She disappeared inside, voicing something about southern tea or some such thing. Jon was barely listening. He was still pressed against the wall, breathing a little harder than normal and wondering if he should contain his sudden desire or allow it freedom. What sweet revenge it would be, to punish her for her teasing by doing the very thing she falsely led him to believe she wanted.
With a raised brow, Ayanna poked her head back into the hallway and wondered, “Are you coming?” There was muted laughter growing in her eyes and he scowled at it.
With a sigh, Jon entered her chambers. He shut the door behind him and locked it for good measure, not yet knowing what his plans for her would be but, as always, wanting to make sure he was prepared for any outcome. Ayanna was making herself comfortable at the small rounded table by the window that overlooked the courtyard. Jon lingered for half a moment in the center of the room before joining her.
As she poured tea into two delicate cups, he couldn’t help but think that this was certainly not what he’d expected from her. Then again, Ayanna had an (annoying, exhilarating, infuriatingly wonderful) tendency of overturning any and all of his expectations in a way that looked effortless.
“Half an hour?” he wondered dryly, giving her a similarly dry look that made her smirk.
“More than enough time to finish a cup of tea,” she responded with an airy shrug.
“You are infuriating, you know that,” he muttered, not even bothering to add an inflection to the words. It really wasn’t a question at all – her ability to send him stumbling, in one way or another, was a valid concern. And a rueful pleasure, for them both.
She laughed, taking a sip of her fine, aristocratic southern tea.
“And you are not very good at saying no to me,” she replied.
He glanced up at her and pursed his mouth. “You lied to me to get me to come up here – “
“I never said why I wanted you.”
“You had that look in your eye.”
A raised brow. “What look?”
Jon frowned, ever so serious. “The look you get when you’re about to seduce me.”
Ayanna paused, leaning back and setting her teacup back on the table. Jon hadn’t so much as touched his. To be honest, he looked extremely out of place, sitting at that tiny little table set with lace doilies. His large frame took up most of it, easily becoming a very solid, immovable entity in her chamber. Not for the first time, and hopefully not for the last.
She tilted her head and glanced down at his attire. His fur cloak added weight to his shoulders, and the leather doublet he wore was well fitted and hinted at the expanse of his chest beneath. He had his hair down in his usual style, and by the looks of it, it was freshly washed. She’d very much like to run her fingers through it. Preferably as he was bearing down on her, perhaps with his head between her thighs – or, hips connected, thrusting hers into the floor with all the savage desire that she knew he possessed, when he was too far gone to care about gentleness.
“…That’s the look,” Jon murmured, and Ayanna blinked. She hadn’t noticed that he was leaning forward, staring at her with those intense brown eyes of his. A shiver erupted through her body, skittering down each limb and making her desire flare to life. She loved those eyes, that gaze, the way his intensity could so easily awaken her as it was doing now.
She sighed, a slow exhalation that made his eyes flash. She knew that hers were a puddle of passion, fire spreading from their confines and traveling through the air between them. She knew that he could see it clear as day.
“It entertains me, sometimes,” she said slowly, “the way you jump to conclusions.” Her body was beginning to spark with the beginnings of a desire she hoped would be sated before the hour was out.
He stared at her. “What conclusion have I wrongly assumed?”
She blinked, trying very hard not to squirm in her chair. Pressing her thighs together didn’t do much good. She wanted him. He knew.
“Do you really think I’d invite you into my personal quarters just to have a cup of tea with me?” she asked with a hidden smile. She suddenly felt invigorated. Like she could steal the world away – his world, perhaps.
Jon released a heavy breath and immediately stood. As he closed the distance between them, he muttered, “Thank the Gods.” A small relief, but clearly a gratifying one.
He cupped her face and kissed her, gentle at first but with a building passion that quickly turned blistering in its potency. Ayanna moaned as the fire shot through her more intensely, turning her bones to ash. She always felt weightless whenever he kissed her, but it was always coupled with a feeling of power, as if he was transferring some of his into her. An equal exchange.
Before long, she was tugging at him, running her fingers through his hair as she had wanted to do and pulling him insistently into her. The angle was awkward though – she was still sitting and he was leaning over her – and it had to be fixed.
He seemed to be of the same mind. With a grunt, he pulled her forcefully from the chair and into him, catching all of her weight as she stumbled into a standing position. Their lips broke apart in the flurry of movement, and Ayanna laughed against him as she leaned into his strong arms.
“The tea was a prop,” she told him as she began to loosen his cloak. “I didn’t want the maids to talk. Too much,” she added just before he leaned in and kissed her again, effectively shutting down any more talk.
“I don’t care if they talk,” he groaned, pressing her body into his. He grasped her hips tightly, hiking up her skirts and molding his hands over her stockinged legs. His cloak dropped heavily to the floor and his tunic soon after.
“Mm…you would once we’re finished,” Ayanna said, and gasped when she felt his hands cup her ass and drag her ever closer. She ran her fingers over his chest, over the dark hairs and down the path they made along his abdomen. She couldn’t feel him properly, not yet, but imagined him to be hot and hard – as aroused as her, and more than ready for what she had planned.
Jon gave a throaty chuckle and murmured, “I suppose they’ll talk anyway. This’ll take a lot longer than half an hour.” If he had his way, he’d spend the rest of the day up here, cloistered away from the rest of the world.
He lifted one hand to tug at the laces of her gown, not even considering the thought of removing both hands from her ass. She was wearing nothing beneath her dress but her stockings, and the mere thought of it had his arousal peaking against the constraints of his trousers. It was such an unladylike thing for a lady to do that he felt even crazier.
To his surprise, though, Ayanna stopped his fingers in their quest to remove her gown. She clenched his hand in hers and said, “If you do that, then it’ll take me forever to put it all back on without help.”
Then the maids really would talk.
Jon frowned at her. “I can help you.”
Ayanna just chuckled and murmured, “You’re far more adept at taking my clothes off, Jon Snow.”
He considered her for a moment, building up a strategy in his head. Such things weren’t only good for war, and he often thought in such a manner, planning everything out to the letter before making a move in any direction. This time, he was thinking about how long they’ve been up here already, and if anyone has noticed yet, and if he would have time to have her as completely as he wanted to and wrangle that (confusingly complicated) dress back onto her figure before the hour was out.
In the end, he decided to think with his cock rather than his head, as most men did when they were faced with such an impossible choice. (Because this was certainly impossible, and he wanted to see her bare and writhing and feel her against him and - )
“Jon!” Ayanna exclaimed with a startled gasp as both his hands joined together at her front and tore open the bust of her dress. Her cleavage spilled out of her gown in the most savagely unladylike manner imaginable, and at once Jon was ducking his head down and capturing one pert nipple between his teeth. His other hand was not merely massaging her breast; it was practically clutching it for dear life. Yet the grip was not uncomfortable.
If anything, Ayanna felt a very stark, raw need burn through her at his adamant touch. Desperation made her tip her head back and moan throatily as he devoured her breast. The scratch of his stubble felt heavenly against her skin, as did the way his tongue twisted over her. She nearly forgot that she was supposed to be angry with him for his little move. Nearly.
“Jon,” she attempted to say, hoping to sound more berating than she actually did. Instead, her voice came out as more of a plea than anything, and Jon groaned at the sound. He gave her a harsh suck and moved his mouth to her other breast, exchanging teeth and hands as she drowned against him.
He made her feel insane.
“Make no mistake, Jon Snow,” she panted as he tore the rest of the laces away and tugged the fabric of her gown over her hips. “I will get back at you for this.”
His face split into a grin that took her breath away. There was a rare, mischievous glint to his eye that had her shivering. He was so rarely reckless – that was her job, after all – but when he found it in him to be such a man, just the sight of that boyish smile could undo her. And so it did.
“I will take that as a promise,” he muttered, returning to his worship of her, which naturally required his total attention, because Jon never did anything halfheartedly.
He kissed her stomach, bared for him as her dress became a puddle on the floor. His stubble scratched against her as his lips drifted over her body, kissing her hips and thighs as he slowly sunk down to his knees before her. She knew what came next, but Ayanna was wholly unprepared for it when Jon finally cupped her ass with one hand and spread his fingers over her core.
The breathy noise that left her lips then had him moaning against her abdomen, where his mouth still lingered. Her stockings were the sort that extended to the tops of her thighs but no further, and they allowed him complete access to her core as his fingers spread her folds and touched her in places no gentleman would dare. But this was not a circumstance that required gentility, and though Jon was one of the most honorable men she knew, he was also passionate when he had a mind to be. This was one of the many situations where his mind was exactly where she wanted it.
“Mm…don’t stop, Jon,” she pleaded, grasping his hair and wishing that his mouth was where his fingers were now. Soon, she told herself. Soon.
He exhaled deeply and murmured throatily, “I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.”
She laughed, in relief or pleasure, she didn’t know.
He slid his hand over her thigh and nudged it open, guiding her leg over his shoulder without any complaint. She stood before him, hanging over him as tremors rocked through her – and they only increased as he kissed his way down to her dripping cunt.
“Jon!” she gasped, his name leaving her lips before she could rein it in. He no doubt enjoyed the sound of it though, because as his mouth descended upon her, he took her ass in both hands, pulling her hips against his face with a devouring groan. She nearly fell forward at that, only managing to save her fall by clawing at his shoulders and head.
“Oh,” she murmured, rocking against him just a little as his tongue delved against her. The position didn’t allow him to truly taste her in the way he wanted to, but he made up for it by suckling at her with all the rabid desire of a man overcome by passion.
“Let go, Ayanna,” he gruffly muttered, barely coherent as his words tangled into a muffled, unintelligible fog. But she heard, if only because he helped her along by roughly pulling her hips forward yet again. Her face twisted into an expression that was half desperate, half alarmed.
“But – oh!”
Her complaints died as he dragged her into his mouth for the third time, and Ayanna really couldn’t help it. He was intent, it seemed, on stripping her of the last of her ladylike tendencies.
She couldn’t argue with that, not when her desire was so strong.
Her hips surged forward on their own and she began to rut against his face with all the rawness of mad passion. His name became a gasping, repeated sound that left her lips with every pass of his tongue. His hands squeezed her ass hard, but he did not control her movements. No – the rocking, the grinding, the rutting – that was all her.
She would have blushed a bright red if she had imagined doing this in any other moment. These were not the actions of a lady at all. They bordered more upon the fringes of a brothel whore, who treated such base acts as wild, lascivious hunger to be embraced without a thought. But Jon – his mouth. His eagerness. It was so, so exquisite.
Her toes curled into his back, catching her weight as she gasped and writhed above his kneeling form. He was giving pleasure just as easily as she was taking it. His tongue stroked her cunt with hot intent, and she had no doubt that his fingers would have joined in if their position was more stable. As it was, every second of it was torture just as much as it was pleasure, because of that reason entirely.
There was a danger to this. She felt as if she could fall at any moment. Just a tilt of her body, a little too far, a little too wanton, and she would stumble. But Jon grounded her, gripping her tightly, molding himself into a platform for her passion. He would not let her fall.
This trust propelled her forward until her orgasm was ripping through her at a force too strong to ignore, and Ayanna was desperately calling his name again and again even as it tripped past her tongue into incoherent mumbles. He kept her steady throughout, even as she cried one last time and crumpled above him. He guided her down onto her knees, where she collapsed with a heaving sigh and threw herself against his body.
Cooing beneath his breath, Jon murmured to her, sliding his hands over her body as Ayanna gripped his shoulders with fingers that still trembled. Her face was buried against his neck, and the warm calluses of his fingers slowly brought her back to earth. The world was still tilting with surreal pleasure when she lifted her head to look at him.
“Oh Jon, that was…” she trailed off. There was no way to describe the immense satisfaction he had just given to her. No way to explain how savagely beautiful it was, to grind herself against his mouth like that.
The corners of his eyes crinkled up into a rare smile and he chuckled. The expression drew her eyes down to his lips, which still gleamed with the remnants of her. She traced a thumb over his bottom lip curiously, then leaned in to press a kiss against his mouth. She tasted herself on him. That alone would have been enough to make her crazy once more, but then she shifted her body and felt the insistent hardness of his erection press up against her thigh, and the world was lost yet again in tides of misplaced color.
He breathed out hard when he felt her rub against him. Pleasure shot through him; a desperate clawing effect that had him more on edge than ever before. He could not remember a time where he was as lustful as he was now. He seemed to get harder with every second, until it was an almost painful pressure riding up against the clinging fabric of his trousers.
“Ayanna…” he murmured, unsure if he was warning or encouraging her. When she reached down to press her hand against his clothed length, he decided that encouragement was definitely better.
With a surge of muscle, Jon was on his feet. He all but heaved Ayanna into his arms before walking to the bedchamber across the room. Ayanna could only grasp at him and giggle, feeling luxurious as her bare skin pressed against his.
Jon was gentle even in the moments when he’d rather not be. He lowered her onto the mattress carefully before cupping her face and following her onto her back. His lips had sunk against hers before her head even hit the pillow; his hands already fumbling with the laces of his trousers.
Her legs were shucked wide open, baring herself for him even before he slid the fabric from his hips and kicked them to the floor. She sighed out when he came to her, nestling between her thighs and pressing a kiss against her mouth. Jon was still gentle even now, even as he slowly slid into her.
“Mm…” she breathed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and rocked her hips into his, immediately sending him into a flurry of murmured groans as he quickened his pace. She liked his gentleness, the way he treated her as if she were something to be respected – but there was a time and a place for such things, and Ayanna found herself craving the others sides of him now. The desperate, clinging fire of his passion.
He gave it to her, whether because he knew she longed for it or because he couldn’t stop it from coming anyway. His hips surged forward, meeting hers with a force that sent her eyes rolling back into her skull and her legs trembling. Every thrust had her clinging to him tighter, every kiss deposited upon her face made her come to life.
“Ayanna…Gods…” he mumbled against her neck, breathing out hard. She was hot and wet, so wet; she clung to his cock like she couldn’t bear being parted from him. Perhaps it was that which sent him over the edge. He couldn’t say. Perhaps it was everything, all rolled into one – the mewls of her moans, the way his name edged over her voice, her hips which continuously arched up, her nails that dug into his back in a vice-like grip – yes, it was everything, he decided.
He groaned as he thrust once more, quick and deep, before jerking out of her and pumping himself in his hand. His seed shot out over her prone form, decorating her body in ways that made him pleased just for the sight of it. She was marked with him. She was also in need of another orgasm.
The thought became his beacon – he clung to it as he shuffled down her body, jerked her legs open once more, and buried his face against her cunt. The suddenness of his touch had Ayanna keening loudly and arching her body down into him. Her reservations from earlier seemed to have long disappeared, because the way she rocked against his mouth was almost wanton. She didn’t seem to care, and Jon would be lying if he claimed that it wasn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever experienced.
“Jon!” she cried, tumbling over the edge so fast that he barely even had time to enjoy it himself. But she was already close, and his actions stimulated her in such a brutally pleasant way that all Ayanna could do was grasp his hair and the sheets and lurch into an orgasm that clouded her entire world.
Jon stayed there between her thighs until her breathing calmed down. He laid his hand on her stomach and sighed out, closing his eyes. He could easily have laid there for hours, days even, and never leave this sacred space. But the world kept moving on, time kept rolling forward, and he knew that they had run out of it.
He heaved himself up onto his forearms and shuffled forward, laying his body out over hers and kissing her soundly on the mouth. Ayanna sighed into the kiss, drifting her fingers over his bicep with a quiet sort of reverence. He kissed her softly, gentle once more. She loved the kisses he gave her after sex. They were always so beautiful and surreal.
“I have to return to the courtyard,” Jon murmured against her, layering kisses over her cheek and jaw and neck. His ardency spoke the words that he would not: that he didn’t want to leave her now for anything in the world. But Ayanna knew enough about duty to know that such a thing was inescapable. She knew enough about Jon Snow to know that it was even more so.
“Mm,” she agreed, humming out her answer because he was kissing her lips again, and she didn’t want to break it.
“Will you come to me tonight?” she asked as he sat up and reached for his discarded trousers. He paused, and looked back at her. She didn’t miss the way his eyes traveled over her bare form, lingering on the sheen of his release that still painted her abdomen.
“…If I can,” he murmured, and then said, “There should be a rag around here somewhere…”
Ayanna just sat up and shook her head, “You’re late as it is, Jon. I can clean myself up.”
He sent her a soft nod and leaned down to kiss her once more before whispering a goodbye into her hair. She watched as he walked out of the room, intent on finding the rest of his clothes before leaving. She fell back onto the bed with a pleased sigh and smile. It wasn’t for several lingering minutes before Ayanna realized something.
Jon had left. Which meant that she didn’t have anyone to help her get back into her gown.
“…Seven hells,” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face.
She knew he hadn’t left her like this on purpose. He was an honorable man and would have made sure that their secret trysts didn’t reflect badly upon her in public. She suspected that he merely had no idea how damned hard it was to tie up those dresses by yourself.
“I will get you back for this, Jon Snow,” she swore.
He could take that as a promise.