Oddly, she doesn't mind the markings he's left. Caught in the moment, she'd proffered her own in kind, leaving sharp red welts where her nails scratched him. Maybe under other circumstances his mark and bruises would bother her. Only time would tell if that sort of claiming would cause future issue; as for now, there is only the relief of having him near.
Her arms remain loosely looped around his shoulders, which means she's pulled after him as he leans back. Still maintaining enough space between them, her eyes rove over his features. The water of the springs laps against her torso, soaking loosened chunks of her hair, causing them to stick to her back.
But she has an idea of what this district is like, given the establishment he's taken her to, as well as the body paints. Oh, the body paints.
With a faint smile, she leans forward to press her lips to his. A lingering kiss ended much too soon when she pulls back and pushes up to her feet, climbing out of the springs. His seed has long since been washed from her legs when they separated; only water sluices down her body as she fetches the little paint pots from her tunic's pockets.
She's back moments later, stepping back into the springs, straddling his lap as if she'd never left, balancing the various colors in her hands.
An emptiness follows as she climbs out of the water, taking all of the heat with her. He watches her in amusement, craning his head to follow her naked form as she moved to retrieve the paint pots. He'd forgotten about them in the heat of the moment, but the taste of the paint returns to his tongue, a sudden reminder of what brought them here.
As she settles back in his lap, he lifts up the pot for better inspection. "How are we supposed to use these?" He asked. Despite having slept with her a few times before and several times with Ygritte, he didn't have very much creativity in the different ways lovers could play. He lived his life too seriously and come too late into love.
He dipped his fingers into it, pulling out a glob of red. Gently, he smeared it along the side of her neck, watching as the sharp angles turned crimson. His eyes darkened, wondering what it would be like to lick it clean.
She sets the others aside on the ledge behind them, and opens her own jar up. It's a pale blue, with little flecks of sunshine glimmering inside the paint when the flames inside this place catch a certain way.
She's considering the pain when suddenly cool wetness is on her throat, tugging her focus back to him. She'd not been entirely sure of its uses until those on the streets of this district hinted to ideas she'd never considered before. Things she would like to do with him, maybe.
Definitely, when the look in his eyes shifts. But he makes no motion to do much else, save consider the paint on her... so she shifts on his lap and begins drawing on his chest. First a 'D,' then an 'a,' and so on and so forth, patiently she reaches for more paint, her touch light, as she spells her name across his chest, looking all too pleased with the end result as she lifts her finger to her lips to suck off the last remnants of sweetness to the paint.
"I saw some with designs on their faces and chests." Frowning, she only now realizes some of the paint's on one of his scars. "Oh Jon, I'm sorry, I didn't think about..."
How long had it been since he played? Most likely when he was a boy, but how long before Robert came? When Arya and Bran were still small, Robb and lured them and Sansa down to the crypts where Jon had waited, dressed like ghost to scare them. That was the last he could remember. Everything after that seemed to lose that same shade of amusement and fun, weighed down by responsibilities and disappointment.
She doesn't seem to have any of those questions or uncertainty. Instead, she spelled out her name, letting him glimpse her without age and burdens to hide behind. She was almost like a girl, claiming him with her paint.
He rocked his hips up as she sucked on her fingers, not realizing what she had done until she called attention to it. He glanced down, just as surprised as she was. "Neither did I." Somewhere between leaving the Wall and the boat they traveled North on, he forgot that she would see or realize what his scars were.
Guiding her hand, he encouraged her to trace over them, smearing more paint along the scars. A gentle reassurance that he didn't mind.
She'd never really played before. Certainly not like this, and never with a lover. There might've been some playful moments between she and Drogo, or even Daario, but there were other things to focus on. Responsibilities, duties. The same would undoubtedly arise for them here, as well, but it's so far from her mind as she claims him like this.
And soon he's having her smear the letters of her name, and she's looking up at him mock-reproachfully.
"You smudged the 'E'." So, encouraged by the rocking of his hips and his touches, she leans down between them to lick the E off his chest. The first swipe of her tongue is experimental along the puckered skin of his scar. Then, assuming he doesn't react poorly, she'll lick at the paint and his scar with surer flicks, her lips pressing sucking kisses as she laps the paint away.
The first time she had toyed with his scars, he had been frenzied and mad from lust. He had thought his reaction was because of that, but the brush of her tongue and the feeling of her breath against his torso made him shiver. Eyes shut for a moment as the image of daggers is replaced by lips. What was a cold and sharp memory ebbed away in the face of her tenderness.
He doesn't move to stop her or discourage her from what she's doing. This felt like a revelation. He had been ashamed of what happened, but the more she toyed with him and explored his scars, the more he found he liked this. His hips rock up again, this time less playful and more needy for friction.
He held her still for a moment, lifting her chin so he could smear a dab of crimson paint along her lips. He wanted the colors to mix, for the blue of his scars and torso be joined with the red of her mouth.
There's already blue smeared on her lips. Smudged along his chest as well, her name illegible, ruined, but the claim still present. By the time he lifts her chin, it's become less about proving a point, and more about placing kisses and licks against his skin, encouraging more of those rocks.
His fingers smudge more paint, but this time, it's mixing red with blue. It must look ridiculous. She likely looks maddened, kiss-swollen lips a mix of color.
But instead of returning to his chest, she's leaning in to kiss him. One arm hooks around his neck to pull them close. Her free hand, still covered in paint, catches his cheek, fingers scratching against the fine hairline behind his ear. The first kiss is intentionally messy, more a smear of lips and paint, but then she's tilting her head, slanting her mouth against his to deepen it.
The colors are smeared, trailing across his skin until they are lost in the depths of the water. The steam creates beads of sweat, making the paint seem as though it were weeping across his torso. There were splotches of red from his fingers, where he held her firmly and moved to pull her closer.
His mouth responds to her, nipping and sucking on her lower lip. She looked well loved and ravished, her hair loose from her braids and her skin flushed. Water splashed around them, disturbed by his frantic hips, seeking more and more stimulation.
Nails drag over the planes of her back, catching against her shoulder blades. Finally, he leans in to drag his tongue along her neckline, licking what remained of the paint he had first put on her, when he tested the game and what they were to do.
More and more stimulation... it's easily returned in kind as she rolls her hips in time with his, grinding their pelvises together in a deliciously maddening way. Her time on the boat was still so recent in memory, but this... this is nothing like that. Is that because Jon missed her so? Or because they've both grown so desperate for one another?
It must be desperation, the way she responds to him. Arching her back against his touch. Tilting her head so he can focus on her neck. Neither slows her down--she's focused on the feel of him against her cunt. Even drags her fingers against his scars, gentle touches which smear sweat and paint.
He takes a sharp breath at her exclamation, losing his rhythm as he frantically rocks up again. He had never thought of himself as a lustful person. There had only been one other woman in his life, all other attempts had been brushed off and ignored. He hadn't needed sex in his life.
But now, just the feel of her was enough for him to feel desperate to be inside her again. Her kisses were an oasis for a parched man, his heart having been left dry and barren for years. Now, emotion surged through him, far too deep and powerful to be controlled. He didn't see any reason to fight her or it, he needed this and he needed her.
"Dany," he whispered her name roughly, angling himself so he could begin pressing past her folds.
The head of his cock presses against her slit, slickened by the water and her arousal. It's a maddening pace, slowly pressing past her folds, the head of him entering her, pressing her open. She stiffens briefly in his arms, breath hitching, and then her arms are looping around his shoulders, hugging him close as she aids his efforts.
Leaning less on her knees, slowly lowering herself. Slow, and it feels as if she can identify every part of his cock, from the head to the veins throbbing in time with his pulse. Her fingers are twisted in his hair, unknowing that she smears edible paint in his dark locks. Uncaring that she does as she sinks lower onto him.
She might've dragged it out, felt every single inch of him as he entered her, but impatience wins out. So after a few moments of teasing them both, she settles back on his lap in one sharp movement--pressing him from tip to end inside her. Filling her in seconds. Ripping a moan from her throat as her inner muscles spasm around him.
A mix between a groan and growl tears from him, filling the room and drifting into the hall. He didn't wait until she was firmly settled on his lap before rocking his hips up, thrusting fiercely into her. Paint, water and sweat mixed together, causing the colors to run and smear over his skin.
His arms wrapped around her waist, cradling her against him. His head was pressed to hers, brow to brow as his eyes held hers. Being in her, filled and surrounded by her, it felt peaceful and maddening, both pulling at his mind. While his thrusts were primal and hurried, his kisses were tender and soft, trying to soothe and caress her skin where he marked it before.
His hand danced over her spine, following the length of her back. His breath hitched in his throat, tight in his chest. He wanted to ask her to never leave him again, to not let any argument come between them, but he didn't know how to say it or even how to speak. She had stolen all thought and feeling, save for this.
Water sloshes around them as they begin again. He thrusts, she rolls her hips to meet his motions, and the liquid heat between them builds once more. There is nothing here. Nothing but he and she. Nothing but their breaths, their touches, and the sound of water.
She's trapped like this, staring into his eyes. Despite her own being so heavy-lidded, she cannot look away from him--not even whilst they kiss. It's a sparse spattering of kisses, the smearing of lips and breath, sweetness on her tongue from the paints they'd played with. The paints on his chest smear against hers, covering her in pastel colors, bleeding into the red he'd painted onto her. A red seeping down her neck and chest like blood, no thanks to the heat of the room and her sweat.
Speech is one of those higher functions lost to her. She instead of verbalizing anything, she touches him while riding him. Fingers and palms smooth along his shoulders, the back of his neck, his cheeks. Her touches are fervent, trembling.
It's a different sort of lust and passion that drives him from what he has known in the past. There is no guilt connected to this, no understanding that he is breaking a vow or betraying his honor. He can give himself over completely to the feeling and the desire to be part of Dany, to fill her and chase every wave of pleasure. He was starved for it.
There was less ferocity than before, a surge of relief and contentment taking its place. Despite their fight before and the frustrations around him at the treatment she's received, he can't help but marvel at having her back. They weren't on the ship anymore, but they were still together, two halves reuniting again across the universe and against time. She wasn't a distant memory, she was here.
To prove that, his hips surged forward again and again, filling her to the hilt. She rides him expertly, understanding his body instinctively. His touches are just as frantic and reverent, running over her and worshiping each patch of skin properly. He caresses her, only to have his fingers replaced by his lips. This wasn't about memorization. He wouldn't need it. He would do everything in his power to make sure she never left his side again.
This isn't about memorization, it's about mastery. She would master every part of him until, effortlessly, she could make him see stars with a chorus of knowing touches. One step toward that was knowing he was sensitive when it concerned his scars. The other details would fit into place as time passed.
An arm hooks around his neck to keep them close. Her free hand grips his knee behind her. The positioning allows her to shift, rise up on the balls of her feet, and grind herself down atop his cock with the snack of her hips. This new positioning, balancing on her heels, puts more of a strain on her muscles the more she rocks with him, but it presses him deeper into her. Has her head falling back when jolts of excruciating pleasure wreak havoc on her body.
There was much about his body that was still a mystery to him, learning alongside her. For all he shared with Ygritte, there hadn't been enough time for them to truly revel and learn what it was to be lovers without a shadow hanging over them and walls pushing them apart. While he wasn't shy or afraid of giving himself this way anymore, there was still a threshold to cross, something that made this profound and deep. Everything missing in him, he was about to learn from her.
She's more skilled than him, fully aware of what she wants and how he should move to bring her the most pleasure. He is quick to learn and follow her guidance. She leads the way in this, pressing down on him and grinding her hips until it seems like she is building with pressure. He huffs for breath, thrusting up into her roughly, trying to match her and add more to the pyre.
It's growing in him, that feeling of culmination. He can see it on the horizon and taste it on his tongue. He bit at her lip, urging her along and begging for more.
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no subject
Her arms remain loosely looped around his shoulders, which means she's pulled after him as he leans back. Still maintaining enough space between them, her eyes rove over his features. The water of the springs laps against her torso, soaking loosened chunks of her hair, causing them to stick to her back.
But she has an idea of what this district is like, given the establishment he's taken her to, as well as the body paints. Oh, the body paints.
With a faint smile, she leans forward to press her lips to his. A lingering kiss ended much too soon when she pulls back and pushes up to her feet, climbing out of the springs. His seed has long since been washed from her legs when they separated; only water sluices down her body as she fetches the little paint pots from her tunic's pockets.
She's back moments later, stepping back into the springs, straddling his lap as if she'd never left, balancing the various colors in her hands.
"We still need to use these."
no subject
As she settles back in his lap, he lifts up the pot for better inspection. "How are we supposed to use these?" He asked. Despite having slept with her a few times before and several times with Ygritte, he didn't have very much creativity in the different ways lovers could play. He lived his life too seriously and come too late into love.
He dipped his fingers into it, pulling out a glob of red. Gently, he smeared it along the side of her neck, watching as the sharp angles turned crimson. His eyes darkened, wondering what it would be like to lick it clean.
no subject
She's considering the pain when suddenly cool wetness is on her throat, tugging her focus back to him. She'd not been entirely sure of its uses until those on the streets of this district hinted to ideas she'd never considered before. Things she would like to do with him, maybe.
Definitely, when the look in his eyes shifts. But he makes no motion to do much else, save consider the paint on her... so she shifts on his lap and begins drawing on his chest. First a 'D,' then an 'a,' and so on and so forth, patiently she reaches for more paint, her touch light, as she spells her name across his chest, looking all too pleased with the end result as she lifts her finger to her lips to suck off the last remnants of sweetness to the paint.
"I saw some with designs on their faces and chests." Frowning, she only now realizes some of the paint's on one of his scars. "Oh Jon, I'm sorry, I didn't think about..."
Your scars.
no subject
She doesn't seem to have any of those questions or uncertainty. Instead, she spelled out her name, letting him glimpse her without age and burdens to hide behind. She was almost like a girl, claiming him with her paint.
He rocked his hips up as she sucked on her fingers, not realizing what she had done until she called attention to it. He glanced down, just as surprised as she was. "Neither did I." Somewhere between leaving the Wall and the boat they traveled North on, he forgot that she would see or realize what his scars were.
Guiding her hand, he encouraged her to trace over them, smearing more paint along the scars. A gentle reassurance that he didn't mind.
no subject
And soon he's having her smear the letters of her name, and she's looking up at him mock-reproachfully.
"You smudged the 'E'." So, encouraged by the rocking of his hips and his touches, she leans down between them to lick the E off his chest. The first swipe of her tongue is experimental along the puckered skin of his scar. Then, assuming he doesn't react poorly, she'll lick at the paint and his scar with surer flicks, her lips pressing sucking kisses as she laps the paint away.
no subject
He doesn't move to stop her or discourage her from what she's doing. This felt like a revelation. He had been ashamed of what happened, but the more she toyed with him and explored his scars, the more he found he liked this. His hips rock up again, this time less playful and more needy for friction.
He held her still for a moment, lifting her chin so he could smear a dab of crimson paint along her lips. He wanted the colors to mix, for the blue of his scars and torso be joined with the red of her mouth.
no subject
His fingers smudge more paint, but this time, it's mixing red with blue. It must look ridiculous. She likely looks maddened, kiss-swollen lips a mix of color.
But instead of returning to his chest, she's leaning in to kiss him. One arm hooks around his neck to pull them close. Her free hand, still covered in paint, catches his cheek, fingers scratching against the fine hairline behind his ear. The first kiss is intentionally messy, more a smear of lips and paint, but then she's tilting her head, slanting her mouth against his to deepen it.
no subject
His mouth responds to her, nipping and sucking on her lower lip. She looked well loved and ravished, her hair loose from her braids and her skin flushed. Water splashed around them, disturbed by his frantic hips, seeking more and more stimulation.
Nails drag over the planes of her back, catching against her shoulder blades. Finally, he leans in to drag his tongue along her neckline, licking what remained of the paint he had first put on her, when he tested the game and what they were to do.
no subject
It must be desperation, the way she responds to him. Arching her back against his touch. Tilting her head so he can focus on her neck. Neither slows her down--she's focused on the feel of him against her cunt. Even drags her fingers against his scars, gentle touches which smear sweat and paint.
"Gods, Jon."
no subject
But now, just the feel of her was enough for him to feel desperate to be inside her again. Her kisses were an oasis for a parched man, his heart having been left dry and barren for years. Now, emotion surged through him, far too deep and powerful to be controlled. He didn't see any reason to fight her or it, he needed this and he needed her.
"Dany," he whispered her name roughly, angling himself so he could begin pressing past her folds.
no subject
Leaning less on her knees, slowly lowering herself. Slow, and it feels as if she can identify every part of his cock, from the head to the veins throbbing in time with his pulse. Her fingers are twisted in his hair, unknowing that she smears edible paint in his dark locks. Uncaring that she does as she sinks lower onto him.
She might've dragged it out, felt every single inch of him as he entered her, but impatience wins out. So after a few moments of teasing them both, she settles back on his lap in one sharp movement--pressing him from tip to end inside her. Filling her in seconds. Ripping a moan from her throat as her inner muscles spasm around him.
no subject
His arms wrapped around her waist, cradling her against him. His head was pressed to hers, brow to brow as his eyes held hers. Being in her, filled and surrounded by her, it felt peaceful and maddening, both pulling at his mind. While his thrusts were primal and hurried, his kisses were tender and soft, trying to soothe and caress her skin where he marked it before.
His hand danced over her spine, following the length of her back. His breath hitched in his throat, tight in his chest. He wanted to ask her to never leave him again, to not let any argument come between them, but he didn't know how to say it or even how to speak. She had stolen all thought and feeling, save for this.
no subject
She's trapped like this, staring into his eyes. Despite her own being so heavy-lidded, she cannot look away from him--not even whilst they kiss. It's a sparse spattering of kisses, the smearing of lips and breath, sweetness on her tongue from the paints they'd played with. The paints on his chest smear against hers, covering her in pastel colors, bleeding into the red he'd painted onto her. A red seeping down her neck and chest like blood, no thanks to the heat of the room and her sweat.
Speech is one of those higher functions lost to her. She instead of verbalizing anything, she touches him while riding him. Fingers and palms smooth along his shoulders, the back of his neck, his cheeks. Her touches are fervent, trembling.
no subject
There was less ferocity than before, a surge of relief and contentment taking its place. Despite their fight before and the frustrations around him at the treatment she's received, he can't help but marvel at having her back. They weren't on the ship anymore, but they were still together, two halves reuniting again across the universe and against time. She wasn't a distant memory, she was here.
To prove that, his hips surged forward again and again, filling her to the hilt. She rides him expertly, understanding his body instinctively. His touches are just as frantic and reverent, running over her and worshiping each patch of skin properly. He caresses her, only to have his fingers replaced by his lips. This wasn't about memorization. He wouldn't need it. He would do everything in his power to make sure she never left his side again.
no subject
An arm hooks around his neck to keep them close. Her free hand grips his knee behind her. The positioning allows her to shift, rise up on the balls of her feet, and grind herself down atop his cock with the snack of her hips. This new positioning, balancing on her heels, puts more of a strain on her muscles the more she rocks with him, but it presses him deeper into her. Has her head falling back when jolts of excruciating pleasure wreak havoc on her body.
no subject
She's more skilled than him, fully aware of what she wants and how he should move to bring her the most pleasure. He is quick to learn and follow her guidance. She leads the way in this, pressing down on him and grinding her hips until it seems like she is building with pressure. He huffs for breath, thrusting up into her roughly, trying to match her and add more to the pyre.
It's growing in him, that feeling of culmination. He can see it on the horizon and taste it on his tongue. He bit at her lip, urging her along and begging for more.