song_of_ice | Duplicity Inbox

[ She swats his hands away, scowling at him. All these sudden movements have loosened her hair from its knot, silver chunks falling loose. He's seen her at a disheveled point; what's there to care for if he sees her like this, now?

But she's angry at him for springing this upon her. One thing after the next, when she's allowed her guard to drop. And this? Him saying those words? Perhaps under other circumstances, she'd find them joyful, beautiful things. For a man like Jon Snow to love her, that's not so simple a thing. Not something to take for granted--and she doesn't.

...Even if she doesn't know how far her reciprocations go. ]

You don't just-- [ Her breaths are violent heaves. ] You don't just come to my space, make me near lose my mind with your fingers and mouth, and then--and then say that!

[ Her voice is rising. High enough that Drogon squawks in the other room. Loud enough that Clark would have heard if he were here. ]

This isn't Westeros. We don't have the luxury of loving who we wish here. Not while there are games being played all around us. [ Not when those sorts of feeling are more a danger than a benefit (or so she thinks in this moment, where emotions run high and logic abandons her). ] I am going to war. Where is there time for that in war?

This is the same fight we had when we realized this was inevitable! The same arguments. 'There's no time for that', 'this isn't the place to do this.' You don't have to accept what I feel, but it isn't going to change and it isn't going to be stopped because of this city.

[It wasn't the time, if there ever was a right one. Even if they were pulled from this world and he learned to feel the same for her in Westeros (which he suspected he might), there were still several wars to fight and focus on. Love and duty were always in conflict with each other and he had to make the decision between them before.

Never again. Death changed him enough that he never wanted to deny himself something that made him happy again. That struggle might have been there initially, but he was tired of that fight and there were more important ones to face.

Whatever problems this caused, he'd stare it down.]

It happens in war whether you want it to or not. There is always going to be a pull between love and duty. I thought I knew the answer when the Freefolk tried to breach the Wall, but I didn't. I was a fool then too.

I know how easy death is, in Westeros and here as well. I'm not going to make myself miserable for them or strip away anymore of myself because this city created rules to keep us subjugated.

If you don't want me to say it again, I won't. I'm not going to say I'm sorry for feeling it.

[ Her nostrils flare, lips thinning. He's a stupidly stubborn man, but she can't think ill of him for being fierce when it comes to his feelings... however much she wishes she could berate him for them. It's foolishly dangerous, and not only because of their enemies.

These sorts of dalliances... what would it suggest? That she's to accept a self-proclaimed king? That she'll grow complacent enough to find love in a world like this? Is love even possible? Not for a lover, but for her people and sons, most certainly. Would this not be another instance of Daario?

She's not impatient with Jon, though. If she were, she'd have allowed his departure. No, she stands tall and fierce, a wildness in her eyes. The same look when she was so ready to flee. He's cornering her and she doesn't like it. ]

You're going to use your death as an example? [ Softly asked. Dangerous. Like a dragon moments before it breathes fire. ] It's one thing to feel something, and entirely another to do--this.

[ A haphazard wave of the hand. Which soon shoves at his chest. The humidity in the bathroom from what they'd been doing and the bath itself makes her feel as if she's breathing in a heavy cloud. She doesn't know if she wants to slap him or ride him. Would it be terrible to do both? ]

One of my brothers died because of his love. My men have died in duty. One is not so separate from the other. But you have a duty to your people, as I have one to mine. All of mine.

I know how quickly it is all gone now. [And he knew how to live because of her, though that was harder to express. There was a difference in him now, one he recognized. A division from the grave to life. He had been straddling it since his resurrection and the Battle of the Bastards. With her, it felt like he had been pushed fully out of the shadows, out of nothing and back into...something.] You brought me back.

[There were options, things that passed through his head regarding their position. Certainly things that Tyrion or Davos should have suggested. He was an unmarried king, she was an unmarried queen. The easiest way to forget alliances was through the one means that he never thought was available to him.

They fought, but they fucked well and clearly cared for each other. So was there really any reason not to consider a life together?

He stumbles back at her shove, managing to grab hold of her waist and draw her closer. She might fight him, but he was serious and would prove that, even by these small gestures.]

Aye, we have duty and nothing is going to change that. We'll fight our wars and see to our people. But there has to be something more that we are fighting for. We might die, they might die, the whole fucking world might end, but at least we had something out of it. Something for ourselves.

When was the last time you were 'Dany', not 'Queen Daenerys'?

[Fingers brushed over her neck, toying with the spot that he had tenderly kissed moments ago.]

[ What's he going on about? He was alive well long before he met her. She couldn't possibly bring someone back from death, elsewise she'd be surrounded by her family and friends. He threatens to straddle the line of a madman spewing forth nonsense about prophecies versus the man she's come to know.

What he says has her shaking her head. But he's reeling her in with an arm around her waist--and her body betrays her. Or maybe it's her mind. Both? But she doesn't fight, save her hands pressing to his chest, creating some space between them as she scowls at him.

All the better to hide the way his fingers do terribly wonderful things to her neck. A soft touch. Tickling. Gentle. She balls her fists against his chest, resisting the urge to tilt her head so he could kiss that spot again.

Think of fire. Fire and blood. He looks so earnest, though... ]

The last time I was Dany was when I'd been beaten and abused by my brother and raped by my husband.

[ She doesn't counter his argument with questions like: what makes you think I wish to have anything with you? Because she's clearly shown some interest, and she has some. But again, how much? ]

I'm not that girl.

[It is madness for him. He resisted this before and fought against it, to the point where he never fully indulged in love. Aye, he loved Ygritte, but there was always that Wall between them, never fully scaled. The battle against the Freefolk divided them further, with only a brief glimpse of happiness as the life drained away from her.

This...this was the first time he truly could let himself love someone, regardless of the wars and this city. Or maybe in spite of them. She fought him every step of the way. She argued with him and drove him mad, but gods help him, she was the sort of woman he would have wished for but never believed he could have. That left him excited and rambling, as much as Jon Snow could ramble.

She didn't fight him as he drew her in, and she had every reason to. The scowl had him grinning at her, lovestruck and boyish as he found himself being with her, more often than not. Despite the risk, he nipped at her lower lip, still spinning from the steam and bath soap. Wasn't that why they were there? Why were they letting the water cool with bickering?

But her recollection of her past douses him with ice. It was hard to stomach the thought of all she endured.]

No, you're not that girl, but you aren't just a queen. I have seen it in the quiet moments. Not when we're fucking, but laying together. I see her looking back at me.

[He leaned closer to press a kiss to that tender place on her neck, well aware he could be hit for it. This was worth the risk.]

[ His playful nip is sudden and both welcome and unwelcome. Hard to tell which outweighs the other, as she struggles with the urge to shove him back. He's a presumptuous, troublesome headache. Stupid wolf. How could she ever like him?

Oh, the answer to that is painfully obvious.

Once his lips find their way to her neck, to that spot she enjoys being lavished in attentions because it feels so good, all thought flees her mind. Eyes falling shut, a shaky exhale as she bares her neck to him. Being this close to him feels good. He feels good. Gods, she wants him to fuck her with his fingers again. ]

Be quiet. [ Who does he see looking back at him? Her? Dany? Daenerys? Something else? She doesn't know, doesn't care, because his touch has her distracted again, and she's still thrumming from his attentions earlier. ] Get in the tub, Jon.

[Thank the gods that she seems to calm slightly. He makes a mental note that that particular spot on her neck was so tender to her. During the night, if she let him stay, he might toy with her a bit, punish her for her anger. While she sleeps, he made plans to kiss that spot again and see how she responded.

He doesn't argue with the command, still hard from his earlier teasing. How was it this woman was so beautiful when she was angry? It seemed like he subconsciously sought to antagonize, only to see the blaze in her eyes and the flush in her cheeks.

He unbuttoned his jeans, kicking them off quickly and a bit too eagerly for his tastes. Carefully, he eased into the tub. The bubbles made the sides of the bathtub slick, causing his hands to slide slightly, but it was no different than slippery rocks at the springs. It would be a tight fit for the both of them, but where the desire to fuck was, there was a determination to make it happen.]

[ With their separation comes a blessed moment of clarity. Her gaze dips when he turns his back to her, eyes lingering on his arse. His entire body's like stone, leaving her mouth watering like she's nothing more than a ravenous dog. She doesn't want him for a meal, though, but to feel him inside and against her.

Water sloshes as he steps into the tub and settles. As he does so, she reaches up to twist her hair back and pin it up. Then, she's tugging loose the knot and allowing her robe to drop to the floor before she climbs into the tub as well.

Knee on either side of him, she sinks down onto his lap. Onto his cock, once she blindly grasps it and guides it into her cunt. The suddenness of him pushed inside her takes her breath away. There is no lingering, though. She's already rocking, picking up a harder pace straight from the start. ]

If you talk about that again, I'll tie you down and shove silk into your mouth. I won't let you cum until I say you can, and I won't say you can until you've become stupid from how much you need release.

[Lust was radiating off of her. He didn't need to see her to know that she was watching him, drinking in his form with a predatory hunger. Far from disturbed, he took his time to pull off the rest of his clothes, purposefully moving slowly to draw this out. He was in for punishment, but he wouldn't submit easily.

He has a brief glimpse of milky skin, suds and sprinkles of water dotting along her arm and legs. She was confident and careful in her movements, stepping into the tub without sliding like him. Somehow, he showed himself to be too eager, too quick and she stepped into the tub as though the slick porcelain was nothing to her. A random image of her walking across the ice floated in his head. Someday, somehow, he would take her to see the North.

She slid down his cock, defiant and strong, claiming him in a way her marks couldn't. This was a moment supremacy for her, his queen making commands. His head leaned back against the back of the tub, his bun now soaked by soap and water. He groaned, thrusting up roughly as the contents of the tub sloshed onto the floor.]

That's a harsh punishment for a first offense. If I had to say it, isn't it better I said it to my queen than anyone else?

[ The bubbles threaten to make this ridiculous. They're everywhere, sticking to his beard when he leans his head back. They stick to her chest, disturbed only when the water slaps against her torso thanks to the violence in her movements. A controlled sort of violence as she fights to regain some semblance of control. ]

Anyone else? [ The next time she sinks down on him, it's almost painful with how hard she nearly impales herself on him. ] Careful, wolf.

[ He shouldn't be thinking of anyone else. Not even a wayward thought of another should arise when she's riding him like this. Those groans, though, those were acceptable. If she could manage that, maybe he'd make enough of the sounds from their fucking to push his words from her mind for a time.

At least he still meets her thrust for thrust. Seems even reclined as he is, there's still the promise of what she's come to expect from their encounters. He would find that with no other except for his-- ]

Wait--what did you just say?

[This isn't exactly what he imagined when he thought of them fucking in a tub. The soap was smooth and sweet smelling, but it had a tendency to get everywhere. Already it was coating the floor, threatening to knock them off their feet the moment they stepped out of the tub. But still, there was something alluring about reaching out to brush his thumb along her breast and wiping away the suds gathered there.

She was relentless in her movements. He could only lean back and appreciate her pace. She had to be an expert horsewoman with the way she manuvered and rode him. Hands gripped the side of the tub as his eyes nearly rolled back in his head. His heart was thrumming against his ears, nearly defeaning the words that slipped from his lips.

His cock twitched as he seemed to catch her off guard again, though he had managed to do the same to himself. It was said without thought, without consideration, but really? What was the inevitable choice from this? He was named King and he would be King through the war, whatever the outcome, but Daenerys was meant to be queen. She was a rare woman in a world full of would be rulers. She was more than just a queen, she was a force that could shape the world for the better.

A hand grasped her chin, bringing her close to press his lips to hers.]

I called you my queen.

He might as well have kicked her feet out from beneath her. The violence in her gyrations seems to dissipate as he reels her in closer for a kiss. And honestly? He's stupefied her just now.

Not once he's called her his queen, but twice. There was no mistaking it a second time with how direct he is this go around.

First, he tells her he loves her. And then he tells her she's his queen. Were he anyone else, she'd inquire about the game he's playing. A dangerous one to involve feelings and politics in one eve. Only a stupid man would do that with a dragon he's dangled a sheep in front of.

Why? [ Her skin still tingles from his thumb against her breast. Just shy of his mark. ] What made you change your mind?

[It's hard to say what exactly shifted his opinions, his stubbornness. An observer would simply say it was good sex and infatuation, but it discounted his thoughts for the future and of the entire picture of their world. Some would say he knew nothing, but he was astute enough to know how everything would shift.

Whether or not Dany helped him was beyond his control (one of the many reasons they fought, because he could not accept that). Regardless, there was a high chance that he would be killed in battle, fighting side by side with his men. What other reason was he brought back for but to go to war with the dead? It wasn't something he could really expect to walk away from and a life, a future...as much as he wanted it, it was for other men.

If he died, there had to be someone to take up the mantle, someone else to look after his people and see that the world of the living survived. He had watched her while they were here, listened to her and learned who she was, both as a queen and a woman. He loved her fiercely, not because of the sex but because of what he saw. It was enough to convince him that they shared the same ideals, the same methods of ruling. While he might not always agree with her, he at least knew she would do what she thought was right.

Bending the knee now, it was accepting the inevitability. She was going to rule Westeros with or without him, he wanted to follow nevertheless and see where her destiny took her.

He considers her, tracing the lines of her lips as he sorted it out in his head. There was a speech he could make, but words were wind and all of it could be summed up in a simple statement.]

I believe in you.

[ She's still on his lap. Breaths a touch sharper from exertion, she fights to steady them... when all she'd rather do is continue riding him. This is far too an important conversation to have while fucking, though--and not for the first time this eve, he has impeccable timing for voicing his thoughts. One time, and she'd think it the slip of the tongue; two times, and she wonders if he's doing this intentionally.

Still... he believes in her?

Her eyes are wide in unmasked surprise. Vulnerable, not gloating. It smells like flowers, the warmth of the bath and his body like wrapping her in a warm blanket. He's inside her and all she can think about is how his fingers feel on her lips. All she can feel is the sudden weightlessness of surprise. ]

What about your people?

They'll come to see you for what you are.

[It's such a simple answer in the face of this great decision. There would be protests at first, the same he received when he tried to rally the Northern lords to reclaim Winterfell. They were obstinate men, but they understood bravery and respected those that lead in the field, willing to be shoulder to shoulder in the muck and grime. She might be a Targaryen and a woman, but she was stronger than any of the dragon lords than they had heard of in the past, and so long as she kept her word in protecting them, they would forgive the past and see she was their hope at a future.

He wouldn't reassure her and tell her that it would be easy from the beginning, but nothing worthwhile ever was. They were proof of that.]

Just swear to me that you will help us...

[He bent the knee before that promise was made, whether she believed him or not. It was inevitable, as she was.]

[ See her for what she is. Part of her wonders what he sees. What he's seen in this place to change his mind, to make him voice his feelings. Nearly each and every step of the way has been his pursuit in this place. No, that's not true. She'd sought him out to rekindle this--but he's the one who pushes. Shoving ahead, unafraid of what may come.

Her expression waivers. Like a ripple along the water, so too does composure give way to something deeper. That very same open vulnerability from moments ago. The sort very few have seen; and none in this place.

She nods. Clears her throat. Her throat works as she tries to swallow past the sudden lump in it, and her voice is hoarse as if she'd been screaming for hours. ]

I will.

[ From both Cersei and this mysterious threat he's determined will destroy them. ]

[He was never a man with good timing. He had first fallen in love as a war was mounting between the Freefolk and the Night's Watch. Of course it had to happen again, a deeper love and a greater war, but strangely everything seemed to fall into place where it was meant to. In loving her, he could overcome his stubbornness and recognize her as more than a claimant for the throne. In bending the knee because of that realization, he gained the help he might never have before.

Between the heat of the water, the feeling of being inside her and the emotion in his chest, he was surging, humming in this room. He pressed a fierce kiss to her lips, speaking again the words he had confessed earlier with this small gesture, wordless as he had promised.

He rocked his hips up, letting him adjust inside her.]

Thank you, Dany.

[ The water sloshes as she lifts her hand, the pads of her fingers pressing to his jaw when he leans forward for a kiss. An intense kiss that makes her want to run, to lean in and kiss him in return. So she does. She returns his kiss, mouth slanting against his as she tries not to listen to so very much. Her thoughts, his unspoken words, the beautiful song their bodies sing when they're like this.

The heat of everything brings a surreal note to this as he thrusts up into her. She rolls her hips, a downward grind and doesn't stop.

He pushes and pushes... and this inevitability only goes to show that she's doomed with him. That she'd always turn to him, like he's some sick obsession. But there's nothing sick about it, is there? It isn't like either is in a position of disadvantage versus power. ]

You're so stubborn.

[ Calling her Dany. ]

So they marked me.

[It's a wolfish smile that meets her, a man that feels triumphant in every way possible. He had said he loved her and she hadn't ran, he had bent the knee and won her help for the North, and now they were making love in her tub and every gesture she gave felt tender and gentle. It didn't matter what came after this night, he felt as though he had come out of a storm into a blessed haven.

He nuzzled her, kissing her lips again and again, needing her soft mouth. She might not be whispering loving words, but anything from her was as sweet as Dornish red.

His hips continue to rock up, moving slowly and tauntingly, holding back his usual fervor.]

I like mine more.

[ Such a shame she chose that spot on his hip. It's not as if she could suck it back into a bright claim while they were in the water, or while he was inside her.

She doesn't fall back into that frenzied fucking from earlier; instead, she's kissing him, maintaining the new pace he sets. His lips are already kiss-swollen. They're soft and warm, the wet slide of their kisses setting her blood on fire. And still... if she tilts her hips forward just a bit, she can grind her clit against his pelvis each time his cock refills her.

This is so different from all the other times. Not violence. He's managed to calm the restlessness in her, despite him being the cause of it earlier. ]

Yours suits you.

[As she suited him. Even in this tight space, it felt like their bodies were molded perfectly together. Each rock of her hips was natural and smooth, he could feel her clit against his pelvic bone and the heat that seemed to radiate from it rather than the water.

There were playful nips given, but they were nothing compared to the passionate kisses he returned to her each time. Impishly, he pulled the pin securing her hair, pulling it free so it could cascade down her body. A rush of silver set against pale, milky skin. It took the last of his breath to see someone so beautiful.

He was fully within her, settled and content. This was his world, his life. If he could spend the rest of it with her like this, he would be content.]

[ She trails her fingers down his throat, and then his chest, lightly digging her fingers into hot flesh and muscle and then puckered skin. This tenderness--she doesn't know what to do with it here. There's an impulse to return it, but that was to be a freedom she might explore in their world. A dangerous one whilst they were here with their captors hovering and watching.

So she touches his scars, lightly scraping her nails against his skin, toying with his flesh as one might a person's nipple. Never too hard, but still hard enough for him to feel it.

And as she touches him, she continues grinding against him. She loses track of their kisses until it's little more between them save warm pants and the wayward brush of lips on her end. ]

When we win the war, [ she murmurs between heated breaths, ] I want to ride you like this on the Iron Throne.

[He shivers at her touch, gasping the moment her fingers trailed over the large, gaping scars. It was a whisper, a promise of her attentions that was as delicate and soft as the moon's glow. His hands ran over her as well, following the lengths and curves of her body, smoothing away the suds that collected against her.

He smiles up at her between kisses, genuinely happy and warm. For the first time in his life, he wasn't alone. Even with Ygritte, there had been that sense, that distance. With Daenerys, he was here completely, joined with her physically and emotionally. He wifed her in this moment, choosing her above anyone else in their world or any other.

Her words gave him a sense of thrill, amazed that she was making these sorts of plans. Where they might make love in Westeros, where they could claim each other.]

So long as the swords don't cut me. [He gripped her hips tightly.] I'd want to take you first on your map table.

[ She likes his hands on her. It's like he's stroking a cat, and so much more. Each touch meant to turn her blood a little hotter, to consume her senses with lust until he's the only thing she registers. His hands roam her body and she arches into his touch as best she can while still maintaining their pace. ]

Not as if we'll be fucking like we did in the park. [ His fingers dig into her hips. She grinds down on him a little harder, causing the water to splash. ] You've seen it?

[ Another difference in memories. She supposes it makes sense, if she's allowed him to mine the dragonglass, why not allow him beyond the throne room? ]

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