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19 January 2012 @ 02:02 am
so after the success of the ficathon, i thought why not spice things up with a kink meme? ;] 

all characters must be from the white walkers verse
leave a pairing in the comments below, along with an accompanying kink - eg, theon/robb, first time, jaime/cersei, bondage
- KINK ONLY, we have the ficathon for regular prompts and it's still active :D
- graphics and fanart is also accepted


the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on January 19th, 2012 02:04 am (UTC)
Sansa/Theon, it's fucking Robb by proxy
leah rebecca: Theon Greyjoybloodofpyke on January 19th, 2012 06:17 am (UTC)
Her gasps are coming quick and breathy, and he just wants to gag her.

They’re upstairs, in Sansa’s room, the frilly girly stuff threatening to sober Theon up, while the rest of the Starks toast to their honor and winter or something, he doesn’t know, he hadn’t been listening.

She had been virgin, Theon knew, or near enough, but she would never admit to it. Too busy trying to impress me. Theon would have laughed if his mouth weren’t so busy.

Sansa hitched her legs around Theon, breathing an “oh” down the back of his neck, fingers scrambling to find traction. He slid his hands down her back, skimming down to her ass, hiking her up, closer to him. He bent his head, tongue flicking across a nipple, grinning in anticipation of her response (Theon liked to fancy himself something of an expert in this area). He wasn’t disappointed; Sansa arched her back, moving her tit into Theon’s mouth, shivering against his grip.

Her heart beat against Theon, and he cringed slightly from the closeness of it.

Theon kissed his way back up to her mouth, biting down on her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. The droplet stood there for a moment, a startling red, before Theon bent his head and carried on. His tongue dipped into her mouth while his hands guided her hips (yeah, definitely a virgin), urging her faster, urging himself deeper.

Sansa knotted her fingers in his hair, eyes locked on Theon’s, breath catching. “Oh Theon,” she whispered, eyes round as saucers, lips swollen, make-up smeared.

He finished a few moments after, hands balling into fists behind her back to keep from breathing another’s name. They lay there, entangled in the sheets, in each other, until Theon said, “Well, guess we’d better get downstairs, then. They’ll be wondering where you’d gone pretty soon.” He doesn’t fool himself into thinking anyone else would care where he’d been.

Theon watched her rummage through the mess on the floor for her clothes, shimmying back into her dress, fixing her make-up. It almost counts, doesn’t it? Cut the hair, get rid of the tits and cunt, and she could be him. He pushed himself out of the bed, grinning wolfishly at the Stark girl, kissing the side of her neck, hands reaching for her, running down her sides. He kept his eyes closed this time.
(no subject) - betsyisawesome on January 19th, 2012 11:29 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - vorrothiel on January 20th, 2012 12:30 am (UTC) (Expand)
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:05 am (UTC)
dalla/mance, sex toys
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:06 am (UTC)
rhaegar/jon c., blowjobs in public
Shothe_stark_words on January 19th, 2012 02:16 am (UTC)
the pretenders
These icy, haunted streets are good for little, anymore.

The haunted alleys, public once, are slowly freezing over, turning white over the wreckage, red, beneath, like insides spilled across the pavement. Their shows crush ice into stains made of exactly that.

Beneath a grey sky, there's little left for anybody but pretenders, which is what most people call the 'hopers' now. And that's what they do— pretend, not hope —with their hands knotted in each other's hair and their eyes pressed shut, icicles desperate to form on their steamy faces like fresh corpses but still barely held at bay.

Jon groans, anxiously, with words of hurry hurry faster yes like speed is all that matters, like Rhaegar's mouth taking him in is a respite from something easy like work and laughter and people and talk, and that around the corner there's someone waiting for them both. That there's something left besides pretending in the white and winding corridors of the night.

'Yes,' he hisses, silver strands coming away in his hands and falling to the ground. 'Yes, exactly there,' and when his orgasm comes rushing in, loud and furious, Jon can almost pretend that it's the sound of the crowded street, and that when he opens his eyes, it won't just be Rhaegar staring up with gaunt cheeks and wet lips and the glassy eyes of a pretender.
Re: the pretenders - mockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:20 am (UTC) (Expand)
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on January 19th, 2012 02:07 am (UTC)
Renly/Loras, they found love in an office space
unavalible: Geth and Finnunavalible on January 20th, 2012 03:36 am (UTC)
Sex On a Desk Pt. 1
“You’re going to be in so much shit if he finds out.”

“He won’t find out. Now get up on it.”

Loras had no idea why he did this—why he amused Renly with such asinine ideas that could very well end up with both of them getting killed. Or horribly maimed in an ‘accident’ that everyone knew wasn’t really one, but it wasn’t as if Stannis could just outright attack them in public. He’d hire someone to break their limbs and toss them in a trash compactor. Or maybe he’d dunk their feet in cement and toss them into the river Thames—feed them to the bottom feeders—like in those old gangster films. Either way, what they were doing was going to get them in so much shit, that some of the fun behind it was lost as he jumped up on to the desk of none other than Stannis Baratheon, resting his half naked arse on the expensive cherry wood with its perfect polish and its perfect wood grain patterns, almost knocking over a photograph of his wife in the process.

“If he finds out you’re the one responsible,” Loras murmured as Renly stood between his legs, a cheeky grin on his face as he wrapped his hand around Loras’ cock and began stroking. Biting his bottom lip, he jerked his hips upwards, the heat of Renly’s palm and the glide of his foreskin against the head of his prick already making him hard.

“He won’t because we’ll clean up. Although it’d be funny if he came back to see your arse print on the wood—“ Loras shut him up by bringing him down for a heated kiss, hand grasping the back of his neck in a tight hold as Renly continued to jerk him. Opening his mouth, Loras let Renly take over, their tongues sliding together as he slowly moved back on the desk, Renly moving down with him. If he kept his eyes closed and his legs wrapped around his lover’s waist, so close and warm and solid, Loras could delude himself into believing that they were in Renly’s office, far from danger and strife. That what they were doing would not get them killed or maimed, and where his family would not think back and say ‘Oh Loras—if only you hadn’t had sex on your boyfriend’s brother’s desk, you’d still be here with us! Alive and well! Not stuffed in a trash compactor!’

The lurch of the desk caused them both to freeze, and Renly stayed poised above Loras, one leg on the desk while the other stayed on the floor. Eyes wide and brows raised, they both waited to see if the desk would settle before it let out another loud, disapproving groan. “I think the soul of Stannis has manifested itself in his desk,” Loras whispered, causing Renly to let out a loud snort, followed by a few girlish giggles.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” Renly said as he got off of Loras. The desk was made for the weight of only one man, it seemed. Although the fact that Renly was pulling away made Loras frustrated, his cock bouncing as it stayed erect and free from the confines of his boxers. Loras hadn’t been opposed to sex—since when had he ever refused a go with his boyfriend?—but he’d been nervous about doing it in Stannis office. Now that Renly was agreeing with his previous trepidation, he couldn’t help but visibly pout.

“Don’t just leave me like this,” Loras practically wined as Renly was grabbing Stannis’ large, black leather office chair and pulled it close.

“I’m not stopping, just going about it a different way,” he replied, moving to kiss Loras again, quick but heated, before sitting in the chair and scooting forward. Grabbing Loras’ hips, Renly tugged him to the edge of the desk and placed his feet on either armchair, smiling happily to himself as he gazed at Loras’ erect cock, the pink head already leaking precum.

Sitting up, Loras wondered if Renly was ever going to stop staring at his prick like it was the Holy Grail, before he moved forward and wrapped his full lips around the head. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, Loras bit down on his fist as Renly’s tongue swirled around the head, hot and wet as it collected the precum, the smallest of moans breaking forth around it as Renly worked him. Running his hand through his lover’s hair, Loras watched, trying not to thrust up and into his mouth as Renly, very carefully and meticulously, worked the tip of his prick. Even with a dick in his mouth Renly almost seemed to be grinning, obviously amused.


Re: Sex On a Desk Pt. 2 - unavalible on January 20th, 2012 03:36 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Sex On a Desk Pt. 2 - vorrothiel on January 20th, 2012 03:43 am (UTC) (Expand)
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:07 am (UTC)
ygriette/jon snow, TAKING JON'S VIRGINITY (let's face it, she so did)
hear me roar: Stock --> b&w with a smilemagisterequitum on January 19th, 2012 02:34 am (UTC)
let me show you how it's done (Jon/Ygritte, R)
"You've never done this before have you?"

She doesn't say it to be mean or cruel or mocking. It's just a fact that she figures out. She'd bet the pound note in her back pocket that he's never fucked someone.

He, Jon, licks his lips, a stain of red flushing his cheeks. It's cute. "Is it that obvious?" He looks young in the dim light of her bedroom, the only glow coming from the corner lamp she'd remembered to leave on.

Ygritte grins, shrugging her shoulders. "Just a little." She steps forward, kicking off her flats, and kisses him, biting on his bottom lip and then soothing it with her lip. He tastes of the ale they'd had at the pub. Pulling back, she gives him a little push, catching him off guard and sending him on his back to her bed. Her eyes on his she pulls her shirt over her head, liking the way his eyes dip to her bra, black dark against her pale skin and red hair that falls around her shoulders.

She raises an eyebrow, hands on the snap of her jeans. "Go on. You must know you at least have to be somewhat naked."

He rises to her teasing, shucking his clothes as well. His boots near a book of hers, shirt on her desk chair, pants on top of her bra.

Ygritte slides into his lap, and he's warm skin against her, her nipples brushing against the small amount of hair on his chest. It's a pleasant sensation, the slight roughness. She kisses him again, more forceful.

He returns with equal pressure from his own lips, hands sliding down so one rests on the curve of her waist and the other fits between their bodies to touch the side of her breast.

A virgin, but one with some instincts, she thinks.

She rocks against him, moving her hips in small jerky circles, his prick rubbing against her cunt. Her hand grips the base of his neck, hard, and his mouth opens for her tongue.

Jon's breath hitches, and he's hard against her.

She's wet enough, aroused and impatient, unwilling for any more teasing and waiting. By the spasm of his hand on her waist and the pinch to her nipple, she doesn't think he wants to wait either. Time enough for that in round two; maybe she'll suck him off and teach him how to go down on her.

She takes him in hand, thumbing the head of his cock, smirking when that drags a moan from his lips as he jerks away from her mouth. It's easy enough to sink down onto him, take him inside her, and she sighs at the sensation.

Jon's eyes are wide as she rides him in the darkness of her flat's bedroom. His hands fumble, falling from her breast to both of them around her hips.

He comes before she does, not really needing much, an unfortunate thing. Embarrassed, he looks at her, saying, "Sorry."

Ygritte slides a hand between them and takes her clit between two fingers. Under his startled gaze and the heady knowledge of having been his first, and her fingers, she reaches her own release.

She smiles and kisses him, her own wet fingers, mixed with both of their releases, on the curve of his jaw. "No worries," she promises. "You can make it up to me."
Re: let me show you how it's done (Jon/Ygritte, R) - mockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:38 am (UTC) (Expand)
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:07 am (UTC)
hear me roar: Game of Thrones --> king in the northmagisterequitum on January 19th, 2012 01:40 pm (UTC)
time enough to be selfish (Robb/Theon, R)
It's not supposed to be like this.

Meaning, this isn't how Theon wanted it to go. He'd barely even let himself fully imagine what it would be like to have Robb, to sink into the tightness of his body and feel him around him like this, but when he did it'd been late night thoughts that definitely imagined more than a quick fuck at the end of the world. His private fantasies and thoughts had always been more, and never just Robb letting him have him because of where they were, the Hell they were now living with; but even then, Theon can't bring himself much to care.

Goddammit, he's greedy and selfish enough to admit that if this is what he can have, then he's taking it.

Theon thrusts forward, and Robb jerks forward against the table. They're in an abandoned shop, what might have once been a restaurant judging by the lingering smells of oil even over the scent of decay that now made the entire area of London smell like death and shit.

He snarls when Robb whines and pushes backwards against him. He's not some fucking charity case for Robb Stark's goddamn feelings of honor and giving. Angry now, he drives forward, thrusting his dick into his friend, knowing that its much more than the two fingers he'd used to open Robb up with only spit earlier.

It must hurt, Theon thinks, and good. Let him hurt like he hurts. Like he did when he left him and went off and fucked that bitch-wife of his, and left him to find out about his mother alone. Good.

He grabs Robb's head with one hand, curls his fingers tight in the auburn curls there and yanks, a punishing hold that delivers more of those noises from swollen lips.

Robb's mumbling something, but Theon doesn't care. Or can't hear. Both, and he ignores it in favor of the slick sounds of their bodies moving against one another in an easy rhythm of push and pull. The way Theon's fucking him he knows that Robb's cock must be grinding against the table, and if he was more charitable or less angry he might find it in him to reach around and give him some more friction. He's not a bloody Stark though.

It doesn't matter. Robb comes from the table alone, and maybe from the thought of Theon fucking him. He doesn't know, and he won't let himself go down that thought.

Theon snaps his hips forward, hand in those red curls, and bows his body so he's laying against Robb's back. He pants through his release, blows puffs of air against his friend's neck. "Robb, Robb."

Robb says nothing.

Fuck, Theon thinks, and he shivers, his whole body shaking for one long moment.

Then, a hand that reaches up and pats the hand on Robb's head, fingers clumsily moving.

It takes Theon a minute to realize Robb's not trying to get rid of him, but trying to stroke his hand.

He exhales again, "Robb." and doesn't move his face from Robb's neck. They can spare a few minutes for this; and he's oh so greedy.
Re: time enough to be selfish (Robb/Theon, R) - miawkitten on January 19th, 2012 04:27 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: time enough to be selfish (Robb/Theon, R) - mockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 06:49 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: time enough to be selfish (Robb/Theon, R) - bloodofpyke on January 19th, 2012 09:09 pm (UTC) (Expand)
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:08 am (UTC)
petyr b./sansa stark, office sex
I like you first and second and third.miawkitten on January 19th, 2012 02:53 am (UTC)
sound of a gun

They're locked inside the office, dead flesh pounding at the door, mindless shrieks echoing from the hallway, their guns still tightly pressed in their hands when he pins her to the wall. She doesn't struggle, not even when he locks her wrists firmly in his grip, his mouth hungrily attacking her own. Her legs wrap around his body easily and he lifts her up as though she weighs nothing, his shoulders simply moving and bringing her to his height.

There's a rawness in their kiss - is it a kiss or are they just trying to drink each other up - that makes her feel a little more alive and the blood in her veins seems to be pumping loudly as though compensating for every time it froze when she saw one of the undead. She has to gasp for air soon and it's then when he lowers himself to her neck, biting and licking and no longer treating like a girl. His hands - freeing her, letting her own run through his hair, pulling and taking - find themselves under her shirt and they're cold against her ribcage, against her breasts but it's good, it's so good to feel that. It's a frenzied shaking of her fingers that undoes the belt of his trousers and she allows herself a sly grin at how hard he is. For an awkward moment she fumbles with her own zip but he distracts her again, his teeth leaving bitemarks on her earlobe and he picks her up again when the goosebumps are running down her thighs and she's crying for release.

There's nothing on his desk to throw to the floor - at least we're spared that cliche she thinks and then doesn't - but the wood feels good against her back and she arches it anyway as soon as she feels him thrust inside her. The rhythm they settle in makes them pant in unison and she finally ignores the yells outside because they're nothing more than background noise. His sweaty forehead is pressed to hers and he spares her a grin, the grin he's only ever kept for her. She moans in reply, crushing her teeth to his lips, drinking in more blood, feeling alive, alive as she's ever felt.

It's only when he's rolled off her and they share the hard surface of the desk that she realises neither of them had let go of the guns.
(no subject) - mockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 03:25 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - bloodofpyke on January 19th, 2012 03:27 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - archaicisms on January 19th, 2012 03:38 am (UTC) (Expand)
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:09 am (UTC)
jeyne/ygriette, cunninglus~
I like you first and second and third.miawkitten on January 21st, 2012 12:39 am (UTC)
raise me up

“Worst one?”

Absolute worst one.”

Jeyne takes a moment to think, playing with the empty shot glass on the bar, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her mind’s a little fuzzy, truth be told, after polishing off half a tequila bottle but it comes to her in the end. She puts on her best impression of a male voice.

“Can I stare at you from up close instead of across the room?” Ygritte shrieks and throws her head back in laughter and Jeyne smiles, appreciating the fact that she’s the source of amusement. She lets Ygritte fill her glass again and winces only a little at the burning sensation in her throat. “What about you? Worst pick up line ever. Go on.”

Ygritte gives her a toothy grin, not missing a beat. “Only because every single man on earth has said this to me. Does the carpet match the drapes?”

Jeyne fights to control the fit of giggles. “Even Jon?”

Ygritte bites her lip. “Well, OK, not Jon. But he’s Jon, he doesn’t count.”

Feeling a little brave - or maybe it’s the tequila finally getting to her - Jeyne leans her on her palm and asks. “So does it?”

“Does it what?”

“Does it match the drapes?”

Ygritte’s grin widens. “Are you hitting on me, Ms Westerling?”

Yes, the tequila has definitely gone to my head. “I think I am.” It surprises both of them that it’s Jeyne who takes Ygritte’s hand and leads the way but they’re a little drunk and inhibitions have been swept away and if Jeyne’s being honest with herself, the thought has lingered in the back of her mind for a while.

They fumble a little at first, awkwardly pressing kisses on each other’s lips but she enjoys the taste of Ygritte’s lipstick on her tongue. The bathroom is mercifully empty and the redhead clicks the lock with the same grin, her hands snaking around Jeyne and lifting her to sit on the sink. Jeyne frowns. “But I…”

“Shh,” Ygritte presses a finger to her mouth and winks. “I like to keep my secrets.” Jeyne’s first reaction is to gasp when she feels a wet tongue between her thighs, slowly snaking up. Her fingers grip the edge of the marble and she bites the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her voice down. She’s panting heavily, her breath hitching as Ygritte’s tongue moves in circles, too knowingly to have never done this before. But Jeyne doesn’t have time to dwell on it before her knuckles turn white and Ygritte is standing up, smacking her lips in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Something tells me Robb is about as good as Jon at that.”

Jeyne thinks it’s best not to answer.
(no subject) - mockyrfears on January 21st, 2012 12:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - ghostinsweats on January 21st, 2012 03:15 am (UTC) (Expand)
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on January 19th, 2012 02:09 am (UTC)
Margaery/Nymeria, gimme more
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:10 am (UTC)
jaime/cersei OVER JOFF'S DEAD BODY
she's a salty little pissernorthernqueens on January 19th, 2012 02:10 am (UTC)
Theon/Ygritte, because redheads and assholes are kind of A Thing, and Ygritte's a better shot than he is and obvs that means they should fuck idek someone stop me
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on January 19th, 2012 02:11 am (UTC)

In the middle of coughpenetrationcough, Joff is surprised when she takes a chunk out of his throat.
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on January 23rd, 2012 03:22 am (UTC)
uhhh…just filing my own prompt here. this one is going to be short

Joff has the girl lying on the gurney, thrusting and grunting into her. She was a pretty thing that he pulled out of the security line, promising her safety if she came with him. Joff threw out his name, his mother’s position, his famous dead father – anything to let her bypass the security checkpoints. She’s pretty tight too and makes little moans and groans the harder he thrusts. But she stopped meeting his hips moments ago and Joff’s getting bored.

The girl seems to stir a bit, moaning more deeply than she had before. Good, she should be getting wetter then, digging his nails into her thighs. The girl rises, sitting up before him. She has a brilliant eye color – bright blue – why didn’t I notice that before?

The girl leans into his neck, sniffing. Then, she crunches down hard and Joff screams. He tries to push her away but her jaws are locked tight and his neck soon becomes slick with blood. He stumbles backward, landing hard on the floor. She continues biting his neck, devouring his blood and skin and muscle. Joff can only try to push her away feebly. Soon, he can’t feel the red hot blood gushing down his neck and chest anymore.
clashofqueensclashofqueens on January 19th, 2012 02:11 am (UTC)
dacey/dany - princess and the farmgirl role play. THINK PRINCESS BRIDE.
clashofqueensclashofqueens on January 19th, 2012 02:12 am (UTC)
jorah/lynesse - old habits are hard to break
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on January 19th, 2012 02:13 am (UTC)
Renly/Loras, peaches & whipped cream food play
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:13 am (UTC)
jorah/lynesse, hateful reunions
Shothe_stark_words on January 19th, 2012 02:34 am (UTC)
they're both dying by inches
Her hair is falling out and it's hideous.

He feels almost inhuman revulsion, and anger, and hate, at what she's becoming being so entirely inhuman and yet human all at once. He has seen inhuman, now, he knows inhuman, and still she seems so sickly that he almost wants to cry.

In his mind, he pictures a thousand ways he might have protected her, and a thousand ways he might have died to do so. He pictures it being easier, if his heart weren't so inexplicably his, unshared, ungifted, just balled up inside his chest ready to be taken or smitten or eaten or torn apart and strewn about like a breakfast buffet.

Her bones stand out beneath the palms of his hands and her hair comes out in tufts when he pulls, but he pulls anyway, and she doesn't make a sound, just rattles like death beneath his hands and quivers around him, and digs her nails into his back until it stings. Her slams her against the wall; she spreads her legs and slaps him across the face.

There are the sounds of him grunting, and his breath standing out like fog around them and her creaking joints like hideous apartment furnishings that Jorah wishes he had taken down, that nag him now, and taunt him, and tell him that, perhaps, if things had gone differently, he could have ended up like this.

A shuddering bag of bones attached to another by virtue of a nasty, blood-pumping muscle inside his chest.

And as a courtesy, he doesn't laugh when her weak hands come up and try to snap his neck.
Re: they're both dying by inches - mockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 03:17 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: they're both dying by inches - miawkitten on January 19th, 2012 03:23 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: they're both dying by inches - polkadotsnplaid on January 20th, 2012 02:05 am (UTC) (Expand)
suchacharmersuchacharmer on January 19th, 2012 02:14 am (UTC)
Cersei/Jaime's stump
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:15 am (UTC)
arya/gendry, dry-humping
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on January 19th, 2012 02:15 am (UTC)
Sansa/vibrator. no guys allowed.
lionlannisterlionlannister on January 19th, 2012 02:18 am (UTC)
birthday gift.
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on January 19th, 2012 03:18 am (UTC)
(i apologize in advance) (especially for the lack of on-page sex)

“It’s my birthday today,” Arya announced when she woke up. The room was empty, her back was to the door, but she knew Gendry would hear her.

“Oh yeah?” He called from the other room. “What do you want, little lady?”

She turned around to see him leaning in the doorway, grinning down at her. Throwing a book, the first she can grab, a heavy volume about ammo, at his face, she told him, “Booze. I need to get drunk.”


It doesn’t take much for Arya to get drunk, for all her talk, for all her fierceness, she’s still just a little thing. A wolf in girl’s clothing, Gendry thought to himself, knocking back a taste of scotch.

Arya leans over him to grab at the bottle, filling her glass. Her face is flushed, her eyes are bright, and she’s chattering on about swords versus guns, asking if the walkers bleed because she’s sure as hell never stuck around to check. Gendry looked around, wanting someone else to witness babbling Arya, but there isn’t anyone, there never is, it’s always just the two of them.

His hand reached out and stilled on hers, poised to pour. “Hey, don’t you think you’ve maybe had enough?”

The instant the words leave his mouth, he regretted it. Arya never can resist a challenge and sure enough, she slams her glass down on the table, lifting the bottle to her mouth. “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough,” she told him, screwing her face up as the scotch hit her full-force.

Gendry tried not to laugh, concentrating on pulling the bottle from her hands. “Sure, okay,” he said easily. “But right now, let’s just-”

Arya stopped him with a kiss.

For a moment, Gendry’s caught off-guard, partially from alcohol and partially from Arya. Then his hands slide to her face, cradling it, kissing her delicately, as thought she might break.

She growled into his mouth, hand gripping his neck, fitting her small body on top of his. Forcing his mouth open, she attacked him with lips, with teeth, with tongue as only Arya could.


Their clothes are off in a matter of minutes, strewn across the small room, crumpled in heaps. “Are you sure you want to do this?”Gendry breathed into her hair.

“Don’t be stupid,” came the reply.

They were a tangle of limbs, a mess of hair, fingers tracing patterns on skin, lips leaving bruises. Gendry could feel her heartbeat on his and tightened his grip on her, matching his rhythm to hers.

It didn’t take long, and afterward they lay entangled on the ratty couch, the bottle of scotch just out of reach, their sweat-slicked skin sliding against each other.

“Happy birthday, Arya,” Gendry said, shifting and putting an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

“Oh shut up.”

He looked down just as the smile was disappearing.
(no subject) - juhlillith on February 9th, 2012 09:57 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - crogos on February 13th, 2012 11:15 pm (UTC) (Expand)
clashofqueensclashofqueens on January 19th, 2012 02:19 am (UTC)
dacey/garlan - student/teacher
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:19 am (UTC)
dany/jon snow, dany dominatrix
careful, your byronic complex is showing: ♕ » you're giving me the fever tonighttrysts on January 19th, 2012 02:57 am (UTC)
what's the magic word? [jon/dany, nc-17]
It’s morbid but Jon thinks—there’s just something about death. There’s something about death that makes you want to reaffirm your life, in the most primitive way possible. He’s hard before they spill into the empty alleyway, and it’s dirty and smells like dead creatures and piss and trash, but all he sees is the flash of her white-hair as it brushes across her cheek, and her lavender eyes lift to his.

He kisses her without meaning to.

Dany pulls away roughly. “I don’t trust you,” she says, less quick to forget their meeting and his status as a former soldier.

“I don’t care,” he says. “I need this.”

She must concur because she pushes him back until he crashes against the wall, elbow scrapping roughly against brick, and then her mouth slides against his. She has to stand on her tiptoes to align herself properly, but her hands are wrapped around his wrists and he lets her have the power. He meant it—he doesn’t care.

Dany undoes his belt and then loops it around his arms, securing them behind his back. They sink to ground together, Dany cushioned by his lap, and then she pulls out his cock, her teeth sinking into his bottom lip. There’s the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, but he moans, thrusts up into her hand.

Her fingers move through the curly mass of his dark hair, yanking his head back, as she works down her jeans and brings him slowly inside. Her breath hisses out across his cheek as he makes a desperate thrust. The fingers in his hair dig into his scalp, warning him not to move. He obeys, though his legs shake with the desire to make her move.

And then she does, swaying on top of him, gently rocking him inside his body. He pants, mouth falling open. Dany lifts herself, so he slides nearly all the way out, and carefully pulls own her shirt and her bra so her pale breasts push upward. She lifts them to his mouth, and Jon eagerly takes one into his mouth, teeth worrying the nipple. She cries out and sinks back down on him, the hand still in his hair demanding he continue to suck her breast. He lavishes them with his tongue as she moves, thrusting down on him.

Her hand falls between them, and Jon feels it around his cock, stroking him, and he moans around her breast, biting down on the flesh. Dany hisses again, and shifts her hand to rub at her clit, her downward thrusts become more insistence, rough.

His mouth is yanked away from her breast, and Dany grinds hers mouth down into his, teeth and tongue and blood, and he feels her come around him, her muscles clenching.

“Come,” she orders and somehow that was what he was waiting for and he does, grunting out his release against her teeth, and she swallows it, pressing down into him until he’s emptied himself and a week ago Jon would have thought—oh shit, oh shit, I didn’t wear a condom—but those concerns seem trivial now, meaningless, and he simply falls back against the brick wall, panting.

Dany scoots away, fixing her shirt and jacket, pulling her pants back up. Then she comes around, loosens the belt around his wrists long enough for him to slide free, and backs away again.

“I still don’t trust you,” she announces.
Re: what's the magic word? [jon/dany, nc-17] - mockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 03:26 am (UTC) (Expand)
this town is hardly worth our time: [hour] mayfair mistressghostinsweats on January 19th, 2012 02:22 am (UTC)
theon/jeyne. dom!jeyne.
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on January 22nd, 2012 03:14 am (UTC)
i don't know where this came from meep. i am writing a lot of subtheon

They’ve found a full bottle of scotch in the cupboard and decide to have at it, because who knows if they’ll be there tomorrow? Jeyne hates scotch, but she kicks back the shot glass again and again and again.

Soon Theon is slurring and glaring at her. He does this once in a while – just stares angrily at her, wishing she were Robb, wishing that maybe she was Sansa, that she was anyone but Jeyne. She can’t say she hasn’t wished the same.

But she’s fucking tired of it. Tired of his smirks. Tired of being called “cunt,” “bitch,” “whore.” She’s tired and she’s drunk and she’s irritated.

“What are you – “ she stops, trying to collect herself, “what are you,” she punctuates with a stab of a finger in Theon’s general direction, “staring at me for?”

Theon downs his shot and plays the empty glass before answering, “I’m just imagining you screaming my name,” half-grin playing across his face.

Jeyne slams the scotch down and crawls forward, pushing Theon down on the floor as she straddles him. Most of the times she’d let it pass, let it die, but she’s heady from the booze and weeks of irritation and anger and grief have come to this. “Maybe you’ll scream mine,” she husks as she unzips his jeans and takes out his cock.

She strokes it, thumb circling the tip and hand grasping it firmly as she shifts it up and down the shaft. Theon doesn’t speak, letting out a soft groan as his hips buck up. Jeyne pauses long enough to remove her jeans and finds Theon propped up on his elbows, shaking a condom between his thumb and forefinger. He barks out a laugh as Jeyne snatches it from his hand, unrolling it on his erect penis.

Theon moves to turn her over, to be on top, and Jeyne shoves him back. Her hand finds his cock, holding it as she positions herself over it and grinds down.

He grabs her ass, pulling her up and down, groaning and hissing the entire time. Jeyne only breathes, determined not to let him have anything. She pinches his nipples hard, whispering “bitch,” in his ear.

When he sits up, curses about to explode from his lip, she smacks him across the face. Not hard, not soft, but a good slap that leaves saying “whore,”. Theon’s hips thrust wildly one, two, three, four times as he empties himself, crying out “Jeyne.”

She smiles and leans in, biting and tugging at his earlobe, “cunt.”
(no subject) - mockyrfears on January 23rd, 2012 07:44 pm (UTC) (Expand)
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on January 19th, 2012 02:23 am (UTC)
dany/edmure, WHIPS
Jaime: woops100powerlion on January 19th, 2012 07:53 am (UTC)
He comes to groggily, vision clouded and head pounding. For some reason his hands are bound behind him, he has no pants and no shirt, and his hair is wet and dripping into his eyes.

There is a leathery snap in the corner, and his head jerks up from the abrupt sound. A silver haired woman emerges from the shadows, dressed in nothing but underwear, a coiled leather whip in her hands. Some dim part of him feels like he should recognize her, but for some reason he can't remember.

"You disappoint me, Tully." She says coldly, as if she had read his thoughts.

The woman pushes his stool back, and it rolls backward on its wheels to hit a wall, his head slamming into it hard. He grunts, blinking away the pain as best as he can, and futilely struggling at the bonds on his wrists. She walks forward, snapping the whip, its edge curling around his ankle, and he hisses from the sting of it. She saunters toward him, pulling on the whip and drawing him toward her.

She bends down to run a hand down his length (he isn't sure how or why he is hard, just that it happened), and rubs the edge of the leather handle across the sensitive head. He throws his head back, but her hand clamps down over his mouth, preventing him from making a sound. "You're going to do what I tell you." she says, and slaps the handle against his cock. He winces at the sharp contact, but amazingly it caused more pleasure than pain. He nods dumbly.

She leans down, straddling his hips, rubbing herself against him. She is warm and wet through the thin fabric of her underwear, and he strains against his bonds, hips bucking up as much as he can, desperate for more contact. She slaps the handle down on his thigh. "I didn't tell you to do that."

He grunts as she uses the length of the whip to bind his legs together, and without skipping a beat, she shifts her panties aside to sink herself down onto him. He slides easily into her wet cunt, letting out a groan as she braces herself on his shoulders, moving up and down.

There is a devious grin on her face, but suddenly his vision blacks out. He jolts awake, and tries to move his legs, but the strap of his sniper rifle is tangled around his knees. There is a lump on the back of his head where he banged it against the wall of his van, and one of his hands is pinned under the heavy first aid box, rendering it numb and useless.

He shifts to free himself, and groans as he feels his erection straining against his pants. "Well, fuck."
(no subject) - mockyrfears on January 20th, 2012 10:50 am (UTC) (Expand)
clashofqueensclashofqueens on January 19th, 2012 02:23 am (UTC)
dacey/dany - puppy play