Log in

16 March 2012 @ 11:57 pm
G A M E O F T H R O N E S K I N K M E M E  

- all characters must be from george r. r. martin's a song of ice and fire's series or the hbo adaption game of thrones
- leave a pairing in the comments, along with an accompanying kink - eg jaime/cersei, voyeurism, theon/robb, oral.
- graphics and fanart are also accepted
- no hate pleeease, we don't all love the same ships but let's not bash because of it :)
- multiple fills are encouraged

SEE: asoiafkinkmeme

Sternflammendensternflammenden on March 17th, 2012 12:10 am (UTC)
Theon/Asha, femdom
♕youremyqueen on March 21st, 2012 07:26 pm (UTC)
iron and salt
He puffs himself up when he walks into the feast. It's in the straight set of his shoulders - taut with anxiety rather than regality - and the plain black dress shirt he changes into because father didn't like the gold. Personally, she prefers him in satins and silks. Not only do they fit him, landlocked and frail as he is, stumbling drunkenly after so few pints of ale, but she suspects they'd make a terribly satisfying sound when she rips them off of him.

As it is, his leathers don't tear quite so easily and she hasn't the patience to work harder at them. His shirt is haphazard but still more or less on when she moves down to the laces of his trousers, forgoing the top half altogether for now. His brow creases in confusion as his drink-addled mind tries valiantly to figure out what she's doing, even as her knuckle brushes over his clothed cock and his hips jerk forward in a desperate, unsteady rhythm.

Once she gets the laces completely undone, he seems to come to the conclusion that something is definitely happening, but from the helpless, confused little pants, it's clear to her he hasn't settled on exactly what. His breath comes in gasps and his fingers grip the edge of the bed for what must be purchase, but she makes sure he finds none. Just as her hand snakes in to grip his cock, fierce and unyieldingly, she moves her lips to the curve of his throat and sucks a harsh mark into his pale, pristine skin.

He yelps, half his body trying to wriggle away even as he continues to grind into her hand. She drags her tongue through the salty sweat on his neck, along his jawline until she reaches his ear, then whispers, "There, there, Theon," voice low and smothered in a thick layer of filth, "stop squirming like that. You'll ruin your shirt."

She watches him attempt to clamp down on a whimper that slips out anyway, and chuckles.

He murmurs something into her shoulder that ends with, "my sister," and she doesn't really need know the rest to know what to say to that, how to stroke his hair and calm him. She wraps her fingers through a handful of strands, whispering, "Shhhh," into his jawline. She strokes his cock again and this time he can't hold back a moan.

It's just like turning the wheel of a ship.

"I've got you," she says, positioning herself in his lap, and he trembles when she sinks down onto him, wetness seeping around him.

He falls helplessly onto his elbows, head tipping back, face looking immeasurably pained and pleasured at once. "No, you don't," he grits out.

She smirks, because he's really trying the best that he can. Dressing up how he thinks he ought, standing stiff and stern like he thinks it will win him a throne - it makes her miss the smiles of their childhood, ridiculous and ill-timed as they always were. He's different from how he was then, different from her, but she doesn't truly mind all that much. He may be ironborn, but he's iron no longer. Just a sulking, smiling, whimpering little thing.

Asha rolls her hips once more and Theon comes underneath her, body quaking beautifully.

"Yes," she says, "I do."
Re: iron and salt - a_cherrytree on March 22nd, 2012 03:12 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: iron and salt - youremyqueen on March 22nd, 2012 09:35 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: iron and salt - sternflammenden on March 23rd, 2012 01:30 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: iron and salt - youremyqueen on March 23rd, 2012 06:53 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: iron and salt - flwrpwr_vampyre on March 24th, 2012 03:33 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: iron and salt - youremyqueen on March 24th, 2012 09:26 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: iron and salt - dragon_soda on March 28th, 2012 05:30 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: iron and salt - youremyqueen on March 29th, 2012 11:13 am (UTC) (Expand)
suchacharmersuchacharmer on March 17th, 2012 12:10 am (UTC)
renly/loras, pda trying not to get caught
margaeryrainbowmargaeryrainbow on March 18th, 2012 11:26 pm (UTC)
singing in the halls
“You’re crazy if you think we won’t get caught,” Loras breathed, but Renly’s arms were on both sides of his head, barring him from escape. Usually one or the other would initiate their game, and a chase back to Renly’s bedchambers would begin. It looked now like Renly didn’t feel like waiting that long.

“Don’t act like you don’t know that all the spies in this castle don’t already know,” Renly smirked, ending the conversation crushing his lips to the other male’s. Loras didn’t have enough motivation to protest. Renly immediately dropped to his knees, fumbling with the ties at Loras’ breeches. By the time Renly’s mouth closed around his cock, he’d forgotten how the escapade had even begun, or why he had been concerned. His hands tangled in Renly’s thick black hair and he could hardly hold back the moans.

Footsteps clicked against the stone floors down the hallway somewhere and Loras tried to clamp his jaw shut, but Renly began to work faster and faster in a hurry. Heat rushed up his body and he could feel his heartbeating in his ears before he was forced to let out a broken cry.
Renly swallowed and wiped off his face, grinning. He gripped the waist of Loras’ trousers and pulled them up slowly.

“I think… thank someone heard us,” Loras whispered, recovering his breath. Renly’s smile curved into a mischievous smirk and he stood, his face unbearably close to the other’s.

“Well if they hadn’t someone might have thought they could have you…” Renly whispered, his lips moving against Loras’. The Knight of Flowers could barely think. “And didn’t you once tell me a king can take what he wants?”

Loras didn’t smile or laugh at all. He turned to see Littlefinger turn round the corner, but Renly had already moved far enough away that it looked as though nothing had happened at all.

“Are you quite alright, Lord Renly? I thought I heard somebody scream,” Petyr said. Renly smiled and loosed his usual charismatic chuckle.

“Oh yes, we’re both quite alright. Sometimes forcing Ser Loras to pray can be quarrelsome, but I always manage to make him do it. Hopefully he’ll return the favor?” Renly laughed, turning to Loras.

His face was smiling and carefree, but his eyes conveyed a different message entirely. ‘This isn’t the last time…’

Edited at 2012-03-18 11:26 pm (UTC)
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on March 17th, 2012 12:11 am (UTC)
robb/asha, lessons
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 12:12 am (UTC)
jon/ygritte, strap-on
(Deleted comment)
fsfitzgeraldsfsfitzgeralds on March 17th, 2012 06:54 pm (UTC)
not the first nor the last
They are hanging the crimson-and-gold maiden's cloak emblazoned with the roaring Lannister lion over her shoulders when her brother enters, wearing an easy smile that contrasts sharply with the hard anger in his deep green eyes. Cersei wonders if she is the only one who sees his fury. "Please, ser!" one of her maids squeaks, "It is ill luck for the lady if any men see her before she is wed!" Cersei's mouth twists sharply downwards. She wants to slap the dazed grin off the idiot girl's face.

But Jaime knows what to do, as always. He awards the girl with a grin so dazzling that she takes a step backwards, gaping. "I won't tell," he murmurs enchantingly, and a sharp aching for him twists up Cersei's stomach. "I just want to give my sweet sister some reassurance. You understand." The maids nod eagerly and scurry off.

When they are alone, Cersei opens her mouth to speak. "Jaime, I-"

He crosses the room to her in three short strides and silences her with a rough kiss that speaks of desperate need and throbs with anger. His teeth gnaw gently at her bottom lip; his tongue explores her mouth with a newfound curiosity. She is reminded of the first time they fucked- truly fucked, not the children's play they had practiced before. He pushes her against the wall with his left hand, the right already creeping under her skirt, up her thigh towards her cunt. "Jaime, we cannot-"

Ignoring her, he pulls away his hand to undo his breeches and then plunges his cock inside her with almost surprising force. She wants to insist, wants to tell him that somehow will hear, someone will see, but she is sopping wet for him and with each thrust she moans louder. He fucks her like it's the last time he'll ever have the chance to, hips grinding against hers and mouth working at her breasts with a wild hunger. She says his name over and over again, an incantation, until she's shouting and she's sure someone will come in and all will be ruined forever.

But no one does. She reaches her climax a moment after he does and he slides himself from her, planting a chaste kiss on her lips. He fixes his breeches; takes a step backwards. His grin is broad and pleased, but some of his previous anger remains in those eyes, so like her own. He offers her his arm. "Now, sweet sister. Now you are ready."
Re: not the first nor the last - a_cherrytree on March 17th, 2012 07:03 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: not the first nor the last - betsyisawesome on March 17th, 2012 07:07 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: not the first nor the last - miawkitten on March 17th, 2012 07:46 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: not the first nor the last - ohliberte on March 17th, 2012 08:10 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: not the first nor the last - lainemontgomery on March 17th, 2012 08:16 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: not the first nor the last - midnightblack07 on March 18th, 2012 06:31 am (UTC) (Expand)
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on March 17th, 2012 12:12 am (UTC)
jaime/loras, instruction
the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on March 17th, 2012 12:13 am (UTC)
dany/daario, dracarys
mes dents brillantes et moi.: ∞ it ain't right.blackcigars on March 17th, 2012 12:13 am (UTC)
Jaime x Catelyn - pretty much hate!sex
khlassiquekhlassique on March 17th, 2012 01:05 am (UTC)
keep your love, it is not mine (jaimexcatelyn)
They don't kiss.

They bite, and fuck, and scratch; he strains against his chains when he comes, and she bites the harder when he does.

She slaps him, and he grins at her, bucking his hips up so she may see the growing bulge. Cersei slapped him, once, and he enjoyed it, but she was not Cersei; Catelyn was the North, and the South, and the rivers.

Maybe she is too angry to care that he is a lion, and she a fish, and pulls up her skirts to straddle him. Teeth meet skin, like punishment but not, and she growls that he is the worst of all men, and he laughs and strains and scrapes teeth down her neck.

He comes before her, but she keeps humping until her own climax is reached, digging her nails into his shoulders as she does.

And then she leaves, and takes the light with her.
khlassiquekhlassique on March 17th, 2012 12:15 am (UTC)
sansa x theon; dom/sub
bela0103bela0103 on March 17th, 2012 12:17 am (UTC)
Davos/Melisandre, bondage with Davos as Master
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 12:17 am (UTC)
elia/oberyn - the night before her wedding
I like you first and second and third.miawkitten on March 18th, 2012 09:42 pm (UTC)
last call for sin

The castle is cold in more ways than one.

She presses a blanket around her, shivering a little at the breeze finding its way through the cracked walls, her eyes watching the candle flicker in and out of life. Her finger grazes the flame, inching closer and closer each time she doesn't feel a sting, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips as she recalls a childish game.

"You'll get burned."

She doesn't turn but her smile widens, palm hovering closer to the burning wax. "Fire cannot kill a dragon. Isn't that what they say? I'm to be a dragon soon."

He sinks on the edge of the bed, grunting in protest, and she silences him easily, just as she knows, lips pressing against his mouth. She straddles him, legs locking around him, fingers vices on his wrists and she loves him more than ever in that moment, when he lets her take control, this princess who has never had a life to call her own.

Her fingers are deft, unlacing the barriers between them, and she's already wet and he's already hard and they sink into each other with almost no effort at all. Her teeth bite at his jaw and she pulls at his hair, tricking herself into thinking it is silver spun strands she holds in her hands. He whispers in her ear every time she bucks against him and she tries to ignore the name, tries to forget that she's Elia, Elia, Elia.

Her body tightens around him and she bites hard against his tongue, ordering him silently to wait. I am the Princess, she wants to howl, and you are my Prince, but the words don't come out as she pants and her body breaks into two, frail once more, as weak as she always has been.

When she opens her eyes, it's Oberyn she sees and she's thankful for that at least, for something familiar, in the face of all that's to come tomorrow.

They sleep, entwined in each other's arms, fitting together perfectly and when they wake, he smiles dutifully and she is ready to finally let go.
(no subject) - mockyrfears on March 18th, 2012 09:50 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - workswithwords on March 20th, 2012 12:27 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Myramidnightblack07 on March 17th, 2012 12:21 am (UTC)
Jon/Sansa - cunnilingus and/or oral
smittenskitten: vintagesmittenskitten on April 16th, 2012 10:40 am (UTC)
His fingers trailed down the valley of her hips as she laid on her stomach beside him. He had taken her over and over and the ache to have her again was making him hard.

His lips followed the path of his fingers. He kissed her spine, going lower and lower. His tongue leaving wet spots making her shiver.
"Jon!" His name on her lips was a plea for more.
He grunted turning her around. The light from the fire made her skin glow. She tried to sit up but he wanted her to stay still, he wanted her open for him. He wanted to taste her.

She knew what he wanted and she was more than willing. She waited eagerly for his touch. He bent closer and closer till his lips were on hers. He kissed her gently promising of what to come with his tongue. She protested when his lips lefts hers, but they never left her skin. His lips kissed, sucked, licked till he reached her groin.
"Jon." Her whimpers grew more loud with the fierce kisses he laid down on her folds.
His lips wrapped around her nub, making her back arch. His fingers followed his tongue inside her. She cried out in pleasure.
"Sansa." His voice made her look down at where he was. His fingers still inside her, going in and out in a steady rhythm.
"Come. Now." His lips replaced his fingers, allowing his tongue to go deeper. Her cried followed of release made her shake.

She was limp, she was spent. He crawled over her body claiming her lips with his.
"Sleep." His voice laced with sleep as well. She hummed as the night grasped her.
(no subject) - midnightblack07 on April 17th, 2012 03:11 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - smittenskitten on April 17th, 2012 12:46 pm (UTC) (Expand)
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 12:22 am (UTC)
theon/robb, rough sex (post king in the north maybe?? idc gimme rough)
lord protector of jon snow's valexylodemon on March 23rd, 2012 05:43 am (UTC)
The King Wants - part 1
(Robb/Theon, implied Jon/Robb)

A good fight always puts Theon's blood up, leaves him with an itch under his skin only a wench and a few mugs of ale can ease, so he shouldn't be surprised that being made a bloody king would do the same to Robb, would brighten his eyes and harden his mouth, his hands curling into tight fists as the Greatjon draws his sword, his voice throaty and rough as he accepts Theon's oath, now and always, his lips curving too sharply around each word.

He shouldn't be surprised when, less than an hour later, Robb finds him at the far edge of their camp, where the cheaper whores ply their trade to potboys and stablehands and the other sweepings of the Northlands -- Theon likes them pretty, but he also likes them a little desperate, shameless and willing to do whatever he wants -- but he still startles slightly when Robb catches his elbow, his breath hot on the side of Theon's neck, his fingers strong and vise-like, gripping hard enough to bruise.

"Stark," Theon says quietly, "I was just--"

"I know," Robb growls, his voice low and his mouth too close to Theon's ear. "You're looking for a slut to warm your furs."

A likely pair approaches them, whispering and giggling as they pass, one short and dark, the other as pale and russet as Lady Stark. Their faces are dirty and their dresses are stiff with grass and mud, but they're both shapely enough and obviously willing; the black-haired wench offers Theon an appraising smile, but Robb tightens his grip on Theon's arm and Theon yields with a quiet sigh.

Robb doesn't say a word. He marches Theon through their camp like a prisoner, like a saltwife, spoils of war, past the Greatjon boasting in his cups and Maege Mormont sharpening her axe beside the fire. His hand is rough at the back of Theon's neck, his thumb behind Theon's ear and his fingers slipping into Theon's hair; he shoves Theon inside his tent and dismisses his squire with a snarl.

"Is that what you want tonight?" Robb asks, throwing his cloak aside. His armor makes an untidy heap next to his sleeping furs, the dull metal glinting darkly in the wavering candlelight, and his reddish hair is shadowed to brown, grown long and curling wildly around his face. "A laughing wench? Soft and sweet and wet?"

Theon looks at Robb -- shirtless now, breeches unlaced -- at the first and only friend he made at Winterfell, at his fucking king. "What do you want?"

Robb growls and kisses him, hard and fast, his hand at Theon's throat and his teeth sharp against the soft well of Theon's lip. He ruts his cock against Theon's hip, pushing his hand under Theon's shirt, digging his fingernails into Theon's skin as he drags his hand up Theon's side, and Theon knots his fingers in Robb's hair, curves his hand over Robb's arse and pulls Robb closer.

He should hate himself for this, for all of it -- how quickly he went to Robb's bed the first time, how often and easily he returns to it, how badly he wants it -- but he is achingly hard, has been since he first caught the rising heat in Robb's eyes, since he knelt and laid his sword at Robb's feet, and the itch under his skin is too harsh, too fever-bright, too much for just a wench and a mug of ale.

Robb pushes his tongue into Theon's mouth, and all Theon can taste is his own blood.
(no subject) - xylodemon on March 23rd, 2012 05:44 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - mockyrfears on March 23rd, 2012 11:19 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - xylodemon on March 26th, 2012 03:46 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lil_evil_1 on March 23rd, 2012 11:54 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - xylodemon on March 26th, 2012 03:47 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Myramidnightblack07 on March 17th, 2012 12:22 am (UTC)
Jon/Val - she steals him
the queen of heartsphoe21 on March 28th, 2012 09:53 pm (UTC)
Jon wakes with his heart in his throat to the sound of footsteps in his chamber. Groggy from sleep, he fumbles for Longclaw or his lantern, fearing the worst, a glimpse of blue eyes in the darkness. Instead she comes into view, her long blonde braid swaying as she walks, and her grey eyes hungry. Jon props himself up on his elbows, dazed, convinced he’s dreaming. Val is dressed in one of the Queen’s gowns, but she’s undone the laces, and a white shoulder is exposed, and the top of one soft breast, pale as the moon. She leans over him, presses a finger to his lips, and her hair swings down so he can smell it, the smoke and soap scent of her.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and then she clamps her hand across his mouth and grabs the front of his shirt, pulling him to his feet.

Her eyes are sparkling in the dim lamplight, and the smile that curves her lips is like a blade. He knows he cannot cross her. She pulls him forward and Jon follows on clumsy feet, his body eager, his mind reticent. The wildling princess leads him through empty halls of Castle Black with her cool hand grasping his still hot from sleep. Her chambers are bright enough to make him blink. The blazing fire reminds him of Ygritte, and he turns wearily to go, only to find Val blocking the door, biting her lip.

“I am your Lord Commander.”

“So command me,” she teases. She shrugs her shoulders out of the gown, revealing her breasts, and Jon’s breath catches in his throat again, but he still tries to move past her. She catches him with her mouth, capturing him in a kiss, and his lips betray him. He loses himself in the taste of her, the feel of her nipples beneath his palms, the way she presses her hips hard into his and slides a hand beneath his shirt. She’s all bones and nails and teeth, scraping, nipping, grinding, and Jon is hers.

Val finds the lacing of his trousers, and when she slips her hand down and finds him hard, she laughs, baring her throat for him to kiss. She pulls back and Jon lets out a sound like a growl, which only makes her laugh more as she turns and pushes him against the door. Val falls to her knees and Jon throws his head back as she takes him into her mouth. She’s soft and warm this time, and she licks the head of his cock gently, before sliding her lips all the way down to the base. She scratches the insides of his thighs as she gets excited; she’s still a wildling, even in queen's garb. Jon’s skin is on fire, and his breath is coming hard, but he forces her to stop before he loses control. She rocks back onto her heels and wipes her mouth.

“What do you want, Lord Snow?”

He gestures towards her bed and in one fluid motion, she is back on her feet and hiking up her skirts. She wears no smallclothes beneath the fine gown, and Jon catches a glimpse of blonde hair between her thighs as she steps back from him. She sits gently on the featherbed, her legs slightly spread, one foot on the mattress, and the princess commands Jon to kneel before her. His cock is throbbing and his head is swimming as he buries his face in her warm, wet cunt, grabbing her around the legs and pulling her as close as he can. Val buries her hands in his black curls and tugs. She squirms against him as he licks and sucks, and pulls his hair hard as she comes, rocking against him and gasping.

Even as she shakes, Jon pushes her onto the bed and shoves his cock inside her. She wraps her legs around his waist and bites his neck as he thrusts, and he breathes her in deeply. His heart is full with the feeling of her so close to him, and it aches. He knows he won’t come to her again. He kisses her again, his hands on her face, and she sighs. He moans and fucks her harder. Jon comes with his face buried in the crook of her neck, holding on to her white throat, and she lets out a soft cry. When he finally pulls away from her, she is laughing again.

“I stole you, Lord Snow. You’re mine.”

Edited at 2012-03-28 11:09 pm (UTC)
(no subject) - midnightblack07 on March 29th, 2012 03:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - phoe21 on March 29th, 2012 06:29 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Myramidnightblack07 on March 17th, 2012 12:22 am (UTC)
Robb/Jeyne - dirty talk
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 12:23 am (UTC)
jon c./oberyn, the night OF elia/rhaegar's wedding
hell is other peopleworkswithwords on March 19th, 2012 06:39 pm (UTC)
Fill: From the ashes, Oberyn/Jon C., the night of Elia and Rhaegar's wedding
They both drink heavily the night of Elia and Rhaegar's wedding. Wine flows free and by midnight Oberyn is past any sort of pleasantries. His dark eyes glare at his sister and her new beloved. She gives him that concerned look, her eyebrows raised and he scowls harder. She doesn't have that right anymore, thinks Oberyn bitterly. She gave that up when she chose the dragon. But her gaze haunts him, reminds him of stolen kisses and breathless, now broken, promises. He finishes his cup, slamming it down on the table and stalks out of the room. 

It is on the way to one of his favorite brothels, nothing like a few pairs of tits and some warm Southron cunts to ease his pain, when he runs into Jon Connington. He is sitting on a bench in the courtyard, a half empty bottle of wine in his grasp. 

"I see you're enjoying this mummers farce as much as I am," Oberyn says, sitting down beside the Griffin lord. Jon glares at him and takes another long pull from the bottle before handing it over to Oberyn.

"You should watch your tongue, Viper," Jon says, slurring slightly. "This place has more eyes and ears than you or I could even count."

"I care little for what anyone thinks. They all know I have no love for dragons." Oberyn drinks the cheap wine, but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

"He isn't like his father," Jon says, in defense of his dearest friend. "He will be good to her. He is a good man, a great man. He loves her." It is hard for Oberyn to deny the bitter distaste in Jon's tone when he speaks of Elia.

Oberyn scoffs at Jon's words. "He knows nothing about her! What does he know of loving her?"

"And you do?" The question is heavy and loaded and requires no answer. Oberyn may be drunk, be he is not so inebriated that he would speak of things that should not be spoken. As Jon had said, there were eyes and ears everywhere.

"We need more wine," Oberyn says, letting the bottle drop to the ground between them. "And none of this swill. We need Dornish wine."

In his chambers, Oberyn pours them both large cups, and laughs when Jon coughs after his first sip of the strong liquor. Oberyn pats him on the back, teasingly at first, but Jon is warm beneath his palm. Slowly he slides his hand up along Jon's spine, up over the back of his neck, his fingers disappearing into thick red hair. 

Jon's eyes close at Oberyn's touch, and he drops his head slightly, as Oberyn runs his hand through Jon's hair, short blunt nails scratching lightly over his scalp.

He pulls Jon to him, and their mouths press hard against one another. Jon's kisses are desperate, needy, and Oberyn finds he's willing to comply, to match Jon's intensity with his own, because he needs this, to quell the ache in his chest.

But it is Jon who pushes Oberyn back against the table, Jon who drags his mouth along Oberyn's jaw, the hard slope of his neck, and it is Jon who drops to his knees in front of him. Oberyn is breathing heavy now, his cock straining against the front of his breeches. Already he can feel the white hot burn building deep in his belly. 

Jon's fingers are deft, pulling at the laces until the woolen material falls away, Oberyn's cock is thick with arousal, the head already slightly weeping. He moans, low and guttural when Jon takes him in his mouth, hot and wet, and tongue swirls around him, his lips tight.

He weaves his hand through Jon's hair, but he doesn't  need to guide him, doesn't need to show him what he wants or how, Jon knows. He tries hard not to think of Elia, of the first time she'd done this. He concentrates on Jon's face, on the pink of Jon's mouth sliding up and down his cock. Oberyn's hands grip the edges of the table behind him, because he's starting lose his focus, and the overwhelming feel of Jon's mouth and the images of Elia are beginning to blur in his mind. 

Jon's fingers dig into one hip and Oberyn slams his eyes shut, moaning loudly as he stills, climaxes, shooting thick and hot into Jon's mouth. His legs ache as he slumps back against the table, chest heaving. When Jon stands, Oberyn can't help but reach out and run his thumb over Jon's wet swollen bottom lip.

"It's worse for me," Oberyn says, his voice raw. "He didn't know you loved him. She knew, and still she picked him."

Edited at 2012-03-19 06:59 pm (UTC)
jonfuckingsnow on March 17th, 2012 12:25 am (UTC)
cersei/theon: rough sort-of-hate!sex
Myramidnightblack07 on March 17th, 2012 12:25 am (UTC)
Jaime/Sansa- teasing, dirty talk...
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 12:30 am (UTC)
jon/dany, with jon topping
stares at meg
careful, your byronic complex is showing: ♕ » you're giving me the fever tonighttrysts on March 18th, 2012 06:04 am (UTC)
a queen you can tear down [jon x dany]
It was easy to forget that the Dragon Queen wasn’t an immortal goddess reborn—Mother of Dragons, the Unburnt, Stormborn and Stormsent—immaculate, carved of marble and ivory, strong as steel. Sometimes Jon forgot she was a woman of flesh and blood. He thought that perhaps Dany forgot too.

But he reminded her, with his hands on her hips and her nails digging into the edge of her desk, and his sword laying at their feet. He always left his white cloak on when he came to her, and there was always a bit a shock when he reached for her, turned her over. A Queensguard shouldn’t handle his queen, his mortal goddess, so lightly—and yet he ripped her dress, sliding over pale rounded flesh until it pooled in a heap of fabric at her feet. He laid her across the desk, and slipped a finger inside her.

He was never gentle with her. The queen of seven kingdoms, the mother of dragons, and everyone touched her as if she were made of fine glass. But not Jon Snow. No, he left a pattern of bruises up her hips, red circles were he suckled.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered, undoing the laces of his breeches.

Dany sent him a scathing look. She didn’t care to be commanded. But he slipped a hand between her legs, giving her a sharp stroke and Dany parted her legs on a breathless moan. Jon gripped the underside of her hips, and slid his cock in deep. He kneaded the soft swell of her breast with one hand, as she pushed backwards to receive him.

“Tell me you want me,” he said near her ear, arching his neck so he could bite down on her earlobe.

“No.” She clenched tightly around his pumping cock. It was a sort of game to them, to see who could break the other one first. Jon wasn’t ashamed to admit that his queen knew his weaknesses, and knew how to exploit them. But he had come to her, determined to claim victory, and he had learned her weaknesses as well.

He flicked a thumb over her hardened nipple, his other hand moving lower, plucking at the tight bundle of nerves at the top of her sex. Dany gasped, and Jon closed a hand around her throat, forcing her head to turn, forcing her to accept the hard press of his mouth. She arched up, hands curling into fists on the flat surface of her desk.

“I am your man,” he told her. “I am yours to command.”

“I am your queen,” she said through clenched teeth. “I am not yours to command.”

“Yes, but not always.” He slammed into her. She squeaked and skidded along the desk, the wooden legs rattling. His thumb pressed down hard, unrelenting, upon her clit. Her cry turned mangled as he bit down hard on her soft, plump lip, gentling the hand around her neck, stroking her rapidly swallowing throat.

He pressed in deep, laying his palm flat against her mound, holding her still so she could feel how he filled her, how she tightened around him—so she could not tell where he ended and she began.

“Come,” he ordered roughly, feeling the white-hot pleasure burning its way up his spine. His released hovered at his periphery. “Come.” He drew himself free, so only the tip of his cock remained inside her. They stood like that, barely daring to breath, and then with a sharply, jackknifing, he buried himself to the hilt.

The Dragon Queen screamed into his mouth, one hand curling tightly around his neck. Her muscles clenched around his cock as her lithe, little body trembled. He murmured to her, nonsensical words, and stroked an appreciative hand through her slit, undulating his hips feverishly. He broke away from her, cursing, burying his head between her shoulder blades as he gave three more long, hard pumps before spending himself into his queen.

It took him a moment to recover himself, and Dany lay still on her stomach, her chest rising and falling unevenly. Jon laced the leather thongs of his breeches and carefully sheathed the sword laying so innocuously on the ground.

He lowered his head to the sweat-slick small of her back and pressed a lingering kiss to the skin there, tasting the salt and the sun-drenched taste of her.

“If you have further need of me, Your Grace,” he murmured. “You need only call.”

Daenerys Targaryen turned and looked at the commander of her Queensgaurd. For once, she seemed the unsure girl. She swallowed rapidly. “No, Ser Jon,” she said softly. “I think that will be all.”

Edited at 2012-03-18 06:09 am (UTC)
Re: a queen you can tear down [jon x dany] - midnightblack07 on March 18th, 2012 06:38 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: a queen you can tear down [jon x dany] - a_cherrytree on March 18th, 2012 01:46 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: a queen you can tear down [jon x dany] - magisterequitum on March 18th, 2012 02:14 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: a queen you can tear down [jon x dany] - devymel12 on March 18th, 2012 02:20 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: a queen you can tear down [jon x dany] - lainemontgomery on March 18th, 2012 02:28 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: a queen you can tear down [jon x dany] - workswithwords on March 20th, 2012 12:33 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: a queen you can tear down [jon x dany] - (Anonymous) on April 25th, 2012 02:57 am (UTC) (Expand)
khlassiquekhlassique on March 17th, 2012 12:35 am (UTC)
robbxsansa; twins
(Anonymous) on April 29th, 2012 07:33 pm (UTC)
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 12:41 am (UTC)
mance/dalla, HDM crossover - daemons
hear me roar: LotS --> Cara - Deadly Beautymagisterequitum on March 17th, 2012 12:57 am (UTC)
this is sin, baby (Mance/Dalla)
The fox daemon's fur shines in the low light, all white fur that's two or three shades brighter than the hair of his owner. He sits next to his human, black eyes unblinking, starring him down, unwavering.

Dalla's mouth curves in mockery, and her eyebrow rises in a perfect arch, her features all seeming to say: 'well, what are you going to do?'

Daring, and he has never been afraid before, though the woman before, naked and so sure, makes him feel something that could be called that.

Mance reaches out with fingers that do not shake, no they don't, and hovers, just for a moment, over the other daemon's fur. Not his, no his daemon watches from the foot of the bed, purring her approval, urging him on. It should be taboo. Would be taboo; after all, this is sin, this is what they've been taught.

But Dalla's gray eyes never leave his, and her full lips curve just so, and she's waiting, waiting, and he moves then.

Sensations hit all at once, folding one after another. The feeling of touching fur that is unfamiliar, soft and thick, white through the spaces of his tan fingers. It's a circuit that loops over and over, flooding him with electricity, feelings of her and him and them and her daemon.

His fingers grip tighter and then Dalla is pressing closer, shifting her weight into his lap, curling her hands over his shoulders, slotting her mouth over his to bite and lick her way inside. Insistent and demanding all at once. Too much and not enough, and he's reaching out for her and her daemon and his own where she's shifted on quick paws to come closer.

There's bare skin sliding where her heavy breasts push against his chest and her thighs widen so his cock sits where she wants it between her legs. Fur, short and stiff and long and silky, and everything coalesces into them.

Beautiful, sin is, he thinks.
Re: this is sin, baby (Mance/Dalla) - mockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 01:04 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: this is sin, baby (Mance/Dalla) - magisterequitum on March 17th, 2012 01:17 am (UTC) (Expand)
Myramidnightblack07 on March 17th, 2012 12:45 am (UTC)
Jon/Dany + post-battle sex
margaeryrainbowmargaeryrainbow on March 17th, 2012 12:57 am (UTC)
Margaery/Sansa- in front of Joffrey.
Hyzenthlaybriargate on March 17th, 2012 01:00 am (UTC)
Val/Ygritte - knifeplay
(Deleted comment)
lysander james: a song of; sansa starkdaredisturb on March 17th, 2012 04:57 pm (UTC)
yesssss because reasons
(no subject) - juhlillith on March 19th, 2012 12:31 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - dizzy_whore on March 20th, 2012 11:59 am (UTC) (Expand)