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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

the ricky the bartender fanatic.vorrothiel on March 17th, 2012 12:04 am (UTC)
jaime/cersei, by another one of the their kids' bodies
I like you first and second and third.: asoiaf | cerseimiawkitten on March 21st, 2012 06:42 pm (UTC)
at the foot of your love

Smaller in death, a scar marring her perfect face, a circlet of gold lions resting on curls that used to shine, Myrcella is still. She lies at the feet of the throne, wrapped in silks, a queen that never had the chance to rule her kingdom. Beside her, her mother sits with her back against the tangle of steel, keeping silent vigil and waiting.

He comes to her soon enough, armour ashy and dented, a bloodstained sword gripped in his false hand . He’s tired and weak and fighting the wrong battles, her fool of a brother, her fool of a knight.

They stare at each other, their dead child between them, and every inch of her aches as she remembers, remembers just how this has happened before. And it will happen all over again, she knows, she welcomes it, the chance to feel something other than broken.

His hand - his good hand, his whole hand - runs through the hair on her head, the little that has grown stubbornly back and then they’re swallowing each other with greedy mouths. She leans against the throne and the blades bite into her back but she doesn’t care, not one bit, not when his teeth sink into her lower lip and pull.

He fills her up, hurting more than loving her, but that’s always been the way, hasn’t it, they have never been kind to one another. She marks his skin with bruises, talons sinking into pallid flesh and though she thought she had no more tears to spend, her face is damp and she tastes salt as she presses her lips to his eyes. It’s almost a relief when the pain (or pleasure, she can’t tell the difference now) builds up and she moans into the hollow of his neck, clinging as close as she can.

He holds her close too, closer than he should, the golden hand crushing her throat and keeping her from breathing out his name. She thinks about giving up but Cersei Lannister has never been one to keep from fighting. So she claws at him, tearing at his face, her fingers locking around the sword at his feet.

His blood is warm as it spills on her dress.

Her last thought is how comforting it is to leave this world, wrapped in her brother’s embrace.

Edited at 2012-03-21 06:47 pm (UTC)
(no subject) - mockyrfears on March 21st, 2012 07:03 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - miawkitten on March 21st, 2012 07:29 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 08:24 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - miawkitten on March 21st, 2012 08:32 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - vorrothiel on March 22nd, 2012 02:08 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 22nd, 2012 08:25 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - phoe21 on March 27th, 2012 09:18 pm (UTC) (Expand)
hear me roar: Game of Thrones --> king in the northmagisterequitum on March 17th, 2012 12:04 am (UTC)
Theon/Robb - blowjobs
Maria: Morgana1eccentricsimply on March 17th, 2012 01:43 am (UTC)
It wasn't on his plans.
It's not really his intention to drag Robb to his room while the rest of the castle is asleep.

Theon wasn't planning on gripping his arms tightly while he shoved his tongue inside Robb's mouth, the two of them still on the hallway when that happened.

And damn him if he was actually considering getting a grab on Robb's dick beneath his trousers while he managed to get the other one on the doorknob to open it, almost stumbling as they finally got inside his room with the door being closed as soon as they were in.

It was all Robb's fault; the way he was licking his lips during dinner and biting his lower one while he had a conversation with Jon about the direwolves they had found and how the king was arriving in Winterfell soon. Theon tried - in vain - to pay attention on what he was saying but the only thing he could focus on was how his trousers were suddenly too tight.

What surprised him the most was Robb not fighting back. Instead, he was giving all he could to the kiss and Theon would never say the kid was a bloody virgin.

Robb stepped back, throwing his head against the wall while he tried to control his breathing, unsteady as it had never been. Theon took advantage of this situation and, with a sly smirk; he was on his knees, shoving Robb's trousers down and grabbing the base of his dick. Robb moaned loudly, his head being pushed strongly against the wall and Theon knew his eyes were closed.

Without waiting for any other sound of approval, Theon leaned forward; his lips closing around the head of Robb's cock while his tongue ran through the length. Robb's hand went to his hair, and Theon started to move, engulfing his cock in such a deft way that showed clear experience.

"Theon." Robb moaned, biting his lower lip after, knowing that he wasn't supposed to make any sound; how thick were the walls?
Theon pulled back, releasing Robb's cock for a moment and hearing complains.

"I want you to moan to me, Robb." He whispered, sending vibrations to his dick. "Don't refrain yourself."

With that said, Theon went back to what he was doing, this time taking Robb fully at first. As he requested, Robb moaned loudly, not exactly words but just some undistinguished sounds, which made him sound almost like an animal. Theon’s hand was holding Robb’s hips, while the other grabbed his balls, causing Robb to throw his head against the wall again, and Theon knew he couldn’t be far from coming; he was just a fourteen years old boy, after all.

No longer after that Robb came and, instead of pulling back, Theon stayed there, swallowing Robb’s come as if it was nothing but ordinary. Robb felt his knees letting him down and Theon’s grip on his hip was the only thing keeping him from falling. He lowered his head, looking down to dark eyes that stared him with pure lust.

“Your turn, Stark.” Theon said and, with a smile, Robb pulled him to his feet.

Edited at 2012-03-17 01:48 am (UTC)
Re: It wasn't on his plans. - mockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 01:50 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: It wasn't on his plans. - magisterequitum on March 18th, 2012 02:14 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - eccentricsimply on March 18th, 2012 06:17 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - mockyrfears on March 19th, 2012 01:11 am (UTC) (Expand)
hear me roar: Game of Thrones --> queen until someone magisterequitum on March 17th, 2012 12:04 am (UTC)
Cersei/Ned - cunnilingus
(Deleted comment)
(Deleted comment)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 03:42 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - workswithwords on March 22nd, 2012 01:42 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - phoe21 on March 27th, 2012 09:21 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
Laine Montgomerylainemontgomery on March 18th, 2012 05:26 am (UTC)
The Birch Grove: Part One

They make camp in a grove of birch trees; pale, slender things with a criss-cross of barren branches. Sansa’s slim white arms blend in with the tree trunks as she wends her way through the thicket, circling each birch, swinging and swaying in a mesmerizing rhythm. As Jaime watches her from the doorway of the tent, he marvels at how impervious she seems to the cold- she wears nothing but a diaphanous shift, her feet completely bare. Her hair is no longer that unfortunate mousy brown, but the rich, deep red that she inherited from her mother. The moonlight sifts through the branches and illuminates her pale limbs, catches in her wide blue eyes, reflects off of her small, sharp teeth.

There is a full moon over Westeros tonight.

He takes a step into the grove, and the crunch of leaves under his feet catches her attention. She tilts her head to look at him, one arm and leg still wrapped around the birches. For a moment, her eyes retain that weird, dreamlike glaze that they’d held when she escaped from the Vale, but she quickly focuses- she’s getting better all the time. She smiles at him, a bright, blazing smile that shows all of her teeth- a lupine smile through and through. “Ser Jaime,” she whispers, just a light, wispy sound.

And Gods, she is heartbreakingly, devastatingly beautiful. He’d expected to find a pretty child, but had come away with a glorious woman, a vision of red and white. His eyes trail over the curve of her hip, the swell of her breast, the long, lean muscles of her legs; there’s a burning in his blood, whether from the moon or from his long celibacy or from the sight of this ethereal creature weaving between the trees, coming closer and closer-

“Aren’t you cold?” he manages to hiss, and she laughs as she shakes her head, fiery hair bright against the whiteness all around. She flattens her back against a tree and the moonlight spills over her front- he can see the pinkness of her nipples beneath her sheer shift. For a moment, he wishes nothing more than to fall to his knees and take first one nipple and then the other between his teeth, nibbling and rolling until they flush red- his cock begins to twitch, and he knows that he must retreat to the tent...

But now she stands before him, just a hairsbreadth away, pushing him back into another tree as her arms wind around his waist. “But you’re cold, aren’t you?” she asks, pressing her cheek into his chest. His left hand rests on the small of her back, and he pulls her into him before he can stop to think it through.

She’s still talking, even as her fingers clench in the fabric of his tunic- “You haven’t the blood of the North in you.” And then she tilts her face up, that exquisite face, bathed in silver light, all gleaming eyes and sharp cheekbones and pointed incisors- before he knows it, he has his hand tangled in her thick red hair, and his lips are on hers, his tongue in her mouth, his teeth biting at her lip again and again and again until her blood trickles into his mouth- I have the blood of the North in me now, haven’t I?

He turns them until her back is against the tree; her shift catches on the bark, and the neckline falls over one shoulder. He sucks and nibbles his way over the ivory expanse of skin, and she whimpers and writhes. When he laves his tongue over a pulse point, he feels her blood churning and racing- it’s the moon, it’s pulling at us, there’s nothing to do for it.
Part Two - lainemontgomery on March 18th, 2012 05:27 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Part Two - magisterequitum on March 18th, 2012 02:17 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Part Two - lainemontgomery on March 18th, 2012 06:05 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
Re: Part Two - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 02:25 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Part Two - midnightblack07 on March 19th, 2012 05:10 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Part Two - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 02:25 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Part Two - lydzi on March 19th, 2012 11:13 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Part Two - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 02:26 am (UTC) (Expand)
hear me roarmagisterequitum on March 17th, 2012 12:05 am (UTC)
Dany/Jon - riding whip
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 12:05 am (UTC)
omg where is meg
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 12:05 am (UTC)
sansa/theon, voyeurism
careful, your byronic complex is showing: ♕ » a direwolf in sheep's clothingtrysts on March 18th, 2012 10:08 pm (UTC)
blink and you'll miss it [theon x sansa]
A lady would not look. A lady would turn her head. A lady would flee, back into the safety of her own bedchambers. And for one, long terrible moment Sansa Stark was no lady at all.

She leaned forward, belly scrapping against the bark of the tree, nails digging into it and growing sticky with sap. She didn’t dare breathe, afraid of being caught, afraid of being seen, afraid (most of all) that Theon Greyjoy would stop.

Cold water from the lake sluiced down his body, covering his skin in gooseflesh. The sun was setting, and cast shadows of red and oranges in the corners of his joints. And despite the chill of the oncoming night, there was heat in Sansa Stark’s face—heat everywhere.

Theon stood on braced legs, hair plastered to his forehead and sloping cheeks, and Sansa told herself to only look there, nowhere else, but then her eyes slipped down. Slipped down, and she swallowed an odd sort of thickness on her tongue.

He clasped his cock in one hand and—Sansa had seen a cock before; she had helped her mother bathe baby Bran, and now Rickon—but this was different. She didn’t know they could do that, stand erect and long. She didn’t know they could be that big and her minimal understanding of sex made her shudder. That goes inside me, she thought, but how it’s too big.

There was fear, but it was mingled with an odd sort of excitement, an inbred curiosity and innate knowledge. It didn’t look lovely, and Sansa could hardly imagine a true knight dishonoring a lady by putting that inside her, but—but there was something attractive about it, wasn’t there? Some primitive, base sort of beauty to it. A hum seemed to tingle up her spine.

His hand moved slowly over the shaft, pausing at the top to play at the little slit at the tip of the mushroom-shaped head. His eyes squeezed closed and he grimaced and Sansa wondered if it hurt, because it looked like it did and if it did—why touch it? But Theon kept pumping his hand slowly up and down his cock, and there was a peculiar bead of moisture collecting at the top. Unconsciously, Sansa wetted her lips.

Theon arched his long neck, and there was a jolt to her midsection. He looked barbaric, standing naked in the water with his hand around his erect cock. And a lady wouldn’t find it enthralling at all, and yet Sansa did.

She shifted. A twig snapped underneath her foot. Theon tensed abruptly, eyes popping open. He sloshed to the edge of the lake, curling one hand around the hilt of his sword.

Birdlike fear warred with embarrassment. Running would mean he’d probably see her but what if she stayed, what if she stayed and he found out she’d been watching? Fear demanded she freeze, embarrassment demanded she flee. Embarrassment won.

Sansa picked up the hem of her gown and fled, kicking up leaves and soft earth in her wake. Theon must have seen her—how could he not with all the noise?—but he did not give chase and Sansa made it home to the darkened protection of her bedchambers, where she laid in a small, tight ball with her open palms pressed to her flaming cheeks. She thought she would never forget the sight, and was not sure how she felt about it.

She saw Theon next at supper, and could not look at him without trembling. He wore clothes, of course, but all she could see was his nakedness, his chest and his arms and his cock. It was a wonder she managed to get any food into her mouth.

For his part, Theon only glanced at her once, eyes dark. And then they returned to the casual dismissal they always had of her, of all of Robb Stark’s sisters, and he turned away from her. Sansa was left staring into her wide-eyed reflection in the soup.
Re: blink and you'll miss it [theon x sansa] - mockyrfears on March 18th, 2012 10:14 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: blink and you'll miss it [theon x sansa] - trysts on March 18th, 2012 10:21 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: blink and you'll miss it [theon x sansa] - embossedsilver on March 18th, 2012 11:46 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: blink and you'll miss it [theon x sansa] - rabidrainbow on March 19th, 2012 03:43 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: blink and you'll miss it [theon x sansa] - lydzi on March 19th, 2012 11:13 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: blink and you'll miss it [theon x sansa] - oximore on March 23rd, 2012 08:00 pm (UTC) (Expand)
hear me roar: Game of Thrones --> little birdmagisterequitum on March 17th, 2012 12:05 am (UTC)
Jaime/Sansa - fucking on the throne
Laine Montgomerylainemontgomery on March 17th, 2012 09:58 pm (UTC)

The idea creeps into her head early in the morning, when she kneels before Daenerys Stormborn and pledges her fealty yet again- the little Dragon Queen, so tiny and delicate on that big, hulking monstrosity of a throne. She hates the sight of it, all sharp edges and unforgiving metal...and yet.

Jaime laughs at the suggestion- surely she’s jesting, she can’t really be serious, his position in this new regime is far more precarious than hers, does she want to see his head on a spike?

(She doesn’t answer that last question. His eyes flash in tandem with hers, and she knows she has him then.)

They’ve fucked on her throne in Winterfell before, the big chair of ancient wood and stone where her father once sat, her grandfather, all of the lords of the North spanning generation after generation. They tried it once with Jaime sitting on the throne and Sansa straddling his lap, but that felt wrong, criminally wrong- a Lannister had no place on this chair. And so from then on, Jaime would stand and Sansa would sit, coiling her legs around him as he pushed into her, his flesh-and-blood hand braced against the back of the throne, his golden hand digging hard into the skin of her hip.

They resume this position now, and she pushes her white skirts up over her thighs. He drops to one knee before her, his eyes gleaming with a fierce boldness that tempers the apprehension- she tips her head back and lets him slip his hand between her legs and bury his face in the softness of her bosom. But this isn’t why they’re here, and time may be short- she tugs at his breeches with enough force to split the laces, and he huffs an obscenity into her skin. But he knows well enough what she wants.

Jaime stands, Sansa spreads her legs wider, and he thrusts into her. The metal of the throne is cold and bracing against her skin, but it isn’t enough- “Harder,” she whispers. He grips the back of the throne with one hand, pushes the golden one into her side, and she’s pressed against the edges...almost there, she thinks as she tilts her body ever so slightly-

And finally, the blades cut into her skin- first a tiny ribbon of red over her white shoulder, but soon there are slashes everywhere. Jaime cants his hips upward, and she feels several of the gnarled scars on her back split open, the hot blood rushing down over her back. Her dress, winter white, Stark white, now streaked with Lannister scarlet...

“Sansa...” Jaime gasps, and his grip begins to loosen. But she reaches out and clenches both hands on his hips, pulling him into her as deeply as she can. Her teeth grind together, and she hisses- “Don’t. Stop.”

She feels something warm dripping on her brow- Jaime’s been holding the back of the throne too tightly, and blood leaks from his left palm. She glances up- her own blood has spattered into his hair, and it’s all red and gold and green- her head tilts to the side, and she sees the steps below the throne, where she used to bleed and bleed-

We’ve all bled for this throne...it belongs to us all now.

Jaime releases the throne and dips his hand down, his blood combining with the slickness between her legs. Dizzy with arousal, weakened by blood loss, she thrusts against him once, twice, and comes with a high, delirious sigh. She listens to her own shallow breathing- she hears Jaime moan and assumes that he must have reached his own climax, but there’s so much warm blood trickling down her legs that she can’t tell whether he’s released his seed.

Sansa closes her eyes. She feels Jaime’s arms encircling her, pulling her into him, and she lets him scoop her up and wrap her in his cloak. They’re both sticky and panting and weak- she presses her lips to his temple and tastes the metallic tang of iron- whether it’s her blood or his, she does not know.

As they steal away from the throne room, Sansa peers over Jaime’s shoulder to look at the Iron Throne. Their blood has already begun to dry, and it blends seamlessly into the myriad stains on the metal; it’s as though they were never there at all. She buries her face in Jaime’s neck and begins to laugh, her lips parted just enough to catch the hot, salty tears that run over her cheeks.
(no subject) - midnightblack07 on March 18th, 2012 01:36 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 18th, 2012 05:29 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - magisterequitum on March 18th, 2012 02:17 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 12:01 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 19th, 2012 03:03 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 21st, 2012 12:02 am (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on March 17th, 2012 02:54 am (UTC)
let's pretend the fog has lifted
She was boring her prince, she knew, and she should care but she didn’t, couldn’t find it in herself to give a fig about Rhaegar’s entertainment.

But she was a princess, and he her prince, and that wolf girl only a distraction, and so she waited until they were back at the castle before slipping into his bedchamber and leading him, grinning wickedly, the flames flickering off her dark eyes, to the throne room.

“We can’t,” he murmured against her hair, but his grip on her waist tightened, and then they were kissing against one of the columns, and his breath was hot against her cheek as he moved to unlace her out of her gown.

“Not here,” she whispered, cocking her head towards the throne, grinning at his expression.


The throne was cold to the touch and she shifted against him, moving fluidly to straddle him, running her hands down his chest, leaning down to peck kisses where her fingers fell. He shivered under her, her silver prince, and she guided his hands to her hips, her fingers lacing with as they moved.

It was slow, at first, and she could see his eyes squinting at the steel, and she wondered idly how he would look with blood dotted over his skin. But the moment passed, and his hands were pressing into the small of her back, and she was moaning into his mouth, driving him deeper deeper deeper until she wanted to throw her head back and scream.

And then it was over, and he was kissing her clumsily, lifting her so that he could clamber off the throne that would soon be his. He was sliding back into his breeches, his hair catching the light and shining, a pale echo of the beaten steel, and she was shrugging, settling back onto the throne like she owned it.

She was a princess, and he her prince, and she trusted that, now at least, things would stay that way.
Re: let's pretend the fog has lifted - joaniemaloney on March 17th, 2012 03:06 am (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
Re: let's pretend the fog has lifted - bloodofpyke on March 17th, 2012 04:17 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: let's pretend the fog has lifted - vorrothiel on March 17th, 2012 03:48 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: let's pretend the fog has lifted - miawkitten on March 17th, 2012 07:50 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: let's pretend the fog has lifted - bloodofpyke on March 17th, 2012 08:33 pm (UTC) (Expand)
mockyrfearsmockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 12:06 am (UTC)
dany/jon, BDSM
careful, your byronic complex is showing: ♕ » you're giving me the fever tonighttrysts on March 18th, 2012 09:04 pm (UTC)
this city I have claimed as mine [jon x dany]
She’s always been better at conquering than ruling. Dany must come to all things like she goes to war, fire in her blood and her steel in her fingers. She does not know how to be the girl who gave herself to a mighty khal all those years ago. She is khaleesi, she is queen, she takes and breaks, and keeps.

And when she comes to Jon Snow, she treats him as a city to besiege. She will not tolerate rebels, resistance. She comes for everything, and she will leave with everything.

Dany binds his hands to the chair, tight knots of silken fabric that still carry the scent of sun-drenched summer. Jon watches her, but says nothing. Nothing as she unlaces him, slides a hand to where he’s half-hard. A Lord Commander, a traitor, a general in the Dragon Queen’s army and the mantle of power still sits so uneasy on his shoulders. Dany does not have mercy enough to show him. At least, not yet.

A strangled moan catches in his throat as she takes the bulbous head of his cock into the wet cave of her mouth, lavishing it with her tongue, toying with the underside of his shaft. He hardens so quickly that Dany thinks he must have been waiting for this all along. She sucks him, top to bottom and back again, and from where one hand rests against his thighs she can feel the tension of his muscles, the desire to bend her to his will. But Dany had sworn long ago never to bend again. It would be her will that remains her pristine. Others will contour themselves for her.

She stands, and he watches her with dark eyes that she cannot read. Jon Snow is like his name, cold and controlled, but the hands resting on the chair’s arms are balled in fists. She smiles, and unhooks the clasps of her gown, drawing a hand down to toy with the plump swell of her breast. Jon Snow’s head bows, and he strains against his bonds.

“Look at me,” she commands, and climbs onto his lap. She cups his face, tilts it, and sinks down on his cock, gasping how full she feels. Jon Snow rears up to kiss her, but she doesn’t let him. He will touch her, but only when it’s pleasing for her to be touched.

Dany rocks, perching on hand on his shoulder as she finds a soft, undulating rhythm. Jon Snow’s head lowers again, but she allows it, and he suckles a patch of pale skin above the valley of her breasts. She lifts herself, brings herself back down on him, demanding his pleasure, demanding his response. She guides his face back to hers, kisses him with teeth and tongue and a force that he is helpless to resist, as she grinds down fiercely, clenching herself tight around his cock.

He comes, crying out against her mouth, and Dany lets him taste her smile—fire and blood and victory—lets him shudder and gasp against her as his seed spills inside her. Then, as he hangs limply against her, she unknots one hand and brings it down to where they’re still joined. She urges him to touch her, to press his hand against her mound, to play at the aching bundle of nerves that demand his touch. Jon Snow does, lifting his head, watching her as his hand moves against her, teasing the aching flesh where he’s still pressed inside her, sliding through the sticky fluids of her arousal and his release.

And his eyes. Jon Snow is not a conqueror, not yet, but it wouldn’t take much for him to become one. And she bows over him, shuddering, and he takes a breast into his mouth, biting down on her nipple as she grabs his free hand, holds it against her trembling body and comes, at least, to her climax.

His head rests between her breasts, and she strokes a hand down his dark, curly hair. The Dragon Queen is smiling again.

“You’re mine,” she tells him. Her voice carries the weight of all those who had crumbled before her.

And he must have known it to be true, because he only curls his free hand against her hip, nails digging in.
Re: this city I have claimed as mine [jon x dany] - devymel12 on March 18th, 2012 09:07 pm (UTC) (Expand)
DANTE!PEL: batman > everything else.pitselly on March 17th, 2012 12:06 am (UTC)
I require Ned/Cat and awkward first times, with a focus on the emotions either are feeling at the time. Preferably from Cat's PoV, but details are up to you.
margaeryrainbowmargaeryrainbow on March 21st, 2012 05:31 am (UTC)
Part I
Everything had been perfect so far. Ned had whisked her into his arms and carried her up the staircase of the tower in Winterfell, up into what would now be their bedroom. He had looked her in the eyes and smiled so endearingly her heart could melt, though it pounded like a drum against her ribs. The warmth of the hearth in Ned's bedroom thawed her bones from the chill outside. She wasn't sure how she would ever adjust.

Ned dropped her gently among the sheets and furs that were scattered over the bed, and simply continued smiling at her. Catelyn couldn't help giggling a little.

"Are you planning on joining me?" she smiled. Ned's face sobered a little and he nodded vigorously.

"Oh... of course," he said quickly, fumbling with the ties of his wedding garments. Cat smiled and crawled forward, putting her hands over his.

"Here, let me..." she said, unlacing the ties herself. She could tell he was nervous. Ned moved his hands forward toward the ties of her gown, but withdrew them quickly as though he couldn't find the heart to do it.

"Ned," Cat whispered, leaning forward to both put her face close to his and to push his shirt off of his shoulders and into a heap on the floor. "We're married now, you're allowed."

Ned wordlessly reached for the ties at the back of her dress and pulled lightly. Cat crawled out of the garment and leaned closer to her husband, pressing her lips to his. She could feel his muscles tense, but somehow it was relaxing to know that she wasn't the only one who was nervous.

"...sorry," Ned muttered, following Cat as she pulled him with her into the bed. He stumbled on top of her and held himself up only for a moment before lowering himself slowly to her, his breathing becoming panicked.

"Ned," Cat said sternly, locking her lips to his, attempting to get some sort of a reaction from him. As though he were afraid to touch her breasts, he put his hands on either side of her chest and kissed her sweetly.

'Sweet' she thought. 'That's what he is. He is sweet.'

Ned kissed her a little harder and she began to move her hips against him. She reached back and pulled the tie from her hair, letting the scarlet red locks splay out around her like fire, and something in the action seemed to light a fire within the winter heir. He slumped down on top of Cat clumsily, but darted his tongue inside her mouth. Cat continued to move up against him, and Ned propped himself up to look her in the eyes. The look he gave her was one of complete respect. Cat nodded and gripped his shoulders.

Ned moved slowly andput the tip of his member at her entrance, and Cat tensed, waiting for it. He mother had always told her that it was nothing, but Lysa had told her it was like breaking a bone the first time. Ned pushed inside her as carefully as he was capable of, but Cat could see how eager he was to push through.

"Ned, I love you, and I trust you," Cat whispered, and Ned continued until he had pushed all the way inside, buried deep inside her, and she felt whole. It felt as though something had been torn inside her, but at the same time, she clung to her new husband as he pulled out and pushed back in. She let out a low moan each time he pushed back inside her, finding pleasure in the completion she felt.

And then it was over. Ned grunted only once and he was done. He rolled off of her and smiled at the ceiling of their bedroom.

"That was amazing," he breathed. "I love you."

Cat didn't know whether to be amused or corrective. She simply laughed and wrapped her arms around his chest.
Part 2 - margaeryrainbow on March 21st, 2012 05:46 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - pitselly on March 22nd, 2012 01:44 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 23rd, 2012 02:02 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 23rd, 2012 02:03 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - pitselly on March 23rd, 2012 03:49 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 23rd, 2012 11:58 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lainemontgomery on March 25th, 2012 02:48 am (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - juno_chan on March 25th, 2012 05:03 am (UTC) (Expand)
Sternflammendensternflammenden on March 17th, 2012 12:06 am (UTC)
Euron/Victarion, hatesex
hear me roar: Game of Thrones --> king in the northmagisterequitum on March 17th, 2012 12:06 am (UTC)
Theon/Robb - a king does not ask
leah rebeccabloodofpyke on March 17th, 2012 01:35 am (UTC)
follow you down your twisting alleyways
Robb’s mouth was hard against his, and it took Theon a second to respond, to grip the back of Robb’s neck and kiss him back. And then Robb was dragging his nails across Theon’s scalp, biting at his mouth, driving his hips into Theon’s until they were like to be ground to dust. And Theon was gasping into it all, staggering under Robb’s touch, hands ghosting around his king like they weren’t quite sure what to do. This is different, he thought, the words almost faint against the feel of Robb’s teeth against his neck, his collarbone, his ear.

Their clothes were tugged off in a frenzied rush, laces ripped out, buttons bouncing off the ground, until the clothes were just a rumpled heap on the floor, and they stood there, eyeing each other, breathing heavy. Then they were following their clothes, falling onto the ground, wrapped around each other in a mess of limbs, a tangle of dark hair and heartbeats. Robb’s skin was hot under his, and Theon felt like he was going to explode, so he kissed him again, sinking into Robb’s mouth with kind of a fervor, fingers knotting at his hair where the crown once was.

“Robb,” he managed to gasp out, the words smashing onto the ground in front of him as he felt Robb’s hands rough against his hips, jerking him up, and the ground scratching at his knees. And then Robb was thick inside him, his breath ragged against Theon’s ear, and he couldn’t manage anymore words at all.

It wasn’t long before it was over, and they lay sprawled on the ground, hands a breath apart, eyes edging to look at each other, a beat before Robb reached over and twined his finger in his, his heartbeat echoing back at him, loud and thumping in the small space.

“That was,” Theon started to say, swallowing hard, “different.”

And then Robb was laughing, hand tightening in his his, and something in Theon’s chest seemed to swell and burst until it seemed they had forever left to live.
Re: follow you down your twisting alleyways - sternflammenden on March 17th, 2012 01:40 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: follow you down your twisting alleyways - bloodofpyke on March 17th, 2012 04:16 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: follow you down your twisting alleyways - mockyrfears on March 17th, 2012 01:50 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: follow you down your twisting alleyways - bloodofpyke on March 17th, 2012 04:15 am (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
Re: follow you down your twisting alleyways - a_cherrytree on March 17th, 2012 02:58 pm (UTC) (Expand)
Re: follow you down your twisting alleyways - magisterequitum on March 18th, 2012 02:19 pm (UTC) (Expand)
mind_conundrum: alice morganmind_conundrum on March 17th, 2012 12:07 am (UTC)
melisandre/jon, cunnilingus
i am ringo starr: [GoT] sansa the littlebirdbleakwinters on March 18th, 2012 10:14 pm (UTC)
Red and terrible and red
The Night's Watch does not interfere in the problems of the realm, he tells himself a hundred times over. He is the Lord Commander and Stannis might be the King, but he sits no Iron Throne and winter is coming. Jon Snow may know nothing, but he knows his vows and he knows his place.

It does not stop the red woman from ordering him to her chambers. Jon comes, and leaves Ghost waiting by the door. He cannot tell whether this is treason yet or not, whether he has killed the boy inside. Not when she reminds him so much of Ygritte, kissed by fire, lucky. So lucky she died with an arrow in her. The thought is bitter in his mouth, and once more Jon regrets not staying behind in that cave.

She sits by the fire, gazing into the flames. She glows, the ruby at her throat pulsing with light. What visions she sees, he cannot say, but she rises all the same, and smiles at him. She says nothing, but she pours him wine and he drinks, greedy for some warmth. The Red Woman, dangerous and mysterious, from Asshai by the Shadow. The wine flows into Jon's belly and he opens his mouth to ask her why she summoned him, but she kisses him instead.

Melisandre is alive, burning, her skin on fire. She tastes of nuts and cloves and nutmeg, of ash and fire and fear, she tastes like something Jon has never tasted before and he finds himself kissing her back, pushing her on the bed, undoing her robes. He wants to think of Ygritte, but instead his mind focuses on Melisandre and her skin, so pale, glowing in the light of the hearth fire.

Her hands push down on his shoulders, and Jon stumbles. He falls to the floor, but still her fingers dig into him, pushing him towards her spread legs. The lord's kiss, Ygritte whispers in his mind, but her face is a blur. He recalls how red the hair between her legs was, like Melisandre's, but the Red Woman is older, more beautiful, and every part of her burns his hands. He kisses her thighs, kisses the soft skin of her belly, trails fingers in her hair, and she moans, low in her throat.

Jon tastes her, slowly at first, then more confident. He moves his tongue around her, he kisses and pushes fingers inside her, until she lifts her hips to meet him. Melisandre isn't shy, she isn't Ygritte, she is the prophet for the god R'hllor, and Jon swears the scent of her is driving him insane. His fingers move deftly inside her, until she screams in some tongue he does not understand and she lies back down, sweat glistening on her skin.

The Lord Commander rises. Melisandre does not open her eyes, and slowly he licks his fingers of her, the last remnants of her passion.

'You have done your duty, Lord Commander. Now leave me to gaze into my flames.'
Re: Red and terrible and red - lainemontgomery on March 19th, 2012 03:09 am (UTC) (Expand)
Re: Red and terrible and red - midnightblack07 on March 19th, 2012 03:23 am (UTC) (Expand)
(Deleted comment)
suchacharmersuchacharmer on March 17th, 2012 07:24 am (UTC)
Renly had enough of dancing. Loras had been teasing him all night. The playful kisses placed artfully everywhere there was exposed skin, the music pulsating right through his being, driving their movements faster and more animalistic. It was late, and the club was full. The crowd around them pushing them closer together, as if they needed an excuse to meld their bodies together. He need him. All of him. And he needed him now. This wasn't the alcohol coursing through his veins that was driving this urge, this was his pure unadulterated lust for the man that was currently running his hands through his hair, gyrating his hips up against his own. Loras purred into his ear as his hands roamed from his shoulders, down to his hips, gently squeezing his ass. Renly moaned in response. No, he would not allow this to continue on the dance floor.

He broke away, eyes burning with the passion that coursed through his veins. "Enough," he practically barked, knowing full well his request could not be heard over the music. He grabbed Loras hand, dragging him towards the back of the club, where both the bar and the bathroom awaited. He didn't know what he wanted more at that moment...another drink to further dull his bodies automatic responses, or promise of another automatic response...

Renly chose the latter, silently thanking the god's he didn't believe in that he wasn't a woman as he passed the exceedingly long line into the lady's room. Loras didn't seem to protest, clearly also feeling the same need for release, despite his usual trepidation at such an uncouth and frankly, overplayed place of affection.

Renly practically shoved him into the bathroom stall, kicking the door closed with practiced ease. He didn't care that everyone knew exactly what was going on here...his only concern being Loras and promise for sure ecstasy his body would provide him.

Once the door was closed Renly slammed Loras up against the stall divider. No longer did he have to care for public decency, his tongue drove itself deeply into his partner's mouth, rolling, flicking, coaxing him nearer. His hands roamed underneath his shirt, feeling nothing but hard muscles and lean, willing body. Finally, Renly let out a moan. He'd been waiting for this the whole night.

His deep kisses slowly worked their way from Loras' mouth, to the perfect crooks of his collarbones, the little divets they created practically made for his lips. He breathed in deeply, almost overcome right then and there as he continued to move south, hands quickly undoing buttons until his shirt was completely open.

Renly was now on his knees, he looked up at Loras, who returned his almost greedy smile. Renly's hands roamed over his torso, taking in the fit, masculine form of his lover. Loras placed his own hands over Renly, reassuring him, driving him south. Renly smirked up at him, and undid the button of his jeans, freeing his already hard cock from the fabric.

He slowly rolled his hand over Loras' erect penis, cupping his balls in his hand as he replaced his palm with his mouth. His favor was returned with a moan and a careful thrust of Loras' hips. He swirled his tongue around the head, before taking more of his lover into his mouth. His tongue continued to trace the veins of his shaft as he slowly began a rhythm. His one hand remained on his balls, rolling them ever so gently, as the other snaked underneath the bulky fabric of his jeans to cup Loras' ass, pulling him closer, more fully into his own mouth.

Renly continued this practiced culmination of mouth, hands, and slow breaths onto his lover's member until he knew Loras could take no more. He deep throated his final release, swallowing with self-satisfaction. He gave Loras' a moment to recover as he stood once again, hands encircling his waist, pulling him towards him. He placed a series of soft, delicate kisses on along his jawline, ending near his ear in order to whisper, "Now it's my turn."

Edited at 2012-03-17 07:39 am (UTC)
(no subject) - fsfitzgeralds on March 17th, 2012 04:01 pm (UTC) (Expand)
(no subject) - lydzi on March 19th, 2012 11:15 pm (UTC) (Expand)
hear me roar: stock --> gartersmagisterequitum on March 17th, 2012 12:07 am (UTC)
Theon/Robb/Jeyne - double penetration
careful, your byronic complex is showing: ♕ » I've sold my kingdom for kisstrysts on March 17th, 2012 02:22 am (UTC)
because it burns hotter and dies faster [robb x jeyne x theon]
Robb worried he’d break the arm of his chair, he gripped it so hard, knuckles as white as bleached bones. It could have only been a few minutes, since he’d sat down, but it felt like hours stretching into days. It was endless torture. His cock throbbed in his fisted free hand, but it didn’t release the tension. He didn’t want his hand.

Theon moved slowly against Jeyne, already buried to the hilt, and her whimpers of pleasure seemed to fill the room, make it heavy and think. Her blunt nails dug into the bunched skin at the small of his back, urging him deeper inside her.
the rest here