theatrum | (no subject)

Daenerys knew the North very well by now, as much as she knew it wasn't hers.

She'd spent practically her whole life in Winterfell, under Lord Eddard's -- protection? Care? Watchful eye? Possibly some combination -- and truly, she was grateful of it. Surely her life could have taken other, less civil turns: exile, perhaps, or being killed like the rest of her family. She wasn't a Stark, she had always known she didn't quite belong, but she was looked after by the Starks, this for reasons she was only just beginning to understand. (It fascinated her that not killing children was considered a matter of politics and not of basic decency, but then, she was only a young girl, she wasn't meant to understand these things.)

It wasn't uncommon for the once-princess to seek out privacy and quiet when her day's work was done. She'd been a striking girl and she'd grown into an even more striking woman, and even despite the whispered worries about her lineage, she had always received a great deal of attention; she was as good and polite as she could be when approached, but this tendency to run off and hide, though not entirely ladylike, stemmed from a desire to avoid such attention. She often retreated to the godswood, though not from any particular religious inclination so much as that she knew it was unlikely she'd be disturbed there, at least by anyone who wasn't welcome to disturb her.

Today's earlier raven from King's Landing, though innocuous enough, had sent Daenerys into a mood: carefully disguised, hardly noticeable to most, but nonetheless one she felt she needed to be alone, or mostly alone, to sort through. If anyone were to look for her, or just to stumble across her, they'd find her in the godswood, bundled in a cloak and deep in thought.

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Daenerys could sense the moment approaching, whether from the feel of him against her and in her or the look on his face or just some other intuition, and she felt herself open even more to him, felt herself approaching release herself.

She moaned upon hearing him say her name that way, grabbing at him and pressing fingers against his back hard, pulling him to her. "Jon, oh, Jon," she whispered in return, breath hot against his skin as somehow she found the strength in her to keep grinding her hips against him to reach her second climax. She thought it would be even more beautiful, and soon she could know it for a certainty.

She wouldn't stop moving beneath him, so somewhere in the back of Jon's mind where he was still able to think, he was determined to keep rocking his hips against hers, stroking himself inside of her even though it felt as if he'd poured all of his energy into her already.

Jon could feel her around him, tightening as she had before, and it was spurring him to continue even though his head spun. Searching for something solid to anchor himself to, his mouth found Daenerys', his breath mixing with hers.

Finally, after what seemed both like no time at all and an eternity, Daenerys felt release washing over her once more. Her cries this time weren't even so articulate as his name, just sounds, sounds that seemed to her like they came from somewhere outside of her body entirely, desperate sounds for Jon to swallow up.

Her hand slid to rest on the slight curve of his arse, holding and stilling his movements almost as if to assure him that it was all right, she was good, she was perfect. She could hardly move at all, but she managed that.

From that moment on, Jon knew he'd never be jealous of other, more experienced men. They'd told him that laying with a woman was a pleasure, that it felt good. He could not imagine they had ever experienced anything like he and Daenerys just had, otherwise they would have been singing songs and reciting poems. Being no kind of minstrel or poet, all Jon could do while quieting himself as Daenerys' moved him to was kiss her again gently and whisper, "Gods, thank you."

And whether he was thanking the Gods of Daenerys herself didn't matter. Jon agreed with both.

There was the flightier, more romantic part of Daenerys that was wondering just now why people seemed so -- afraid of this, perhaps? Wary of it? It seemed like a beautiful thing to her, as long as it was done right (she shuddered to think of the alternative, which was plenty frightening but in a wholly different way). But then, maybe it was rare for it to happen just as it had, so intimately not just between bodies but between people.

She smiled rather dazedly at that, opting to kiss him in return, lips then cheek then lips again, instead of saying anything just yet.

More kissing. More kissing was good, because it was something Jon liked very much and was within the realm of what his addled brain was able to handle. All he knew at the moment was that the world could reduce itself to just this hayloft and this woman and he would count himself the luckiest man ever to live.

"I know neither of us can speak from experience," he said slowly, "but that did seem to be very, very good."

At this point, Daenerys wasn't sure if she'd ever get her breath back, overwhelmed as she felt. Wonderfully overwhelmed, but after -- after experiencing that twice in quick succession, in Jon's arms, with his body over hers and his mouth pressed to her mouth, she couldn't very well see past this moment.

Maybe for the better, given their circumstances.

"It was beautiful," she murmured, full of reverence.

Jon nods. Beautiful is so much better a word, and he's not surprised. He's always known how smart Daenerys has always been, and now he knows so much more about her and he wants nothing more than to keep learning and keep discovering new things for both of them. Because this? Really was beautiful.

"I'd like to stay here, like this, for a while longer, if that's all right." Mostly, he's saying it because he's hoping his weight isn't too much, but it's true for other reasons, too. "Forever, if that's a choice, but for a while."

"Yes." Eyes fluttering shut once again, a smile playing over her lips, Daenerys nodded. "It's all right. I like the way you feel." Not, perhaps, the most articulate of compliments, but a genuine one.

After a moment of thought, then: "I'd like forever. Forever with you sounds..." Gods, she was getting horribly sentimental, but it was unavoidable. "It sounds like the best thing possible."

He slid his cheek against hers with a smile. "I like the way you feel, too." Simple, but true. Warmth and closeness and satisfaction and her body against his, her limbs surrounding him. Danerys felt more than simply good-- somehow, she felt like home.

Jon nodded in agreement. There were a few hours of darkness left, but morning would come all too soon and he and Daenerys needed to be out of the hayloft well before then. After that, who knew how long they had before the Starks left Winterfell and the two of them faced being separated forever? But they had that one moment, and they could dream about forever while they did.