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asoiaf/got ficlet: but first we live
Written for the GoT Kink Meme, for the prompt Jon/Val, up against the Wall. Originally posted here.
but first we live
Jon/Val | adult | ~800 words
Val stops him as he is crossing the practice yard, catching his wrist and pulling him close.
"Take me to your godswood," she says, her head tilted, her windblown hair clouding around her face. One of Stannis' men looms behind her like a shadow, tall and rangy with a fiery heart on the collar of his cloak. "Stannis said I must have a guard."
"You have a guard," Jon says quietly.
Val frowns at him, curls her hand in his sleeve. "He won't go beyond the Wall." She's wearing a man's cloak, too large across the shoulders and wet with snow where it drags on the ground. "You are not afraid."
Jon dismisses Stannis' man with a nod and follows Val to the tunnel, walking a few steps behind her, his hand on his sword. He ignores the dark looks he earns from his brothers; there are no secrets on the Wall, no men in the Watch who do not know about Ygritte, about the time Jon spent with Mance's wildlings.
The snow is thick this side of the Wall -- the wrong side of the Wall, her side of the Wall -- ankle-deep and still falling. She pauses at the mouth of the tunnel, glancing at Jon as she heads west instead of north; she stops a good mile from the gate, turning back toward Jon suddenly, staring at him silently, her cheeks pink and snow melting in her hair.
"What is it?" Jon asks finally, a gust of wind twisting his cloak around his legs.
"You need to steal me," she says, the Wall cold and endless behind her. "Stannis wants you to take me as a wife. I won't stand at the red woman's wedding fire unless you steal me first."
"King Stannis wants many things," Jon says, his voice sour at the edges. Stannis and Melisandre are a constant irritation, an itch Jon cannot scratch, a splinter under Jon's skin. "I'm Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Sworn brothers take no wives."
"You did take a wife." She narrows her eyes, fists her hand in the front of his cloak. "A free-folk wife."
"I did," Jon says quietly, because it's true. Ygritte had been his wife in all the ways that mattered to the wildlings. "She died."
Val leans closer to him, smiles against his jaw. "All men die."
"I know," Jon whispers, closing his eyes. "But first we live."
She kisses him softly at first, her lips careful and her hands barely brushing his face, then harder, her tongue in his mouth, her fingers sliding into his hair. He catches her wrists, pulls her hands down and away, but she follows when he takes a step back, her laughter taking shape in the sharp, frozen air. She pushes his cloak open, wrapping her arms around his waist, and she presses her mouth to his throat, drags her tongue over his skin.
"I can't."
"You can."
Val kisses him again, sighing into it, her tongue brushing his and her hands pushing under his weskit. She's wearing a woolen dress made of several heavy skirts, and thick stockings that stop above her knees; she sucks on his neck as she unties his laces, smiles against his mouth as she curls her leg around his. He slides his hand up to her cheek, traces his thumb over the dip of her throat. His chest aches around the hollow Ygritte left behind, and his vows are a nagging murmur in his ears, but he's almost warm for the first time in months, and Val's side of the Wall is a place without rules.
He fucks her against the Wall, everything soft and slick and wet, one hand curved over her hip and the other pressed to the ancient ice, freezing through his gloves, brightly white against the dark material of her cloak. She tilts her head to the side, showing him her throat, and he kisses it, drags his open mouth up to her jaw, sucks a warm red bruise into the skin behind her ear, and she arches into him, rocks her hips to meet his thrusts.
"Harder," she hisses, her fingers between her legs, touching herself because Jon can't, because they'll both fall if he lets go of the Wall. "Harder... yes, yes."
She comes just before he does, gasping against his neck, pressed between him and the Wall, and she laughs when his knees start to shake, when they sink into the snow, the Wall high above them.
but first we live
Jon/Val | adult | ~800 words
Val stops him as he is crossing the practice yard, catching his wrist and pulling him close.
"Take me to your godswood," she says, her head tilted, her windblown hair clouding around her face. One of Stannis' men looms behind her like a shadow, tall and rangy with a fiery heart on the collar of his cloak. "Stannis said I must have a guard."
"You have a guard," Jon says quietly.
Val frowns at him, curls her hand in his sleeve. "He won't go beyond the Wall." She's wearing a man's cloak, too large across the shoulders and wet with snow where it drags on the ground. "You are not afraid."
Jon dismisses Stannis' man with a nod and follows Val to the tunnel, walking a few steps behind her, his hand on his sword. He ignores the dark looks he earns from his brothers; there are no secrets on the Wall, no men in the Watch who do not know about Ygritte, about the time Jon spent with Mance's wildlings.
The snow is thick this side of the Wall -- the wrong side of the Wall, her side of the Wall -- ankle-deep and still falling. She pauses at the mouth of the tunnel, glancing at Jon as she heads west instead of north; she stops a good mile from the gate, turning back toward Jon suddenly, staring at him silently, her cheeks pink and snow melting in her hair.
"What is it?" Jon asks finally, a gust of wind twisting his cloak around his legs.
"You need to steal me," she says, the Wall cold and endless behind her. "Stannis wants you to take me as a wife. I won't stand at the red woman's wedding fire unless you steal me first."
"King Stannis wants many things," Jon says, his voice sour at the edges. Stannis and Melisandre are a constant irritation, an itch Jon cannot scratch, a splinter under Jon's skin. "I'm Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Sworn brothers take no wives."
"You did take a wife." She narrows her eyes, fists her hand in the front of his cloak. "A free-folk wife."
"I did," Jon says quietly, because it's true. Ygritte had been his wife in all the ways that mattered to the wildlings. "She died."
Val leans closer to him, smiles against his jaw. "All men die."
"I know," Jon whispers, closing his eyes. "But first we live."
She kisses him softly at first, her lips careful and her hands barely brushing his face, then harder, her tongue in his mouth, her fingers sliding into his hair. He catches her wrists, pulls her hands down and away, but she follows when he takes a step back, her laughter taking shape in the sharp, frozen air. She pushes his cloak open, wrapping her arms around his waist, and she presses her mouth to his throat, drags her tongue over his skin.
"I can't."
"You can."
Val kisses him again, sighing into it, her tongue brushing his and her hands pushing under his weskit. She's wearing a woolen dress made of several heavy skirts, and thick stockings that stop above her knees; she sucks on his neck as she unties his laces, smiles against his mouth as she curls her leg around his. He slides his hand up to her cheek, traces his thumb over the dip of her throat. His chest aches around the hollow Ygritte left behind, and his vows are a nagging murmur in his ears, but he's almost warm for the first time in months, and Val's side of the Wall is a place without rules.
He fucks her against the Wall, everything soft and slick and wet, one hand curved over her hip and the other pressed to the ancient ice, freezing through his gloves, brightly white against the dark material of her cloak. She tilts her head to the side, showing him her throat, and he kisses it, drags his open mouth up to her jaw, sucks a warm red bruise into the skin behind her ear, and she arches into him, rocks her hips to meet his thrusts.
"Harder," she hisses, her fingers between her legs, touching herself because Jon can't, because they'll both fall if he lets go of the Wall. "Harder... yes, yes."
She comes just before he does, gasping against his neck, pressed between him and the Wall, and she laughs when his knees start to shake, when they sink into the snow, the Wall high above them.