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janie_tangerine
It’s not even that he ever dated much in the first place so he can barely remember the etiquette (and all the dating he’s done after he got shipped back home is something he likes to not even think about), it’s that there’s some days where just looking at his own face makes him think about all the fairly wrong choices he’s ever taken and this is one of them, and honestly, given that Ygritte asked him out when he’s done absolutely nothing to encourage such a thing, she probably won’t care what he’s wearing.
He ends up settling on black trousers, black shirt and his father’s (probably he should say uncle’s but he never quite could) old leather jacket, and he doesn’t even try putting some concealer on the gash cutting through his right cheek - it’s not the angry red it used to be back in the day but it’s not white either and if Sansa were here maybe she’d manage to cover it, but he does’t have that much skills with make-up. He pulls on his gloves, grabs his wallet and keys and decides that as far as he’s concerned he’s good to go. He’s even on time, Ygritte should pull up in front of the pub in five minutes at most.
Shit. He doesn’t think he was this nervous the first time he asked someone out in high school, but in high school he hadn’t gone through seven years in the army and three of complete utter misery after it. And he knows that he’s hardly great company, but - well, at most she’ll see that she’s really not being smart here, and he gets a night out.
“Hey,” Robb tells him as he walks downstairs. “Wow. You know, Sansa is right when she says you clean up fine.”
“Shut up,” Jon sighs, “you’ve put a lot more effort into it. When is your guy coming?”
“Some thirty minutes from now.”
Hopefully he’ll tell you he’s not writing guidebooks for a living, Jon doesn’t say. He still doesn’t have a clue of why Theon is that fixed on not telling Robb the truth, but he thinks he’ll play along for now - especially since he’s supposed to come over tonight. If he fucks it up, Jon’s definitely not going to be above spilling.
“But never mind that. You do look good, you know?”
“Robb, I doubt that, but thanks. Anyway, don’t expect much from this.”
“You really can’t help being negative about everything, can you?”
“It doesn’t set you up for disappointment.”
Robb rolls his eyes and shakes his head, putting a hand on his arm.
“Maybe, but - never mind. Someone’s just pulled up, go have fun.”
“I wish, but at least I’m getting out, I guess. See you tonight,” he says, and gets out of the pub.
It’s indeed Ygritte - she’s driving some red rental car and for a moment he feels relieved that she hasn’t dolled herself up or anything. She’s not wearing make-up and he thinks she has on some kind of very non descriptive trench coat, so at least he’s not looking like he underdressed or something.
She grins when she sees him walk out of the door.
It’s damned weird but he half-heartedly grins back and gets on the passenger side of the car.
“Just so you know,” she says, “you’re already scoring points for being on time.”
“Why, most people you date can’t keep an appointment?”
“You don’t even want to know,” she says, then puts the car into drive and heads for the highway’s direction. “So, we have some forty-five minutes before we get there, give or take. Usually, I’m of the opinion that the driver picks the music but this time I think I can forfeit that right.”
“I don’t mind if you want to,” he says immediately.
“Jon, not to pry, but when was the last time you went out for drinks with someone? If you want to answer, of course.”
“Er, years ago. Did you guess?”
“Yes, because you look like a fish out of water and I don’t like people I bring out for drinks to feel like shit about it, so how about you make yourself comfortable? Pick something, I’ve got some CDs in the glove compartment.”
He doesn’t argue that point because he does feel like a fish out of water, so he opens the compartment and finds a container with a stack of burned records - some is an understatement, it’s at least fifty.
He goes through them, rolling his eyes at the Spice Girls greatest hits but approving of the presence of Patti Smith’s discography - she does like female singers with peculiar voices, he decides after wading through almost the entire batch. He’s almost tempted to go for some random Patti Smith record that she’ll most definitely like… until he notices that the last record is Christ Cornell’s Unplugged in Sweden.
He puts it on and she grins approvingly. “I should’ve guessed you were into grunge,” she says.
“Am I really that obvious?”
“Why?”
“Theon’s figured it out, too,” he mutters.
“You have the right face for it. Anyway, that’s a killer record, so congratulations, good taste. Though I did see you rolling your eyes at the Spice Girls.”
“Hey, if it’s your thing -”
“Jon Snow, before this weekend’s over you will realize why you should never roll your eyes at the Spice Girls, but there’s a time for everything. So, what’s your favorite song out of this record at least? Keep me entertained, I need to get to Galway without falling asleep.”
Good thing she can keep a conversation going, he thinks, but as he tells her that he’s partial to Fell On Black Days he’s feeling slightly less paranoid about this entire situation.
——
When he realizes that according to her, bringing someone out for drinks means a fish restaurant and not a pub, he’s tempted to chicken out, or if anything to convince her that it’s really not necessary, but she says she’s actually booked a table, that she knows it’s fairly good and they also have excellent alcohol all around and she looks so - hyped about finally eating decently after weeks of catering that he eventually doesn’t. It’s not that he’s underdressed - she is, too - but it’s that he already feels like shit at getting by with paying from Robb’s account, he doesn’t want to splurge on food that’s definitely going to be more pricey than usual.
The fact that Robb doesn’t mind and keeps on telling him you fucked up your life to send over an extra paycheck, I think I can let you have access to my bank account doesn’t change that he feels horrible about it.
Still. He’s not going to ruin things by being horribly negative and he follows her inside.
Turns out that the place is nice - it’s not too flashy but they definitely aren’t slouching, and patience if looking at the cocktail prices he feels like asking what does even go into that.
Good thing that he never was a man of very complicated tastes. Also, they’re getting fish, so he settles on white wine and ends it there - at least the waiter is young and around their age and he compliments him on the choice before leaving.
“Well, now you’re a wine expert other than being good at taking pictures?” She asks, but - she actually sounds interested.
He clears his throat. “I wouldn’t go as far as saying I’m an expert,” he says, “but when I was, uh, overseas.” He doesn’t want to say it straight, if anything because he still hates that he went there in the first place. “There were a few Italians hanging around the same base. I ended up in their circle more than once and believe me, after a few months of that, you’ll know the basics when it comes to good wine or the degrees of how coffee outside Italy is bad.”
“That drastic?”
“Well, there’s Italian coffee, then the rest ranks from barely acceptable to hot water. Anyway, I know enough to impress waiters, I guess.”
“Nice,” she says, “care to share some of that knowledge?”
“Seriously?”
“Why not? I don’t know about the coffee, but the wine part of it sounds like stuff I might wanna know.”
He shrugs and starts doling her some advice, and shit is she listening -
That is, until some kid comes by and clears his throat and asks her if she was the star of that Wild Things miniseries, and would she mind terribly signing an autograph if she can?
She smiles at him and does, and then they go back to discussing wine -
Until another kid shows up.
At the fourth one, who does when they’re nibbling on a mixed appetizer which Jon has to admit is really damned good fish, she doesn’t say no but she’s obviously halfway irked.
“Sorry about that,” she whispers. “I was trying to look, you know, like a regular person so they wouldn’t notice it was me, but I guess people recognize me anyway.”
“It’s okay,” he immediately replies, “I supposed it’d happen. One would think that at least they’d wait until you’re done eating.”
“I wish,” she snorts. “And I’ve just done a pilot that will most likely get picked up and a miniseries. It’s just going to get worse.”
“Hm. I guess that’s why Theon hasn’t told my brother that he’s really an actor, has he?”
“Wait, he’s dating your brother and he doesn’t know?”
“Well, they went out together this week and I think stuff happened, and they’re seeing each other tonight so I wouldn’t know about dating but they definitely have a thing. And no, but Robb hadn’t recognized him and he’s - not telling him.”
Ygritte almost chokes on her cocktail and shakes her head. “Well, it’s… remarkably stupid if he wants it to be serious, but I honestly can’t blame him if he’s paranoid about people changing their opinions the moment they know he’s famous. If your brother’s anywhere like you he most likely wouldn’t give a fuck -”
“He wouldn’t,” Jon confirms.
“I figured. But - well, I can’t say I don’t understand. I mean, I’ve done a pilot and a miniseries. He’s done a way more popular tv show, he has regular appearances in a lot of tv shows actually, and he’s also done movies. He has it worse.”
“Christ,” he says. “I wouldn’t - I mean, I don’t know how you do it. I’d lose my mind at the third person. By the way, you want me to scare them off?”
“Wait, scare them off?”
He shrugs and takes off his right glove, showing the burnt skin beneath. “I between this and that,” he says, touching the scar on his cheek, “I can absolutely scare people off. Why do you think no one talks to me back in Barrowtown?”
“You know what,” she says, “feel free to. Especially if we’re eating.”
The next person he sees coming their way - some other kid with two cellphones in his hands, gods, for how many people does he want a selfie? -, he turns and glares at him, putting all his best effort into it.
The kid immediately retreats back to his place.
“Wow,” Ygritte whistles, “it did work.”
“At least it’s good for something.” He shrugs and goes back to his fish - their trout is definitely good, nothing to say.
She keeps her eyes on his for a moment, then mutters something he can’t quite catch and goes back to eating. He glares at most other people who try to come close and it works admirably - they stop by the time they’re done with the main course, and no one bothers when they get dessert after another round of wine that she insisted he pick.
Well, it’s good wine, and it’s good fish, and he’ll find a way to repay Robb after the bill arrives, he decides.
“Nice,” she says by the time they’re both well into their second course, “it’s been ages since people left me alone for this long. We should totally do this more often.”
He’s about to say that he’s totally fine with putting his talents to good use, and then -
“Wait, you want to do it again?”
“What gave you the idea that I might not?” She asks, her tongue licking a smudge of sauce off the corner of her lips and for a moment he thinks, I wish I had done that.
Then he realizes what he’s just implied.
“Uh, it’s just - I don’t know. Guess I’m not used to be around people not related to me who think I’m not poor company.”
“How peculiar that you should ask that when I had a proposition.”
“I’m listening,” he says, eating the last piece of smoked salmon.
“See,” she says, “I thought we were having a moment here.”
“What if we might?” He concedes.
She smiles slightly wider. “Then there’s a nice bed and breakfast I know nearby. Or I can drive you back to Barrowtown if you don’t put out at the first date.”
He tries to not freeze - he had figured that it was where this entire evening was heading and he’d be an idiot if he did, especially when admittedly he said yes because she is his type and he does like her. Except that -
“Listen,” he says, “I - I have no problems when it comes to putting out at any date. And the last thing I want is walking in on my brother and Theon being up to whatever it is that they are in Barrowtown. It’s just, uh, the last time I put out, let’s just say it went badly and I’m not sure -”
He gasps when her hand suddenly covers his wrist, grasping at it. “Let’s say,” she says, “that whatever happened last time, I’m sure it can be worked around it and I’m highly in favor of the bed and breakfast option. Never mind that. So, it’s that or driving back?”
Fuck it, he thinks. “I’m fine with the bed and breakfast option then.”
“Excellent,” she says, and asks for the bill.
Right.
He reaches for his wallet into his back pocket with his free hand, but then -
“I asked you out,” she says, squeezing tighter at his wrist. “I think it’s on me.”
“What - no, you don’t have to -”
“I insist. And it’s not like I can’t afford it. Thanks, but chivalry goes both ways,” she says, and he can hear in her tone that she won’t budge on this.
Fine then. At least he’s going to save money.
“Fine, but at least I’m leaving the tip.”
“Sounds fair,” she agrees. “You get the tip.”
She pays for the entire thing and he worries about that, and - shit. It’s just - every other time he went out with someone, it was somehow assumed that he would pay and he always did and he doesn’t want to say that it felt nice to get treated for once, but -
It’s weird. But never mind. That’s really not what he’s worrying about here. But he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
——
The bed and breakfast is indeed nice - maybe a bit too green for his tastes, but he figures they have to appeal to tourists, and so he waits for Ygritte to get the key and follows her to the second floor. It’s a nice, clean room, and on further inspection he notices that there is even lavender behind the pillows. Definitely classier than most places he’s slept in when he was in the army.
“So?” Ygritte asks, locking the door.
“Oh, it’s - nice,” he immediately says. “Hell, if you saw some ditches I slept in, this’d look like five-star hotel material.” He also knows he’s staring at her mouth and shit, he wants to kiss her, badly, or better -
It’s not that he wants to kiss her, it’s that he thinks he wants her to kiss him and he grimaces at the thought - yeah. Right. That.
“So what’s the issue?” She asks, moving closer, and fuck, if only he took two steps forward -
“Something we should get out of the way before we both get disappointed, I think,” he says carefully, and shit, he has no idea of how he’s even going to say it.
“Now that sounds ominous. Okay, I’m listening.” At least she doesn’t sound like she finds his beating around the bush amusing like a few other people did.
“It’s just - I’ve been with a few girls since I came back. All of them were fine with everything as long as I kept the glove on because, er, apparently this hand here feels weird.” He raises his right hand, then lets it fall. “Admittedly I was looking for a few easy lays to get distracted, you know.”
“Hm. Was that just after you came back?”
“More or less. Anyway, I guess it’s - most of them were into - the whole ex military aspect, you know.”
“Which I have a feeling you are not into.”
“Hell, I didn’t even want to go there and I regret having done that every other day, no, I’m not. So - it wasn’t great. But it was fine, I guess. Then, uh, my sister might’ve set me up with some friend of hers from uni who was really into the ex military aspect. I wasn’t feeling it but I went along with it because Sansa had put some effort into organizing the entire set up.”
“I can already hear it went wrong,” Ygritte says.
“It went terrible, I freaked out halfway and - well, she didn’t know what to do in the first place but at the point where she asked what the hell was my problem I might’ve just gone and left. And that was about the end of my dating efforts.” He knows he’s still skirting around the subject, but he can’t quite bring himself to say it and he just hopes she guesses what he’s hinting at - after all, she’s sort of done that up until now, hasn’t she?
“Well, I can’t give a fuck about the ex military aspect,” she shrugs. “But I think that’s not the entire point, is it?”
“… Not really,” he admits. “I mean, that’s a good part of it. But - you know. With that aspect comes - people expecting you to like certain things. If I explain myself.”
“You’re sort of skirting around the subject, but I think I get it,” she says, and is she smiling?
“Do you?” He retorts, hoping that she did, because he doesn’t want to just say that -
“Let me guess, you ended up with a bunch of people who assumed that since you can handle a gun and took a few bad life decisions you also are into fucking people senseless or being all dominating and shit and instead you like the exact opposite?”
He almost wants to breathe out in complete fucking relief as she says it.
“What if you nailed it?” He asks, forcing himself to look upwards and to not feel like he’s somehow weird for it - he knows that there’s nothing fucking weird about what position you prefer while fucking, but he’s spent years around people who assumed that if you were a real man of course you’d like to top, and the less said about his possible dates assuming he would since the beginning and then being sorely disappointed if he told them he’d rather have it the opposite way the better.
He almost freezes when her lips curl up in a lovely smile that has nothing mocking in it.
“Well, I’ve never been into men who were all dominating and shit,” she says, and then she leans downwards and puts a hand behind his head, grasping at his hair, and he barely has time to worry about how all of a sudden his stomach isn’t feeling so clenched anymore because then she has indeed leaned down and kisses him, not tentatively, not hesitantly, and with such intent that for a moment he doesn’t even know how to answer, and then he kisses back the way he’s wanted to for days, and he doesn’t even try to not follow the rhythm she’s dictating, and he moans into her mouth when her tongue touches his, and he doesn’t know how the hell they end up with him sitting up on the bed and one of her knees framing his hip as her hands angle his head upwards better but when they break up for air he doesn’t think he wants to move.
“Was that more you thing?” She asks, breathless.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t even try to deny it. “Definitely more my thing.”
Her thumb skirms over his scar and he shudders - most people didn’t touch there.
“Does it hurt or -” She asks a moment later, moving his hand away.
“No,” he says. “Hasn’t for a while. The arm doesn’t either, at this point.”
“Excellent,” she grins. “Now that we established that, I vote we make good use of that bed, if you’re of the same opinion.”
“Fuck, yes,” he agrees immediately. He still doesn’t know what she’s expecting out of - whatever they’re doing, but if she really wants to - then who is he to say no, especially when it seems like for once he’s met someone he actually matches with in the bedroom?
“Right. By the way, if you feel like you might freak out, tell me and we’re calling it off before there’s any damage to be had.”
“I don’t think -”
“Jon, just tell me you’re going to stop me if I do something wrong and don’t overthink it. You know, if you aren’t into the whole military thing either, not saying if something’s wrong shouldn’t be your thing either.”
He has to laugh at that - excellent point.
“Fine, I’m stopping you. But I can already tell it’s not going to happen.”
“Really. How so?”
He shrugs, then figures that he should tell her the truth. “Because you’re actually taking into account it might,” he finally settles on, hoping that she gets the drill.
“Let’s hope you’re right then,” she says. “You think you’d mind sitting a bit farther than that?”
He shakes his head, moving back until his knees are curled against the mattress.
“Great.” And then she’s moved her other leg on the bed so that both her knees are around his hips and her hands are in his hair again, tugging his face upwards, and she’s kissing him again but slower, except that she’s also keeping his hair in a fairly strong hold, not enough to be painful but enough to make him notice it, and shit but he’s entirely down with it, he decides as he kisses back, following her pace and moaning into her mouth when her knees suddenly press more against his hips. He considers putting his hands on her back but maybe it’s better if he uses them to prop himself upwards and so he doesn’t and settles on kicking off his shoes.
He also can’t help noticing that she has some strength in her arms, but he figures that if she acts for a living she hits the gym more than he does.
(Actually he doesn’t, he just might spend an unholy amount of time doing push-ups in his own room so that he just stops thinking about things he doesn’t want to think about.)
“So,” she says against his mouth after she’s made her point and broke the kiss off, “what do you like?”
“What?” He hadn’t been expecting that.
“Well, other than me being on top, but I figured that out.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Er,” he stammers, letting out a relieved breath when her hand goes at the back of his neck, keeping it still, “you do realize that until now no one else figured that out?”
“And you’ve never asked? Wait, never mind, stupid question. So, what it is that you think you’d like?”
That’s - somewhat better. Except that -
“You’re doing that already,” he answers, wishing he was halfway decent at this kind of conversation.
“Are you saying that you only know what you don’t like and you can stand to find out what you do?”
“… Hopefully it’s not utterly pathetic?” He tries to joke, though he doesn’t know if he’s doing a good job of it.
“Jon Snow, if you think I’m not interested in helping you with that, you know nothing for real,” she says, her knuckles running over the right side of his face, and then her hands are on his wrists and before he can do anything to avoid it his back is on the mattress, his hands are pinned against it and she’s lying all over him.
“So,” she says, “how about this?”
He doesn’t even have to answer because a moment later her hips have moved downwards and her crotch is aligned with his and she can feel for herself how much this entire ruse is turning him on, and actually by now his trousers are starting to become too tight.
“Never mind,” she says, “I think you do.”
“Nice to see it was obvious,” he tries to say, but it comes out strangled.
“I also think you need to relax. You think you can keep your hands right there?”
He nods, wishing that her merely asking him hadn’t just sent a new rush of blood to his nether regions.
“Great,” she says, leaving his wrists be, and then she moves back enough to start working on his belt and getting it open, and he keeps his hands where they are even if the temptation to reach out and undo her hair is strong, he doesn’t, and he merely moans in relief when she finally pulls down his trousers and gets rid of them along with his underwear. He’s kind of glad she’s not commenting on the fact that it was black, too, which back in the day had been a thing people noticed as if it was weird as hell he’d care about that. Ygritte nods approvingly when her eyes meet his again, then she seems to consider what she should do and then her mouth curls into a smirk that would have made his knees go weak, if he had been standing.
“Yeah, I think relaxing’s the first thing on the list. Care to keep still?”
“Yes,” he manages to say.
“Great. Just don’t move,” she says, and then she moves back and leaned downwards and -
And then her hands are on his hips and she’s leaning downwards and she’s taking her time licking along the head of his cock and he kind of had been planning on not making too much noise but at that he stops giving a damn about whoever might be sleeping in the next room over, because he sadly can’t remember the last time someone actually gave him head and not the contrary (which he never had a problem with but sometimes you want the same service paid back at you), and she takes her sweet time with it before she takes him in her mouth and starts sucking him off for real, and at that he’s really not caring about anything bar the fact that she’s good at it and she’s doing things with her tongue that are making his blood boil, and when she squeezes at his balls lightly, his back arches up and he just hopes he hasn’t choked her or anything but she just takes more of his dick in her throat and - and at this point he’s way beyond caring that maybe he should last a bit longer than not even five minutes, probably, but it’s been a damned long time and she’s making him see stars and he barely manages to warn her before he’s coming, but she merely moves back enough that she doesn’t risk choking when he does and -
Fuck, she’s swallowing, he realizes as he falls back against the mattress, and she actually doesn’t spit or anything when she finally moves back - she definitely is smiling like someone who knows she’s just given him the head of his life and is entirely smug with it.
Well, she should be.
“Look at that,” she says, sounding a bit hoarse, “you haven’t moved them an inch.”
What -
Oh, his hands. Right. He - he actually hasn’t, but he doesn’t want to tell her that five years in the military made sure he could follow orders and it was actually the one thing he didn’t hate about it in theory - at least it gave you some structure, even if he didn’t particularly enjoy the specifics of most of the orders in question.
“What if I didn’t?” He asks, and - shit. He even sounds less tense, but then again there isn’t a single muscle in his body that is right now.
“I guess we just found out something you do like,” she says, climbing back up, moving so that she’s all over him again.
“What if I liked doing that, too, just - not - being in charge?” He manages to say, and he hopes she gets it, too -
“I’d say it’s music for my ears,” she smiles. “And I certainly wasn’t planning on that happening just once, so how about you show me how much talent you have for it?”
“How should I, then?” He asks, and the glint in her eyes is only too knowing.
“Move back,” she tells him, and he does, until his back is against the pillows, and she’s pinned his left wrist to the headboard.
Then she sits up.
“Do your thing,” she says, “but you can only use that hand.”
“… Really?” He asks, glancing at his right - fine, it’s perfectly functional, but -
“If I don’t how it feels I’ll stop you, don’t worry. Whenever you like.”
Fuck. Well then. He swallows and opens up the button of her jeans, then pushes the zipper down and in between Ygritte raising her knees enough for him to push them downwards he manages to get rid of them enough that she can kick them off, and then he slowly moves down her red panties - it’s regular cotton, nothing special, but it matches the hair she has behind it and anywhere else, and he pushes them off her thighs until he reaches her knees and then she gets rid of them, too, moving slightly upwards so that she’s perfectly angled with his mouth and then she has just one hand on his wrists and another one is grasping at his hair.
Good.
He leans upwards and licks a stripe along her clit, and then she’s pushing his head against her - good, exactly what he had been hoping for but couldn’t ask, and what if he can barely breathe, it’s fine, he can totally last for a long time with minimal breathing. He takes his time running his tongue along her clit and occasionally grasping at the soft flesh around it with his teeth, drinking in every enthusiastic sound she makes, that is until he pushes his tongue inside her as much as he can manage, and then he moves back slightly and slides a finger inside her before going back to use his mouth - she’s so wet he can barely believe it, and then he angles his head so that he can run his tongue along her clit while fingering her at the same time, and he moans around it when he feels her hands running through his hair rather than pulling, and fuck but when her legs around him clench and she clenches around his finger, it’s sliding in without a problem and when he feels her peak he doesn’t even think before burying his face against her crotch, and if his beard’s getting very sticky, who gives a fuck.
He’s way beyond giving a fuck, especially since she’s making it very clear that she’s greatly enjoying his skills, and whoever’s in the next room definitely heard her, and at the same time she’s still keeping his left hand very still against the headboard and it shouldn’t be such a turn on but it is and by the time her thighs relax around his shoulders enough that he can lean back, she’s come hard enough that his free hand is sticky as hell, and then she’s grabbed his wrist and she’s licking it clean and he’s halfway sure he’s getting hard again and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the case.
“Well, fuck,” she breathes a moment later, moving his wrists back to the pillows, her hold getting stronger, “has anyone told you that you’re good at that?”
He shivers. “A few people,” he huffs. “But you’re the only one who’s ever got the full service.”
“You mean, with the hand, too?”
“Yeah,” he says. “That - didn’t feel weird, did it?”
“It felt different, but not bad different,” she says, “and good thing I bought condoms, because I think you deserve another round. Don’t move.”
He stays perfectly still as she reaches for her discarded bag and grabs a condom out of it and makes quick work of opening it and rolling it over him - he’s getting hard again but not enough that it’s complicated or anything.
Then she obviously’s about to take her shirt off, but -
“Wait,” he says, “can I do that?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she says way too sweetly for this circumstances, and she moves so that he actually can do it - he pulls it over her head carefully, and then unhooks her bra (also red, same color as the panties, and did she actually do that on purpose?) and lets it fall on the ground, and -
Then he just stops with his hands on her hips, hoping that she keeps on guessing right -
“How polite,” she says. “But you can touch, they’re not off-limits.”
And then she’s moving forward and she sinks on his cock, and she’s still so wet that he slides in without a hitch, and the moment one of his hands goes upwards to cup her breast she’s canting her hips downwards and he’s cursing under his breath, and then -
Then she moves a hand behind his head again and pins his hands to the wall again, covering both wrists with her palm, and -
He doesn’t know how she guessed that he kind of had wanted to use his mouth but couldn’t muster up the guts to do it and then he just runs his tongue along one of her nipples while she sets the rhythm and he’s entirely fine with it - shit, the fact that she’s actually not weakening her hold the closer they both get to coming, again, is turning him on like crazy and the thing is that she’s not being gentle as she rides him - she’s being fairly rough and fast, but her one hand in his hair is carding through it very carefully, and the way she moans his name says all about how much she’s enjoying it. Fuck, he doesn’t even remember the last time he came twice in the same evening but he knows he will, except that he wants to last a bit more than the first (embarrassing time) and so he tries to hold back even if it’s getting fairly difficult, but then -
“Are you - holding back?” Ygritte asks him just as her hips cant downwards again.
“What - what if I am?”
“Then - lovely of you, but I don’t really think we’re done. You -” She starts, then she suddenly slows down, her blue eyes staring down into his, and she seems to be putting two and two together as she stills.
“Or maybe,” she says, “you want me to tell you when?”
He can only nod back, and before he can overthink what he’s just told her, her mouth is against his and she’s tugging at his hair more and -
“Don’t you worry, I’m not done yet,” she breathes when she moves back. “Just let go, how about it?”
And -
He goes rigid, for a moment, and then he lets go and he thinks he was more turned on by the fact that she told him to than anything else really, and he can feel her clench around him again as he does and she’s kissing him again as he spills, and by the time he’s completely spent the sheets are a mess and they’re both sticky as hell and he can’t really bring himself to care, not when she’s just moved her hand from his crossed wrists and she’s sitting up next to him. She grabs his right arm and puts it over her thighs, and he lets out a relieved noise when she starts massaging his wrist, and when she moves on to the other.
“So,” she says after a few minutes of silence have passed and she’s definitely made sure his wrists aren’t hurting anymore with the effort he had put into not moving them, “I think that went well.”
He has to laugh a bit at that.
“Can’t disagree,” he slurs.
“See, you look a lot better if you’re not brooding. Wait a moment,” she says, turning on her side and grabbing something from the nightstand - turns out it’s a small bottle of water. She uncaps it before helping him to sit up enough that if he drinks some of it he won’t choke, and thing is, he could reach out for it, but he doesn’t. She raises an eyebrow. He shrugs. She smirks slightly and puts it up to his lips - some of it runs on his chin, but whatever, he does swallow enough that he feels slightly more put together after.
She puts the bottle away.
“So,” she says, “I was thinking.”
“What?”
“I paid for the entire night, so we could stay here and drive back to your not so lovely little town tomorrow.”
He flinches without even stopping himself at the suggestion - he doesn’t really feel like going back just now and getting himself a reminder of all the reasons why he hates that place, and usually he’d have kept himself from doing it, but right now he’s too relaxed and feeling too - cracked open, probably, to even find the strength to lie about it.
“What I thought. Or, I could pay for the next night, too, and drive you back Sunday evening.”
“You - wait, and what would you like to do in the meantime?”
“I don’t know,” she smiles, “looks like there’s a lot of things you could try out. I mean, I suppose we should go out in the morning and do some shopping, also because neither of us was smart enough to bring a clothes change, but what if I told you I think you might really like it if I tied you up a bit?”
He considers it and he probably doesn’t even have to answer since his throat goes dry the moment she suggests it.
“Right, that was a yes. You can pick the rope then,” she goes on, and he’d really like to know how she’s just so matter of fact about this, but -
“I could be fine with that,” he tells her.
“Good. I could also do with seeing how many times in a row I can get you to come if you don’t until tomorrow evening.”
He thinks that no, now his throat has gone completely dry for real. Because fuck but he would like that, he thinks, and -
“What if - you could go ahead and book the room?”
“Now that is what I was hoping to hear,” she replies. “Will do first thing tomorrow morning, then. Meanwhile, you all right?”
“What - yes,” he immediately replies. “I mean, I thought it was obvious?”
“Oh, I knew you had fun, I’m not so self-absorbed I wouldn’t notice. But since you’ve been freaking out about this entire thing since before, I’m just making sure.”
At that he just - he doesn’t even know what to say because it’s not as if anyone’s ever asked him that bar people who are related to him, not in the last ten years or so, and certainly no one did the last time he tried talking to anyone he wasn’t related to.
“I don’t even know what I was expecting,” he says. “Robb always says I need to stop with the pessimist outlook but you know - then if things go wrong you don’t get disappointed, you know. But I guess I was wrong this time?” He hates that it comes out as a question, or that he keeps his eyes on hers just out of pure force of will, but then she shakes her head slightly and moves closer, her hand cupping the right side of his face. He’s this tempted to kiss her palm but it feels like too much, maybe, he has no idea -
“I think you knew nothing and maybe now you know something,” she says, “and given that we’re both filthy and you look like you could use it, maybe you could go to the bathroom and get the shower going while I change the sheets, we could share the shower, sleep on it and worry about your pessimist outlook on life tomorrow, how about it?”
Shit, she really sounds sure of it, and he has no idea of what she sees in him but at this point he’s too tired to doing what he thinks he’s supposed to, so he nods and he does kiss her palm before standing up and heading for the bathroom. She looks… pleasurably surprised at that, which means he’s feeling pretty good about it as he stands up and checks the bathroom over - it’s large enough, and they’ll definitely fit in the shower at least. He takes a minute or two to figure out how the hell he’s supposed to turn it on - it has some kind of hellish system that makes him long for the old-ass taps in Barrowtown which might be old enough that you can’t see at once which is for the hot water and which is for the cold, but at least are straightforward, but by the time he’s managed, Ygritte has walked into the bathroom and grabbed some shampoo from a small cabinet near the sink.
“Right,” she says, “I changed the sheets. Just get in.”
“Do you mind if it’s… hot?” He asks, knowing that his cheeks are flushing, but he’s done enough cold showers to last him his entire life when he was overseas.
“Just put it however you want it, I won’t get scalded by hot water.”
Fair enough. He turns it so that it’s the hottest it can get and she closes the plastic screen, and he thought maybe she wanted to go for another round, but instead she stops him when he’s about to reach for the shampoo and pours some on her palm and proceeds to lather his scalp with all the calm in the world - he immediately glances down so that she has it easier and he suddenly thinks that it might as well be the first time anyone does that to him period, because by the time he went to live with his uncle he had been more than old enough to do it on his own and the less said about the system the better, and - fuck. It’s nice. He wouldn’t have asked, not really, but the fact that he didn’t have to is lifting a weight off his shoulders and so he lets her card through his hair until it’s clean and when she grabs a sponge and starts giving his back a wash he lets her, too, and he’s sincerely grateful that she’s not commenting about the - not extensive, but certainly not nonexistent scarring along his back, never mind the burn on his arm but he’s not so self-absorbed to not figure out that she really seems to have no issue with that.
He does ask her if he can return the favor, though, even if he feels like he could fall asleep on his feet.
“Maybe tomorrow morning,” she agrees, “but I think you’re beat and I just have to do my hair, don’t bother.”
So he doesn’t and he lets her finish, and he doesn’t protest when instead of handing him both towels she ties one around his waist while she lets him worry about his hair.
“Damn,” she says, “I guess neither of us has night clothes. You’ve got problems sleeping naked?”
“Not really,” he slurs, and he doesn’t, who even cares. He’s done plenty worse. Given that the heating is turned on to the maximum neither of them bothers with actually drying their hair and not long later he slips under the covers, and he doesn’t know what to expect but maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that Ygritte climbs on the bed behind him and puts an arm around his waist, her chest pressing up against his back.
“Is it pathetic if you’ve just done a thing I always wanted to ask other people and never could?”
“Really?”
He snorts. “Well, might’ve happened with Robb a few times, but it was purely platonic.”
“I should hope this is not.”
“Of course not,” he replies in mock outrage.
“Good. Go to sleep, tomorrow we can worry about buying some clothes and see if you get to find out whatever else you like. I’m pretty sure we’re both going to have fun, won’t we?”
Her hand moves downwards and finds his own, threading their fingers together, and he’s tempted to ask her if finally he’s getting back some decent karma, but then he decides it’s better kept for some other time.
“I’m sure we will,” he replies, and maybe no one more than him is surprised at how much he means it, but -
He thinks he could get adjusted to it. He really thinks he could.
