#&sin

        She’s magnificent, an absolute beauty with the ability to tear his breath from his lungs. Fully clothed Daenerys Targaryen leaves Jon Snow speechless, but now, naked as her name day and riding him as confidently as she strides atop her dragons, Jon could scarcely describe her as anything other than ravashing.

She sets the tone for pace, her hips rocking back and fourth over his own, slowing and speeding as she likes. Jon doesn’t mind at all and complies more than willingly with whatever she demands. His hands scour over bare flesh, drinking in the softness of her flesh and tone of her body. Silver locks fall loose from her braided adornment, the length of which is easily accessed from her waist, strands finding their way to tangle between his searching fingers.

With her face upturned toward the sky Jon finds himself needing to look into Daenerys’ eyes, those violet flecked hues that communicate so much it’s a wonder she needs a tongue at all. Jon lifts himself from his reclined position and without breaking stride snakes one arm around her waist and with the other cradles the back of her head, applying gentle pressure in order to encourage her to look toward him. Hooded eyes fall upon him and almost immediately Jon is harder for it, his body shivering in compliance with her small twitches and murmurs. “I love you.” It slips out — faster than he can stop it and as haughtily as any of their whispers before had come.

           There’s no time for Dany to respond as Jon’s lips claim her own, powerful passion engulfing them both, dragging them down into a sea of pleasure and euphoria. There isn’t time to regret what he’s said ; mostly because he doesn’t, but because this new position drives the Snow deeper into the dragon and as the kiss is broken it’s only to allow him the oxygen that’s so needed with the increase in speed.

         It’d be a lie if Theon said he didn’t like it when Robb got like this, fired up and demanding ; just the thought of it got him excited. The cool of the stone wall hits a little harder the anticipated but the Greyjoy can’t feel the pain, his head is already swimming with the taste of the Stark on his lips, his body pressed against his own, fingers flying over every inch, feverishly attempting to remove their garb. Perhaps it’s the heat behind his flesh that makes the hot spring water infused walls of Winterfell feel cold beneath him — whatever the case there’s an undeniable grin that laces itself over Theon’s features as Robb attempts to pull his cotton top away from his flesh. Both arms travel upward, detangling themselves from the grip they’ve kept on the young wolf thus far and fly toward the sky which leaves him bare chested in a matter of seconds.

          Some people are simply born with twisted desires — it’s an utterance that’s come from the sickly sweet lips of the woman who straddles him now, and Joffrey Baratheon has never felt more understood. Nails delve deeply into the flesh of her buttox, dragging her closer to his form, increasing the pressure of his hardening manhood beneath her core. It’s not the vision of her nearly bare attire that has the King so excited no, it’s the threat of the blade Margarey has thrust against his neck — one might take Joff for craven ; and one might be right — but in this instance he knows just how much more powerful he is than his Queen and how easily he can over throw her ; which is exactly what he does.

Lithe as a shadow cat Joffrey claims her delicate wrist and with the other hand removes the blade from her feminine grasp using it now to pluck the buttons that hold her gown together betwixt her breasts. One by one small golden beads fly from their homes, each revealing more and more flesh until the entire garment falls around her waist and the majesty of the maiden from High Garden is laid before him. There’s another rush of blood and almost instantly his manhood is raging, near desperate to be within her warmth. But not before a small bit more play occurs.

             Really he’d only been teasing, but the way Robb hovers over him in bed makes Theon’s knees weak ; and he’s not even standing. Valentines Day has never really been the Greyjoy’s thing — but this year it was special, this year he had Robb. He’d had him before sure but never like this, never in the way that had come to him in so many dreams and fantasies ; never in the way he’d ever thought he’d deserve.

Their lips collide like cosmic entities, each only ever having been destined for the other. It’s soft at first, sweet and supple, like honey dissolving in hot tea — the Stark tastes just as sweet. The heat brews through, as it always does when the pair locks lips as Theon’s free hand begins to travel up over his best friends hip, pulling him deeper into the embrace. He’s propped himself up on an elbow — but melts into the feather down mattress below them soon enough. Both hands then travel over Robb, etching each and every detail of his body into the Greyjoy’s mind. Soon enough his breath catches in his throat and the room becomes heavy with desire. It’s not long before Theon over powers him, using those sinewy arms to wrap around the Stark’s middle and flip him over, straddling him in the process.