#masseur!jon

Chapter 19

 Woken the dragon. Vis had always said that growing up, whenever she annoyed him—which was often. Now, staring down the barrel of his silver revolver, Daenerys felt another dragon wake inside her. A wild thing of rage and betrayal, ready to burn all who stood in her way. For herself. For Jon.

Viserys’s features were a narrower, masculine echo of her own. The expression he wore was one she recognized, composed but triumphant. Daenerys didn’t dare break eye contact, but she felt Ramsay looming behind her. On the edges of her periphery, she saw the car lurch and one, two, three bodyguards emerge. Ramsay jabbed the back of her head with the gun.

“Kneel,” he said. Daenerys did so. The bumpy asphalt dug into her knees. Five armed men twice her size and all she had was a two-bit nail.    

“Why?” she said, the word trembling in the air. Viserys’ face creased into a moue of displeasure.  

“I didn’t want all this, Dany. But you refused to cooperate.”

“Cooperate? What in the seven hells are you talking about?”              

“I thought you understood. The goal was to get it back, get everything back, no matter the cost!” Daenerys’ lips felt numb. She licked them, striving for patience, for calm. The tone she found was an old one, from when he would rage and throw things, railing at the unfairness of the world. A soothing medley.  

“To get our home back. I know, Vis. There’s been government red tape around Dragonstone. You’ve been to the meetings. We’re working on it.”

Dragonstone was their home, that was the thing that unified the two of them—the last Targaryens against the world.

“But the Dragon is mine! My birthright! A throne not meant for a sniveling girl who couldn’t keep her legs closed.” Gods, he was beyond his usual self-absorbed bullshit. This was some god-level projection coupled with delusions of grandeur. Daenerys went cold. Just like Dad. Still, the fire in her belly pushed words out before she could stopper them.  

“Dragon is mine, Vis. I built it. With my sweat and blood, I built it from the ground up. Breaking Chains as well.”

“Everything that is yours is also mine. I made you,” he hissed and prodded her forehead with the barrel of the gun, “If only you’d cooperated. Daario would--”

“What does Daario have to do with--” she began. Viserys slapped her so hard her cheek tingled and her ear rang.

With sudden blinding clarity, she understood. Viserys had taken loans from Stormcrow and had—she clenched her eyes shut at the fresh wave of betrayal. Two hot tears eked out. Daario had taken her as payment. Why else would Daario look so confused when she broke it off? Why else would Viserys demand she return to him, no matter the circumstances?

“You sold me.” Vis was unmoved.

“It worked out fine for you, didn’t it? You were even going to marry him. It was Daario who gave me the idea. He kept whining about the increased expense of your security detail after the death threats from the Harpies. They’re nothing but Ghiscari scum, they had no real power to make good on those threats.” Viserys’s lilac eyes took on a glazed, feverish shine.

“But then—ah ha!—think of the news coverage. The philanthropist CEO, Daenerys Targaryen, dedicated to bettering the downtrodden, slain by very villains she fought. So tragic. So cinematic. Dragon’s stock would go through the roof! Televise the funeral, rake in donations, weep a little for the cameras, and then . . . Dragon is mine and only mine. As it should be.” The tinny taste of blood leaked from the opened cut in her lip.  

“You’re insane,” she whispered. Viserys’s eye twitched and he gestured. Ramsay hauled her up by her bound hands. Pain shrieked through her shoulders and she bit back a cry. Ramsay drew a long, wicked knife and set it at the base of her throat.

“Oh yes, sweetling. We’ll get to play,” he whispered in her ear. Viserys stalked closer, patting Daenerys’ cheek with deceptive gentleness.

“You made it very difficult for me. You and this Jon Snow. It was a stroke of luck Ramsay extracted the name out of that Lorathi woman before she died. Such a little slut, aren’t you? How long had you been fucking the masseuse? He trotted after his bitch like you were in heat. I staged it to echo Dad’s death. Dirty and pathetic in an alley. My origin story, right? After my sister, my only family, dies tragically, I take up the reins of the company. Then you thwarted me. I admit, the machine guns on Loom Street were a bit much, but I was just so angry. Selmy was a good man, I trusted him. I do regret that.”

“You shot him in the street like a godsdamned dog! He--” Ramsay grazed her throat suggestively with the knife and Daenerys swallowed her choler.

Viserys plunged on as if he hadn’t heard her. Perhaps he didn’t.

“And then poof--” he snapped his fingers, “you dropped off the face of the earth! It wasn’t until I found the footage. You and Snow were still together. You sunk your hooks in deep, you wicked girl. Still, it’s a big world, and Snow had connections to Stark wealth, nearly as prodigious and ancient as the Targaryen’s. Lucky for me, Ramsay is a northman too. Loathes the Starks.”

“Self-righteous cunts,” Ramsay agreed.

“He thought to look for something smaller, more remote. And there it is, plain as day on public record microfiche, a deed for a house billed to Eddard Stark—Jon Snow’s father.” Jon. Dead. Burned to ash. A fresh wave of grief buffeted her.          

“Viserys, please,” she croaked, “I’ll step down. I’ll cede Dragon to you, I swear it. Just don’t do this.” He had the gall to look sad about it. He bent and kissed her forehead.

“I’m sorry, sweet sister. It has to be this way.”

Daenerys glared him down. She tucked the nail between her fingers. There was only one chance to use it. She dragged in a deep breath, her heartbeat thudding loud in her ears. Wait. Wait for the right moment. Viserys snapped his fingers, gesturing for one of the burly guards. Too much of a coward to pull the trigger himself. The shadow of a snake.

“You are no dragon,” she said, mutinous.

Bam!

Bam bam!

Daenerys blinked dumbly as one of the bodyguards crumpled, bleeding from behind the ear. Viserys was cursing and shouting, ducking behind the remaining two, who shot blindly into the thick woods surrounding the tarmac. The noise and smoke filled her senses. Shots went wild, cutting holes in the sedan like cheese. Shattered glass tinkled on the ground. Ramsay cursed. He dropped his knife to draw his gun, yanking her tight against him.

“You wouldn’t know anything about this, would you?” he hissed in her ear. I wish. Even if there was a park ranger or police officer who happened by, they would have announced themselves. Her security team was hundreds of kilometers away. And Jon was—Daenerys bit her lip.

The gunfire ceased. Her ears rang from the noise. Daenerys craned her head to look for Viserys. She saw his expensive leather shoes beneath the shattered door of the car, cowering. Where were the guards?

“Got him, Boss!” a rough voice said. Him? Her mystery defender? Her knees gave out when the burly men emerged from the brush.

“Jon?”

 ~

 Fuck. He was a fucking idiot. The calvary was on its way, all he had to do was stall. He could have picked off another one of the thick-necked fuckers, scared that chickenshit Viserys into spooking. On the other hand, seeing a gun pointed at his heart-and-fucking-soul made him a little twitchy. Jon had pushed the Old Bear’s beat-up truck to its limits to reach the airstrip, praying his hunch would pay off. And now all it did was get him a front-row seat to watching Dany die.              

The hunting rifle jammed, but he’d broken one of the goon’s jaw for his trouble. The utility knife was rolled in his sock, not that it did him much good at the moment. Goons One and Two had his arms in a lock behind his back, dragging him down the shallow hill to the tarmac. Dany’s sobs tore already pulverized heart into tinier shreds.

“Jon, Jon, I thought you were dead!” she said, her voice thick with tears. Jon flicked his gaze over her from her braid to her ziptied wrists to her bare feet. A bit battered, but whole, still—thank the gods. He turned his baleful gaze on the source of their misery. Viserys—the skinny little fuck—sneered at Jon. What kind of sick fuck wanted to assassinate his own sister?

“The unkillable Jon Snow.” Starks are hard to kill, Dad always said.

“The chickenshit Viserys Targaryen,” Jon shot back. Viserys made a curt shooing gesture.

“Gods. Let’s get this over with before anything else goes wrong. It’s going to cost me a fortune to clean all this up.”

“Boss, can’t I just shave off a--” The bug-eyed fuck who held Dany brandished the knife, nicking the curve of her jaw. Dany gasped, and Jon saw red watching the blood seep from the cut.

“Come try and shave off a bit of me, you little shit!” Jon shouted, lunging. He made a show of thrashing around until Goon Two backhanded him hard. He tasted blood, his ear rang. Jon sagged in their grip, snagging the knife with his fingertips.

“Shut the fuck up!” Viserys bellowed, shocking them all into silence. He jabbed a finger at the bug-eyed fucker.

“Ramsay, we’ve been over this. If you’d pulled off the job like you were supposed to, my sweet sister would be yours to play with as long as you like. As it is, I need her dead. Now. We have a schedule to keep.”

“What about the boyfriend?” Goon One said. Viserys scowled.

“He’s a complication. If he’s here in one piece and armed, he’s called the authorities.” Jon allowed a grim smile. If they made it out of here, Viserys would spend the rest of his pathetic life staring at the walls of Iron Island Penitentiary.

“We better move fast,” Ramsay said gleefully. Viserys kicked aside the body of one of his guards, fishing a pistol from a pool of blood with a moue of distaste.

“Yes, exactly. Any last words, Daenerys?” he said. Daenerys looked at Jon and in her violet eyes, he saw everything he ever wanted. Home. Gods, she was so beautiful.

“I should have told you before. I love you,” she said.

And the world exploded.

 ~

 “I love you.”

Daenerys slammed the nail up and back with all of her strength. It stuck and Ramsay’s shriek rang in her ear.

“You fucking bitch!”

Daenerys ducked down, scrambling away from a staggering Ramsay. Gods. She’d been lucky. Through the sieve of his clutching fingers, she saw the head of the nail stuck in Ramsay’s left eye. Blood and snot poured down his cheeks from his blinded eyes. A flurry of movement. Jon, struggling with the remaining bodyguards. Viserys advanced on her.

“Gods, you’re such a troublesome little cunt! I’ll be glad to be rid of you!” Spittle clung to his lips, his face an inhuman rictus of rage. Daenerys crawled back on her hands and bare feet, feeling the hot bite of the shattered glass.

“Vis, please!” Daenerys screwed her eyes shut.

The loud rapport of the gun.

Bam! Bam! Two shots. A heavy weight landing hard on her. Daenerys snapped her eyes open.

Jon.

Jon: between her and Viserys.

Jon: sticking a knife in Viserys. A struggle. Jon was stronger, skilled. He wrenched the gun away from Viserys. Snaked an arm around his neck, squeezing. Vis fell facefirst. She heard a crunch.

“Dany,” Jon wheezed.

Jon: bleeding.

“Gods, Jon. Jon, you’re shot,” she whispered, pressing at the sticky red spot growing on his chest, awkward with her hands still bound. His breath was wet, rasping.

“Dany.”

Daenerys cast a wild glance around. It looked like a battlefield with destroyed car, dead bodyguards, Ramsay writhing and cursing, Viserys in an awkward heap. And Jon, her hero, her love, bleeding in her arms. Blood made his shirt sticky, another wound in his thigh. No, no, no. She had nothing, nothing but her empty hands to help him.

“It’s ok, Jon. You’re going to be ok. You’re going to be fine,” she said, frantic. She’d seen the world without him. A bleak, lonely stretch of empty road. She couldn’t go back to that. Panic kept inching up her throat, strangling her. Hot tears coursed down her cheeks.

Daenerys looped her arms around his shoulders and heaved him up to rest on her knees. Jon grunted in pain, though his breathing was better. His beautiful eyes were dark with pain.

“Dany. Dany . . .” His brows puckered in a familiar intent scowl. She bent and rained kisses on his face, wishing there was more to do to help.

“Shh, don’t talk. Just focus on—”

“Dany, I love you. I was a . . . a coward before. I love you. Marry me.” There was barely enough breath to push the words out. A weak sob escaped her. Faintly, she heard the peal of a siren.

“Hold on, Jon. Help is coming! I love you, Jon. I love you. Hold on!”

Chapter 16

 Daenerys' heart stopped at Jon's piercing words. All yours. Gods help me. Daenerys shuddered, and not from the cold. She licked her lips, tasting rainwater and Jon. Struck speechless, Daenerys closed her eyes and leaned into the shelter of his body. 

The pier creaked beneath their feet; the lake lapped against the shore. Unable to bear his searching dark gaze, she buried her face in the side of his neck. Breathing in his masculine smell. Rainwater dripped annoyingly from his curls onto her closed eyelids but at the moment she couldn't bring herself to care. Beyond Jon's embrace, the cold was exhilarating. The air smelled of pine and water and mud, so fresh and clean it scored her lungs. Breathing in the glory of nature, she swayed with Jon. Dancing to the music of the rain. Contentment even in the silence: this was love. 

Daario, for all his charm, oftentimes left her feeling lonely, and mocked her for her neediness. Vis often did too. It wasn't until Jon appeared in her life that she realized how cold and sterile it had become. Even her engagement was a bloodless transaction. You give me something, I give you something. As soon as Jon's hands touched her, it was as if she'd awakened from a cold, empty sleep.

Jon Snow. She loved his care and focus, his hardworking nature, his fierce loyalty, his selflessness. Even his broody silences were something she admired. Both of them could whet quiet to an edge. Daenerys quailed at the breadth of feeling living in her chest. It shouldn't be possible, to fall in love in less than a week. But still . . . 

A gust of wind buffeted them and Daenerys shivered. Jon chafed her upper arms with his hands. 

"You're freezing. Let's go in," he said, his breath a phantom caress on her forehead. She nodded, half afraid she would blurt out those sweet words heavy on her tongue. She was freezing; she realized she couldn’t feel her fingertips. Goosebumps dimpling his arms, Jon gave her a crooked grin as they kicked off their sodden shoes and peeled off wet socks under the shelter of the porch. 

"I think we should try walking in the rain on Dragonstone. In the middle of summer. On the beach. Too cold up here," he said.

"I th—think you're right," she said, trying to stifle the chattering of her teeth. 

"Come here," Jon said, armed with a towel. He swathed her in it and Daenerys stopped him before his vigorous scrubbing turned her hair into an unmanageable tangle. 

"Thank you," she said, unwinding her braid. Daenerys frowned at the gleaming expanse of hardwood floors inside. Struck by inspiration, she spread her towel down and stepped on it.

"Good idea. Do we shuffle over to the stairs?" Jon asked with the crooked grin she loved best. Daenerys bit her lip. 

"Maybe it would be better to strip here. . . just so our clothes can soak."

Jon's eyes were slightly magnified by his rain-fogged glasses. Gods, he looked half-wild and hungry, framed by untamed nature and looking at her like that. It was like at the hotel when he said he would (and did, thoroughly and wonderfully) fuck her for hours. A hot tendril of desire coiled inside. Tingling heat unfurled in her cold-numbed limbs. 

"Yes. Strip for me," he said, watching with that hot, predatory energy. Sodden clothing didn’t lend to a seductive strip-tease, so Daenerys peeled off her soaked shirt and shucked off her jeans and stood shivering in her satin bra and panties. Anxiety assailed her. Distantly, she heard the phantom click of a gun. Her confidence disappeared, arousal evaporating. Breath came in sharp gasps. 

"Dany, come here. It's ok," Jon said huskily. When her frozen joints refused to unlock, Jon swept her up in his arms and carried her up the stairs, like something out of a romantic novel. Daenerys exhaled a shaky breath, burying her face in the side of his neck. Jon relinquished her only to flick on the heater and twist the tap on in the shower.

“Are you ok?” Jon asked softly, hovering anxiously. Biting her lip to keep them from quivering, Daenerys instead took refuge in the shower. The steamy heat enveloped her, making her numb hands tingle and burn as life seeped back in. Jon was watchful presence behind her, radiating concern. Embarrassed, Daenerys tilted her head back to let the hot spray pelt her face.

It was like stepping on a mine inside her head. The cold, the rain, a rough command. All of a sudden that giant man was there, and the gun—

It passed in an instant and it was Jon, her Jon, looking stricken as she shrank away from him.

“Dany? Are you ok?” he repeated. She swiveled around. Her face throbbed with the delicious heat of the shower. Jon’s frowning face watched her, almost warily. Gods, it was just like when she was a child, tiptoeing around her father’s mercurial moods. Though at least Jon was naked in the shower with her; she hadn’t scared him off yet.

“I’m fine. Embarrassed,” she said, her voice echoing in the stall. Jon took his turn under the water at her gesture.

“Embarrassed? Why? I’m the asshole who scared you.”

Searching for words, Daenerys wrung out her hair. She’d washed it yesterday. Margaery Tyrell had thoughtfully provided several varieties of body wash. Daenerys chose a cucumber mint and squeezed some on a washcloth.

“I like it when you order me around sometimes. It’s fun and sexy, turning my busy brain off for a while.”

Jon’s smile was almost smug, his dark eyes slid down her body possessively.

“I like it too,” he rasped. After a moment, the sexy heat dimmed in his expression. He raked a hand through his wet curls.

“Just lay out the rules for me so I don’t fuck it up. I never want to see you look at me like that again,” he said, accepting the fresh washcloth she offered. Daenerys bit her lip, torn between feeling touched and anxious.

“I—I wish I could tell you. Honestly, I don’t know what will trigger it. Just be patient with me.”

“Of course,” Jon said with a nod. He rinsed off and gestured for her to do the same. Gingerly dancing around her. It was on her tongue to chastise him, but she thought better of it. She rinsed and wrenched off the water.

Jon offered her a towel and took one for himself. Warm and plush under her hands. That’s nice, toasty from the heater. As she dried, her gaze drank in the shape of him, gleaming in the steam-fogged light like a god carved from marble. Water dripped from his hair to meander down the thick muscle of his back to the crease of his perfect arse. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her drooling at him. This smile was shy.

“I like that better. You looking like you want to devour me.” Dropping the towel, Daenerys watched him pump his thick cock and her mouth watered. Swallowing saliva, she found her voice.

“Jon,” she whispered. In entreaty. Alone together here, it was easy to forget the wheres and whys. Until anxiety ambushed her with a panic attack. Surprise. Great, now she was tongue-tied and frozen again.

“I have an idea,” Jon said, taking her hand and leading her into the bedroom. Daenerys’ heartbeat sped up, sweet-hot arousal beginning to thaw the ice inside her.

“Lie down on your stomach.”

Daenerys hid her grin as she understood his intent. This could be fun. All the sensuality of their first interactions with the added plus of being able to fuck each other senseless. Jon tugged the sheet and let it billow over her. Mm, the sheets smelled of him. Of them. Musk and sweat from great sex. She squirmed a little at the kindling of arousal.

Resting her head on her folded arms, Daenerys closed her eyes. Listening. A faint click as Jon turned off the overhead light. The muffled thump of his step on the carpet. A moment later, a gentle tap on the mattress beside her head.

“Miss Dany, I’m Jon. I’ll be your masseur again today. Any problem areas?” he asked in such a perfect echo of his calm professionalism that Daenerys nearly ruined it by laughing. Biting her lip to stifle a giggle, she gave a mute shake of her head.

“Ok. I’ll get started.”

He began with slow sweeps up her back, smoothed by sweet-smelling lotion. Was that coconut? Very nice. Mmm, gods yes. That same glorious magic in his hands. It made her paradoxically relaxed and aroused. Daenerys felt the nervy muscle tension unravel as he worked the knots from her neck with careful, patient kneading. There was something different about this massage that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Warmer, almost. Intimate, yes that was it. Jon had touched and licked and kissed almost every inch of her. Some secret inner knowing led him. He knew just where to touch to drive her mad with lust. Daenerys breathed something that might have been his name. Her nipples tightened to aching points. Her pussy throbbed already, wet and yearning for Jon to fill her.

Jon pressed both hands in a slow arc down her back. A sound left her, half-sigh, half-moan. So good. On the edges of her hearing, she heard the catch of Jon’s breath, a muttered curse. Daenerys grinned against the mattress. Turnabout was fair play, after all. Touching her drove him just as crazy. Jon continued, moving down her back, her hips, her hamstrings. He brushed away the tightness in her calves, gently tickled her toes. Every inch of her skin throbbed and glowed under his hands. At each turn, she arched into his touch, making breathy little sounds. Entirely genuine, just a mite amplified for his benefit.

“Turn over,” Jon said. There was none of that cool remote tone now. No, he sounded hungry, desperate. Daenerys obeyed, rolling on her back. Peeking through her lashes, Jon stood backlit by the dimmed lamp. She couldn’t see his face. Reaching out with her senses, she heard the faint rhythm of his breathing, felt the ghosting caress of his body’s heat. The anxiety of earlier was a distant memory. The throb of her heartbeat was loud in her ears, her chest heaving, sweat dewed on her skin. Relaxed. Alive. Silence stretched on between them.

“Gods, you’re gorgeous.” The touch of his hand on her shoulder, warm and heavy and immediate, almost startled her. Daenerys felt her face heat at his compliment and concentrated attention. Her hair was a mess, her skin blotchy from the shower and arousal. The faint puff of his breath as he leaned close, so close. His lips teased the shell of her ear.

“Where do you need me, Miss?” he asked.

“H—Here,” Daenerys said shakily, drawing his hand down to cup her breast. Jon made a pleased sound low in his throat. His fingers grazed feather-light in tightening circles on first one breast, then the other. Closer and closer, until at last, he touched her furled nipple. She never thought they were particularly sensitive, but Jon, true to form, was there to prove her wrong. Delicate shimmers of sensation followed the grazing caresses, sharpening at a sudden gentle pinch. Daenerys squirmed; fists balled in handfuls of sheet. A whimper was lodged in her throat. The ache worsened between her thighs, she clenched them together in a vain attempt to quell it. A shudder as Jon straddled her. So close, but not touching. Drawing it out.

“Relax, Miss. I’ll take care of you,” he whispered, his warm, wet tongue tracing her pulse at her throat. Daenerys gasped.

“Jon--”

His mouth closed over her nipple, hot and eager. Her cry lodged in her throat, Daenerys clung to fistfuls of his damp hair as he lapped and sucked torturously slow. Yes, yes. So good. She whimpered and strained until color burst behind her eyes. Pleasure rushed thick and sweet, ebbing to shivery little echoes. More, more, more.

“Fuck, Dany. That was beautiful,” Jon rasped. Daenerys dragged him up for a messy kiss. Jon’s hand delved between her thighs, circling her swollen clit. Oh gods. She thrashed beneath him as a second climax nipped at the heels of the first. Deeper, richer. He’d won, his magic hands had stoked her into a writhing mess.

“Jon, please.” His face filled her vision, pressed nose to nose. Those thick brows over rich dark eyes, soulful and shining. His full mouth, the angle of his jaw. Gods, she loved him. Now the trick was not to ruin everything by telling him so.

“Yes,” Jon hissed. A shift of weight, a long, sweet slide and he was seated deep. All thought flew from her head.

“Fuck,” she said, arching up into his driving hips. He was made for her. Daenerys twined her limbs around him as he began to move, deep and slow.

“So wet, baby. You’re so wet for me,” Jon said, nuzzling her hair as he thrust. She was. The slick slap as he thrust in was almost obscene.

“Yes. More, Jon. Harder,” she said, spurring his buttocks with the sting of her nails. The pace sped up as they twisted and writhed together. The pleasure built up again, a delicious tension winding tighter and tighter until it snapped and she was flooded with pleasure. Overwhelmed, and yet so greedy.

Daenerys twisted him beneath her. Heat poured off her like a fever. He was a fever. In her blood, her soul. Everything was a soft-focus blur. The only thing tangible and real was Jon. She braced her hands on his chest and rode him hard until her vision whited out in a paroxysm of bliss. Primed for more. She was a glutton for him, she always needed more. More of his voice, his heart, his body. Jon dug his heels into the bed, thrusting up as he guided her down. Deep. Touching that unbearably sensitive spot inside her. It didn’t take long before he had her seizing up again. Jon sat up, twining his arms around her. Nestling his face against her breasts. The prickle of his beard stubble tingled. Threading his hands through her hopelessly tangled hair, he tugged her down for a kiss.      

“Fuck, Dany. I love watching you come. You’re so. Fucking. Sexy.” He punctuated each word with a languid, open-mouthed kiss on her smiling mouth. Flushed and glowing, Daenerys chuckled.

“Right back at you, Mr. Snow.” She squeezed her inner muscle around the delicious heft of his cock. Still so hard. He hadn’t come yet. Jon growled. Daenerys kissed him, long and slow, matching the thrusts of her tongue with sinuous movements of her hips.

“What do you need?” she whispered, watching his face, his eyes. Panting, mouth slack, eyes avid on hers.

“You. Just you,” he said. The words touched that sweet melty place in her chest.

“Gods, Jon.”

They were back at it again, fucking each other like the world was ending. A language their bodies knew well. She nipped at his mouth, he tugged her hair. A faint, delicious sting as he moved inside her. Each thrust making all those sweet spots inside light up and sing. Daenerys’ breath came in short, sharp pants, feeling the tension gather in Jon. She craved his pleasure as if it were her own.

“Dany!” he cried as he came. Yesss she loved to feel him fall apart inside her, the heat of his come. Locked in wordless ecstasy, they rocked together. Delirious with pleasure, boneless.  She slumped on his heaving chest, the thunder of his heartbeat loud in her ear. Jon cursed as he caught his breath. Daenerys smiled, snuggled into his side. Mmm, she loved that slightly sore lassitude that followed their lovemaking. Outside the din of heavy rain on the roof. Nothing could be better. They dozed in peaceful silence.

~

 Seven fucking hells. Here he was, picking up the shattered pieces of his psyche. Again. I love you, marry me. It was the gods’ honest truth, and he ached to tell her so. Jon played out that scenario in his head. She would try to let him down easy. A classy lady like Daenerys, she would thank him for everything and disengage. If not running for the fucking hills, then more subtly. He couldn’t take even the thought of distance, of anything less than her right next to him.

Jon would have to be very careful. Not only because she’d been through some fucking nasty shit in the past week, but because she deserved it. Daenerys deserved to be courted, adored. After the appropriate amount of time, he’d blow every crown to his name on a ring. Conflict-free, of course. Philanthropist like her wouldn’t take anything less. Maybe take her somewhere beautiful for just the two of them. Only then could he say those words. I love you, marry me. He wasn’t a bleeding poet, but he could tweak the speech. The plan appealed to him. He could do it. He could play it fucking cool until he could muster up something worthy. Jon stroked her back, finger-combed her hair to occupy his restless hands.

“You’ll have to teach me the basics of massage. I feel like such a glutton, you taking care of me like that,” she said. The mental image of a naked Daenerys straddling his back made his spent cock twitch in interest. Jon snorted.

“A glutton? Come on. Is that something The Asshole would say?” he asked, peering down at her. Daenerys rolled up on her side, pillowing her head in her cupped palm. She rolled her eyes at him.

“It wasn’t always bad. Daario could be very charming. In the beginning, it was good.” The end was a fucking train wreck, catching him cheating red-handed with a coworker.

“I get it. My high school girlfriend, Ygritte, she was such a spitfire. Always in your face. Forthright, honest, real. It was refreshing.”

“What happened with her?”

Jon shrugged.

“She broke my heart. Met some other guy at uni. I don’t really remember the hows and whys. It was like she shot me in the chest when I found out.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” she said, taking his hand and kissing it. Jon shrugged again, uncomfortable. The memory didn’t hurt any more. The women since Ygritte had been sporadic and hadn’t lasted longer than two weeks. The unanimous opinion was that he was cold, distant. Jon wondered if something was broken in him. All this time, he’d been waiting around, looking for Daenerys.

“Don’t worry about it. Ancient history.”

His thoughts circled around the plan like a shark around its prey. How would he do it? A nice restaurant with champagne? No, too cliché. Too overdone. She’d mentioned Dragonstone, and walking in the rain with her mom.

“Speaking of ancient history . . . did you say you grew up on Dragonstone?” He felt rather than saw the change in her. A flinch, like he’d pressed on a bruise.

“It’s . . . not a nice story.” Shit. He’d gone and ruined the mood.

Jon shifted on his side to face her, dragging up the sheets and comforter to ward off the settling chill. Daenerys casually combed his wayward curls behind his ear. The tenderness of the gesture made him melt.

“What happened?” he asked. There was steel in her expression, that glow in her ocean eyes that warned any errant bastard that she was irate.

“I don’t know if you follow politics much, but my father lost his bid for reelection.” Jon snorted.

“Yeah, and they elected that drunk Robert Baratheon in his place as PM.”

“What was not public knowledge was that my father borrowed heavily from my mother’s trust to pay for his campaign. He died not long after that, leaving a mountain of debt. Then Mother got sick.” Divorce. Death. Illness. Gods, her family had suffered more in a year than most did in their whole lifetimes.

There was sick feeling in his stomach. He could piece together the rest, but she seemed locked into the telling.

“I had another brother. Rhaegar. Mother loved all those old Targaryen names.”

“I—I never heard of that,” Jon said. The smile she gave him broke his heart too.

“He died before I was born. The same cancer Mother got. The doctors said there is a genetic marker.”

“Fuck, Dany,” Jon said, fear sharp in his voice. She kissed his knuckles. Comforting him while she relived the worst moments in her life.

“Don’t worry. Vis and I were tested. We don’t have the gene. Small blessings, I guess. Anyway, after the campaign, the divorce, Father’s debt, the trust was depleted. Vis and I sold off our treasures to pay for Mother’s treatment. We lost the house not long after she died.”

“Gods. I can’t imagine how hard that was.” Tears shone in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

“That’s our ultimate goal, Vis and I. We swore we’d get our home back.” Jon drew her into an embrace, nestling her against his chest. He petted her hair and crooned nonsense for a long time. Dragonstone was still a good idea. Maybe he could rent a boat and sneak her onto the island. Walk on the beach. Kiss in the moonlight. It could be nice. A thought occurred to him.

“Why haven’t I heard much about Viserys? Shouldn’t he be a VP or something at Dragon?”

Daenerys snorted against his chest, her breath a ticklish caress.

“He was for a long time. COO, even. But Vis is more a gambler than a stockbroker. His decisions nearly bankrupted Dragon. The Board and I voted him out. That hurt him. He saw it as betrayal.”

“But you guys are good now?” Daenerys pulled a face.

“Vis is a controlling bastard, just like our father was. He tries, but none of it sticks. Not anymore.”

“Of course not,” Jon agreed. Daenerys smiled at him. Gods, he could moon over the details for hours. How her eyes crinkled. Her white teeth. The faint dimple on one cheek.

“Do you think Robb and Margaery left stuff for hot chocolate? I’d like to try your friend’s recipe,” she said, rolling out of his embrace to stand.

“Who knows? Margaery takes the role of hostess/outfitter very seriously.” Daenerys giggled.

“You’re not kidding,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom. Through the door, he heard the drone of the hairdryer. Jon thumped his head back on the pillow. If Jon had his way, they’d laze around in bed. But then again, snacks did sound good. A distant grumble of thunder. The rain had settled in. Jon riffled through the bag of clothes Robb left for a pair of athletic pants and a clean shirt. Daenerys left her hair elastic on the bedside table; Jon confiscated it for his own hair.

The den beckoned with its potbellied cast iron stove, heap of blankets and cozy couch. On rainy days just like this one, he and his siblings would argue on who could pick the next board game or movie. Snuggled next to Daenerys whiling away a rainy day, Jon couldn’t think of a single damn thing to make it better.

“Jon?”    

Jon turned from feeding firewood into the stove to find Daenerys standing there in a sheer purple nightgown, the hem ending tantalizingly at mid-thigh. Flushed from the dryer, her hair a silky cascade down her back.

Chapter 15

 Jon woke to the now-familiar torment of Daenerys curled into the curve of his body. Predictably, his morning erection ached against the small of her back. Fuck, he was ruined for sex without her now. That wicked combination of sincerity and shyness, hunger and trust made for a potent cocktail. He was hooked. Strung out on it. Just thinking about it made him want her again.

“Dany,” he whispered, floundering through her thick curtain of hair. Dany shifted in his arms, rolling over to look at him.

“What time is it?” she asked around a yawn. Jon groped for the square burner phone on the nightstand.

“Shit. We slept in. It’s ten after ten,” he said.

“Mmm, I never sleep this late. Only when I’m with you. I can’t seem to want to get out of bed,” she said with a shy smile. Gods, he was truly fucked. Head over ass in love with her.  

“Me neither. I can’t stop wanting this,” Jon said, leaning close to kiss her. It started as a simple brush of lips, meant to be sweet and playful. Also, predictably, the passion caught, and soon they were kissing madly. Daenerys rolled on top of him, her mouth hot and greedy on his. Jon hummed against the seal of her mouth, hands kneading her back. His stomach gave a long embarrassing growl. Daenerys stopped all manner of delicious grinding and kissing, to his dismay. The sight of her flushed and smiling above him, violet eyes almost glowing in the half-dark, made his heart stutter in his chest.

“Maybe we need breakfast before we start up again,” she said. Jon pulled her down for another lingering kiss. He nibbled on the plush softness of her lower lip.

“Later,” he said, his voice sleep-rough and husky.

Daenerys hummed in agreement, her tongue slipping into his mouth. Jon slid his hands over the sweet lines of her body. The ticklish caress of her hair, the bumps of her vertebrae, the soft plumpness of her arse. He spread her cheeks, settling her on his hips. His cock throbbed, trapped against his belly. Daenerys broke the kiss, moving to suck along his jawline, down his throat. Half-smothered by her hair, Jon shivered at the delicate scrape of her teeth.

“Dany,” he gasped. She arched her hips in sinuous little circles, lubing him up. Jon thumped his head back on the pillow. If she kept that up, he might come before he was even inside her. The sawing of his breath rang in his ears. Breathe it down, breathe it down, idiot! He sucked in air, breathing in the lavender tang of her shampoo, the sweat and musk of sex. Jon’s hands gripped her hips, trying to urge her up, to take him inside.

“Hmm-mm, not yet,” Daenerys breathed in his ear, bending to suckle his nipple. Pleasure was a sharp-sweet burn. Sweat broke out on his face and chest.

“Please,” he whispered, reaching between them to fist his cock. Fuck, her pussy was so slick and hot against the backs of his fingers.

Daenerys rose above him, batting away his hand. Grinning wickedly, she moved above him, rubbing her clit against the weeping head of his cock. Glancing touches. Not enough. Jon uttered a sound caught between a whine and a groan. At last, she took pity on him. A breathless slide down. A slow, rocking rhythm. Yesss. Jon gasped, shuddering. Gods, she was so hot and wet around him. A silken heaven made just for him. Despite all she’s been through, Daenerys was so sweet and open with him. His eyes fogged up. Fuck! Jon clenched his eyes shut, feeling a tear leak out.

“Jon?” Daenerys said, soft with concern. Jon hid his face in his hands.

“I’m ok,” he bit the words out. Hated the thick, hoarse tone. A hot knot of emotion choked him. How fucking embarrassing! Getting all weepy during sex. Daenerys peppered his hands with kisses.

“Come here,” she whispered. Jon let her peel away his hands and sought her mouth. That was better. The hot magic of their kisses. Jon fisted handfuls of her silky silver hair, holding her head as he fucked her mouth with his tongue. Panting, she peeled back. She was so beautiful. Eyes dark with pleasure, a sheen of tears making them shine. Oh Dany, I love you. Be with me. The words rested on his tongue. He swallowed them.

“Dany, fuck me,” he said instead. Daenerys bit her lip, nodding. Straightening above him, hands braced on his chest, Dany did her level best to fuck him into the mattress. Hard, heavy strokes. Her breasts jiggled gloriously with each thrust. Through the wild veil of her hair, her lip curled into a snarl.

“Uhh, you feel so good inside me. I love having your cock in me,” she said. Jon groaned, his arousal skyrocketing up toward madness. Yesyesyes he wanted to drink her in, drown in her juice, fuck her until he couldn’t remember what it was to be without her. The madness of passion was easier than surrendering his own soul to her. The bed squeaked beneath them. He felt the tension building, heard it in her grunting little cries. He braced his heels on the bed, guiding her down, kneading her clit with his pelvis.

“Jon!” she cried as she came. Slick inner muscle fluttered around his cock, milking him. He couldn’t hold back, couldn’t so much as whimper as he came. Hot pulses of come filling her. Behind his eyes was a red-black nothing, shot through with gold. A warm, sweet emptiness where there was only him and Dany. When he could marshal his vocal cords, he hissed her name. The intensity never slackened. Nope, it was world-ending orgasms along with soul-deep intimacy. A dangerous combination. How was it this good, every time? He'd been in love before, years ago with Ygritte, and it had been that sweet consuming passion of first love. Even that paled in comparison to what he felt now.

An idle passing thought remarked on the glut of unprotected sex. Going at it every chance he got since nearly the day he met her. He always wore a condom. Always. Jon couldn’t bear the thought of getting a woman pregnant. Like father, like son. Ned Stark was a great man in many ways, and Jon adored him, but Jon could never forgive him for the circumstances of his birth. And yet . . . when he thought about Dany pregnant with his child, there was none of the ubiquitous self-loathing he usually felt whenever the thought crossed his mind. No. It terrified and delighted him in equal measure. Maybe she would marry him if she got pregnant. Maybe she would feel trapped in a relationship with him.

"Fuck," he whispered as the thunder of his heartbeat began to slow. He shoved that train of thought down deep. It didn’t matter. She was on birth control. And they had bigger problems at the moment. Daenerys gave a soft laugh.

"Eloquent as always," she said, resting her chin on his chest. Thank the gods, he could grope his way back to playful lightness. No declarations of undying love, no vows of willing sexual slavery, no blurting out worries about babies. Jon grunted, giving her ripe arse a light smack. Dany squeaked, squirming in his grip. After some playful back and forth, she nestled into his side with a sigh. The silver tumble of her hair tickled his nose but he couldn't stir himself enough to care.

Outside, he could hear the musical din of rain on the roof, and a distant grumble of thunder in counterpoint. Perfect day to laze around indoors. Or better yet, in bed.

"I love rainy days. Especially when you don't have to work. I wonder how long we can stay. It's . . . nice being here with you," he said. Wan, weak words but true nonetheless. He hoped she wouldn’t bring up his earlier weepiness.

"We could stay here a thousand years and no one would ever find us," she whispered. Fuck me. Humor, sweetness, and a deep romantic streak. In seconds, he was right back in that emotional loop. Jon's throat closed at the sentiment.

"W--We'd be very old," he croaked finally. Daenerys snorted, leveling a narrow violet look.

"Yes, well come on. I'm hungry."

Daenerys, true to form as a high-strung intellectual, was hopeless in the kitchen. The steak from the fridge was in the oven, warming in a puddle of butter and thyme. Jon set her to the task of scrambling the eggs. Salt, pepper, and a touch of milk.

"Don't rush it, Dany," Jon said, covering her hand with his on the spatula and moderating her stirring.

"It looks good enough to me," she said. The yellow puddle of egg began to congeal in the pan. A suggestive wiggle of her hips teased his groin. Jon hummed, his free hand splayed on her hip. Gods, breathing her in, teasing and touching together doing something as mundane as cooking breakfast. It made him feel giddy. Or worse, lovestruck.  

"If we do it my way, it'll be edible," Jon whispered the words, punctuating them with a nibble on the curve of her ear. Her silver hair lay piled in a messy bun on top of her head, smelling of lavender shampoo and the faint tang of sweat. Hmm, she was certainly edible.

"Such exacting standards, Chef Snow," Daenerys said in a breathy tone. Jon let her stir, his hands dipping low to find the sash of her robe. Underneath, she wore a purple bra and matching panties, a shiny satin kind. Jon slipped his hand in the cup of her bra, teasing her nipple with his thumb. Couldn't keep his hands off her. Drinking in the neat shape of her, the warm energy humming on her skin.

An acrid smell curled in his nose. The roasted rosemary potatoes smoked on the island burner. Jon cursed as Dany laughed. Jon lunged and snagged the skillet. A bit over-brown on the bottom.  

"Looks like I'm not the only one who's distracted," she said. Jon pulled a face in her direction while trying to salvage the potatoes.

The eggs were perfect. Fluffy and hot. The steak miraculously didn't overcook, but stayed a tender medium. Jon usually preferred his steak a bit rarer, but not bad for reheating. They both tucked in. He loved her tidy table manners, even sitting cross-legged with her robe half undone. The silence was companionable as they ate.

From the kitchen nook, the two of them could look out at the expense of the lake reflecting the deep stormy grey of the sky. Jon watched the evergreen trees sway and the rain ripple like curtains in the wind. All the terror and noise of the past couple days melted away.

"Mm, the potatoes are delicious. A bit of a smoky flavor," she said with a wink. Jon's heart stopped. In that moment, across the breakfast table after a teasing joke, he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life making her happy. Some of the humor bled from her expression as he stared, trying to jumpstart his short-circuiting brain.

"I'm sorry. I--"

"I--It's not my fault my kitchen assistant drives me distraction," he said at last.

Daenerys rolled her eyes, but the wattage of her smile returned. Jon scooped a bite of egg onto his jellied toast. Get it together. Eat your fucking breakfast.

"Yuck," Daenerys said, pointing to his toast with the prongs of her fork. Grateful for the distraction, he mustered a smile as he chewed.

"You think this is bad? Robb likes mustard on his eggs," Jon said. Daenerys wrinkled her nose.

"Mustard? The only good thing on eggs is hot sauce," she said, around a bite of steak.

"Objection, Counselor," Jon said in his best lawyer voice. Daenerys straightened in her chair, like a queen on her throne.

"Overruled. Hot sauce makes everything better. Let the record show that my opposing counsel is agreeing with me," she said. Jon chuckled, leaning back in his chair. He took a sip of tea from his mug. Delicious. The tea was a bold variety from here in the North, softened with a bit of honey. It tasted like home.

“I’m stuffed,” he said. Daenerys murmured in agreement, snagging one last bite of egg off his plate. Casually, she took his hand. A comfortable silence fell between them as they sipped their tea and watched the rain.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you and your family once all this is over. How about an island? I can buy you an island in the Summer Isles.”

Jon uttered a startled laugh even as he winced inwardly. The chasm between them yawned wide. A billionaire lawyer and a two-crown construction worker? A Targaryen princess and a bastard-born black sheep? In the grand scheme of things, the money didn't matter. He was proud of what Dany had achieved, at such great personal cost. Kicking ass and spitting fire, he liked her best that way. Still . . . his pride smarted a little.

"Aim smaller," he said, occupying his hands with his mostly empty tea cup. Daenerys nibbled on her lower lip in a way that was deeply distracting. 

"You're right. Individualized gifts are better. Vis has a bunch of old Targaryen memorabilia. Bran might like that. A new sloop for Rickon, a trip to the Arbor for-" Jon stoppered the sweet words with his mouth. Daenerys' lips moved, sliding against his. Pleasure was a slow, building throb. 

Fuck. He was stuck right back in the thick of it. Words of undying devotion bubbled up and stuck in the back of his throat. Jon wanted to sweep the dishes off the table and ravish her right there. Just listening to her talk about gifts for his family made the future so achingly tangible. Instead, Jon kissed her, stretched awkwardly over the table (and he was pretty sure his elbow was in the butter). It didn't matter. The world fell away when Daenerys Targaryen kissed him. Jon tugged her arms and she obeyed, climbing into his lap. Tangled together. Making out like teenagers. 

"What was that for?" She asked when they broke away to breathe. Violet eyes dark as twilight, Dany was just as affected as he. Jon nuzzled her cheek with his nose, pecking soft kisses on chin, her jaw, her throat. Mmm, he loved that little shiver when he found a sensitive spot. 

"You're just so . . . so . . . good," he said, cringing at the inane wording. He wasn't a bleeding poet. Daenerys watched him flail with a gentle smile.

"You've worked hard to get where you are, but you still care about the little guy. It's a noble thing." The smile faded. 

"Don't build me up into some shining paragon. I'm not perfect. Rising Dragon has so many arms in so many areas, I can't manage them all. And look at what my good intentions have done. A trail of bodies littered behind me." Jon playfully pinched her arse, earning a squeak.

"Fuck that. You're not responsible for the decisions others make."

Daenerys heaved a sigh. 

"Yeah. Hero complex. I can't help it," she said. Her gaze wandered to the rainy day outside.

"Let's take a walk."

"In this?" Jon said with an incredulous look, “I seem to remember a certain someone hating the rain.” Daenerys squinted at him.  

"I was unprepared. I seem to recall I was in spike suede heels and a silk shirt at the time. Under normal circumstances I love walking in the rain. Before Mother got sick, we would walk all over Dragonstone in the rain," she said softly. The words stirred an ancient grief for his own mother. Jon coughed.

“Let’s go, then,” he said.

They chatted as they cleaned up their breakfast dishes and dressed. Robb had left him some of the clothes left at Winterfell, supplemented by a few of Margaery’s purchases. He chose old denim jeans and a black t-shirt. Daenerys joined him downstairs in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, her hair in a single braid down her back. Jon opened the door to a gust of cold, rain-scented air swirled around them.

                                                         ~

 The rain was a cold, heavy pounding on her head and shoulders, soaking her to the skin within minutes. Cold! A gust of wind blew in from the lake, buffeting the two of them. Daenerys heard Jon curse and she uttered a shaky laugh. Northern thunderstorms were much colder than she was used to. Daenerys breathed deep of the cold, crisp air. Gods, she loved this. The peace of nature and solitude washed over her soul. Jon’s hand was warm in hers. She couldn’t look at him very long. Sustained eye contact meant she’d tumble into those dark eyes and get lost. After yet another devastatingly erotic and emotional sexual encounter this morning, Daenerys couldn’t deny it another second. Somewhere amidst the craziness of the past five days, she’d fallen in love with Jon Snow.

The ground squelched underneath their feet as they walked. Daenerys kicked water from a few puddles.

“Are you sure about this? We might catch pneumonia.”

“Where is your northern stoutness? We’ll walk to the pier and back. Besides, part of the fun is the getting clean and warm after. That tub in the bathroom looks nice,” she said. Jon’s slow, sultry smile stole her breath.

“Or the hot tub?”

“There’s a hot tub?” Daenerys asked, nudging his hip with hers playfully, “Jon Snow, you’ve been holding out on me.”

On the pier, surrounded by the din of the rain, Jon tugged her close. Their breath mingled in a thin white cloud. His face filled her vision, brooding and soulful and so overwhelmingly handsome. The kiss tasted like rain and home. Jon pressed her hand over his heart.