Arya had been climbing down and into his room since she discovered that her bedroom was placed directly above his when she was five. She still remembered how shocked he was, age eight, to find his little sister standing there waiting for him as he came in from a dip in the hot springs, smiling and waving her chubby little fingers. “Did you know that your room is directly below mine?”
That was the first time she came into his room, though it was not (by far) the last. Arya found herself climbing into his room every time she got in a fight with her mother or the Septa about how she was not a lady, any time Theon and Robb would not let her play fight with them, every time Sansa and Jeyne would tease her and call her Arya Horseface, anytime she had a nightmare or worry that would not let her sleep. But it was not just that—she would climb into the room anytime her mother acted cold to him, anytime someone reminded him he was just a bastard, anytime he was hurt by being left out because society dictated it—any time he just looked sad at dinner, she would climb down wanting to do nothing more than rub the worry from his face. Jon had kept his shutters unlatched ever since that first night he had found Arya in his room, and Arya took full advantage of this.
When they were younger, they played games together, finding delight in just being able to play when they were supposed to be asleep—but as they had grown older, the time together had been one for them to speak freely, to say those things they never did in front of ‘polite society.’ Arya would often say she hated whichever sibling had slighted her that day, and Jon would tell her honestly how it had felt when their father had left him behind at Catelyn’s insistence since he would never be the true heir of Winterfell. They had been close before she had started sneaking into his room, but their near nightly talks were what cemented their relationship. They would spend anywhere from just a half hour to all night in the other’s presence, and it never seemed to grow old between them.
It was eleven years later and, unbeknownst to them (or perhaps just not acknowledged), the last time she would ever do so when she called into his room the night before he left for the Wall and she left for King’s Landing. Arya had been coming down with more frequency ever since the King’s arrival in Winterfell (ever since she knew their time together was growing short), and these past two weeks she had been coming down every night. Tonight there as a desperate sense of urgency, she had barely waited her usual twenty minutes after her bedtime before she had scaled the wall, found her footholds, and swung into his room through the open shutters. Especially since she knew their time together was now only numbered in the hours.
She was in his room before he was, pacing the floor when she heard footsteps approaching and she stopped, her smile growing. She considered flying to the door and flinging it open, flying into his arms, but those thoughts were gone the second she heard voices on the other side. Theon’s was the most easy to recognize, his Ironborn accent standing out, “It’s your last night as a free man, Jon, you’re coming into town with us, and we are getting you some quality time with the girls.”
Arya froze, her heart stopping as she heard Robb’s laughing voice join in, “It’s your last chance to have your first time before the Wall, brother. Come on.”
Arya had felt an odd sickness as Jon replied, not that she could hear the words, as his usual deeper, soft voice did not carry through the wood of his door. It did not need to though—Arya knew what Jon would say. It was his last night before he took the black, swearing off all women for all time—she knew what any male would do in his situation, even if she were only sixteen. So, without a second’s hesitation, Arya went to the window and made the easy climb up to her own room, closing her shutters behind her, latching them.
She sat on her bed, facing the wall, drawing up her knees to her chin, as she frowned at nothing in particular. So her brother was going to go to a brothel. Who cared? It was his last time to have sex—why should it bother her that he wanted to? It really was none of her business…then why did she have this weird ache in her heart? The odd urge to cry, and rage, and throw-up, all at the same time?
She was unaware of how long she sat like that, trying to pretend everything was fine, but she was pulled from her thoughts when she heard a knocking on her shutters. Arya’s head popped up as she stared at the window, confused at the sound—was it the wind knocking a branch against her shutters? Arya frowned though as the knock came again, more persistent and rhythmic, so she walked over to her shutters, curious, unlatching them, pulling them open. She blinked in surprise when she saw Jon’s smiling face staring back at her. “Jon, what are you doing here?”
He climbed in, past her, and frowned, looking at her room. Instead of answering her question, he walked over to where she kept her most prized possessions on her bureau studying them. There was a picture of the warrior her mother had given her on her last birthday, a necklace that had once been Lyanna’s from her father, a few odds and ends of other things that she had collected herself—and basically anything Jon had ever given her. From the first winter rose he had plucked for her, that lay there withered and dried, to his gifts for her trip down south, and everything and anything in between. He picked up a rock they had once found on the shore of the river together, calling it her wishing stone when she was six, rubbing it between his fingers. “You know, I’ve never been in your room before.”
Arya frowned at him, her earlier anger replacing her curiosity as she stalked over and plucked the rock out of his hands, thumping it against the wood. She crossed her arms when she looked up at him, unable to hide her anger (not that she was trying hard), “Then what are you doing in it now?”
Jon looked at her, giving her one of his faint smiles, though she could see the hesitation in his eyes as he observed her. “You did not come down.”
She waited for more, but it did not come, and her mouth tightened, though she just shrugged. He looked at her, head quirked, as if trying to understand her, but instead he just turned to sit on her bed, facing her as he patted the spot next to him. She ignored it and walked past him to the other side of the bed so that he had to turn his shoulder to face her. “I wanted to make sure we got to say goodbye, just me and you, before I left.”
Arya felt that odd burning in her stomach at him being here, on her bed. She wondered if he had just come back from the whorehouse with Theon and Robb, and had come here just to say goodbye to his little girl of a sister. “Well you’ve said it, so good-bye.”
Jon stood again, moving closer to her, his face confused, closed off, “Arya, what is the matter?”
Arya turned from him, wishing she could answer him without getting as emotional as she was, without feeling the sting of tears behind her eyelids. “Nothing is the matter. Just go, Jon.”
Jon’s hand landed on her shoulder, and she shrugged it off, refusing to face him, “Thank you for coming by, but I am sure you have better things you need to do tonight. Like go to a whorehouse. Just leave me alone.”
She had not meant to say the words out loud, but they had tumbled out, sure as daylight, and she put her hands over her mouth, as if that would catch them from falling out.
She felt Jon’s hands on her shoulders turning her, and she did not fight him, only keeping her head down as he looked at her. One of his hands came up under her chin, making her look at him, though she still kept her focus over his shoulder, sure the sheen of tears was obvious in her eyes. “What did you say?”
She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but he was stronger, and older, and taller and she could not. So she only wrapped her arms around her midsection, still not meeting his eyes, “It does not matter. I am just your little sister.”
Jon chuckled at her, shaking his head, “There is no just about that statement Arya. Don’t you know how special you are to me?” When she did not answer, he sighed, letting her go, as he moved away from her, towards the window. “I see you are upset. I’ll let you be, Arya.” He paused when he reached her window, though, turning back, “I did not go with Theon or Robb, if that was what you heard them saying to me earlier. I entered my room right after they asked me to go, after I said no, and saw that my shutters were wide open—I was wondering when you would come back down, but you never did…I just…I thought to say goodbye before tomorrow.”
Arya cursed herself in that moment, cursed whatever bout of foolishness had caused her to feel sick at the thought of Jon spending his last night with any woman other than her, and reminded herself that this was their last night together for a long time. “Jon, wait…don’t go. I’m…I’m sorry.”
Jon turned back to her, watching her carefully with those grey eyes that mirrored her own, frowning as he took a step forward. He took another step forward, and cupped her cheek, looking down into her eyes. Arya looked up into his eyes, seeing something darker shift there, but then he smiled, pulling her into a hug, “It’s okay. There’s nothing to be sorry for. We’re both emotional, with leaving tomorrow and everything…is it—is it okay if I stay?”
Arya squeezed him back, ignoring the odd, uncomfortable thumping of her heart as she held him close, inhaling the woodsy scent that would always remind her of home—and of him. “Of course Jon, a million times yes. There is no one I would rather spend time with.”
She let him go, grabbing his hand, and pulling him down to her bed with her as she sat cross legged, looking at him, glad they were back to their usual selves as she made him tell her, all over again, what his new life would be like.
They stayed up late, talking about their hopes and dreams for the future, the candles that were illuminating her room growing low. She was not sure when they dozed off, but Arya found herself awoken by troubled dreams of the forest, and of a kill, fresh in her mouth. It was odd but forgotten as she blinked her eyes open, and found herself staring up at her sleeping brother, a smile forming on her face. This was not the first time they had fallen asleep like this, him flat on his back, her curled to his side, draped over his chest, his arm hooked around her back, holding her to him—but, she thought wistfully, it might be the last. She studied her half-brother, using the first rays of the day to look at him, wondering when she would see him again.
It was unfair that they were going South, and Jon was going North. They had never spent more than a few weeks apart before—she wondered how long it truly would be before she saw him again. Weeks? Months? It could not be more than months. They would come back to Winterfell to visit the family if nothing else, and Jon would certainly come home and visit if he knew she was there.
She frowned as she saw his face scrunch, then relax in his sleep, wondering what life on the Wall would truly be like for him. She knew the words of the vow as well as he did at this point (mainly because she had asked for them, over and over again), and she found herself walking her fingers up his firm chest as she whispered them, “Hear my words and bear witness to my vow. Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until….”
She paused, flattening her hand over his softly thumping heart, always hating the finality of the next words, her voice trailing off. She was surprised when Jon’s voice came out, soft and low, rumbling in his chest, “Until my death.”
She looked up at him, saw his grey eyes blinking down at her, and she tried to give him a tentative smile, but he urged her on, grabbing the hand that was flat on his chest in his warm, callused palm, “You know the rest.”
Arya shifted so she was facing him more, her leg curving over his knee as she lay flat, half-on, half-off him. His arm that had been flat against her back curved around her waist, his palm flat against the small of her back, and he started to rub small circles there, soothing her, as her voice came out soft and so unlike her. “I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no…” she paused again, but continued when he squeezed her hand, “children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall,” Arya was ashamed that her voice wobbled at the next part, “Live and die at my post.”
Jon watched her, frowning at something, before he shifted the hand that was covering hers, running it under her eye instead, bringing it back to show her the wetness there. “Hey, what’s this now? Why are you crying?”
Arya, furious at herself for letting such a stupid emotion out, furiously scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, “I’m not. I’m not crying.” He chuckled, and she felt the vibrations from where she lay, her hand flat on his ribs, her chin on top of it, “It’s just so sad, Jon. Why do you have to make those promises? Why do you have to go so far North that you’ll think Winterfell is warm? Why can’t you come with us?”
Jon gave her a sad sort of smile then, the one he had that broke her heart. “Because, Arya, it is the only place I can go. I can’t follow you to court, as our father’s bastard, and we both know your lady mother does not want me here.”
Arya sat up, looking down at him, “I will talk to her, make her see that you are our brother, that you deserve to stay here.”
Jon propped himself up, following her as he sat, their thighs touching knee to hipbone. He shook his head, cupping her cheek again, that sad smile growing sadder, “I fear that will do no good.” He rubbed his thumb across her cheek, causing sparks to fly off of her from where he was touching, his thumb ghosting close to the outside of her lips as he spoke, “I fear Winterfell would be no home to me with father and you gone. Robb will be lord now, and will not have time for me, and I do not want to be in everyone’s way.”
Arya huffed, looking past him, shaking her head, “I know…I do know. It’s just that it makes me so sad. To know you won’t be able to be a husband or a father one day—you would be spectacular at both; I have no doubt of that. Look at how good you are with Bran and Rickon.”
Jon chuckled, his thumb still moving in circles though his eyes never left her own. “I might know how to act with younger siblings…but how are you to know that I would be a good husband?”
Arya brought her hand up to his own, the one that was covering her cheek, and held it there, their eyes catching again, “Because of how sweet and kind you are to me.”
Jon chuckled, going to move his hand as he looked away. “You are just my little sister. Of course I am sweet and kind to you.”
She did not let him pull his hand away, instead drawing it to her mouth and pressing a kiss on the outside knuckles, before she spread it open with both of her hands, whispering against it, “There is no just about it.” Before he could even process her saying his own words back to him, she laid her mouth against his warm palm and pressed a kiss on it, her tongue flicking out to taste the warm skin there.
She heard his intake of breath, and when she pulled back, he closed his fist, as if to catch the kiss she had pressed there. Arya chuckled at his reaction, then pressed her lips back against the curled fingers, slowly pressing her lips against each knuckle. His hand tightened, and she heard his breaths become more labored. “Arya…” her name was said almost as if it were a prayer, or an oath, and she closed her eyes as she let the way he said that work over her. “Arya…what are you doing?”
She opened her eyes again, locking onto his darkening grey ones, “You may take no wives, no hold no land or father no children—but I want you to give you something before you leave.”
Jon’s hand stiffened in her own, though he did not move it away. “You have given me too much already. I have the new coat you had made and the—.”
She cut him off, looking at his face, “Those are just things. This is something more special, something that is just about you and me, and no one else.”
Jon looked away then, the muscles in his jaw working, “Arya, no.”
She tugged at his hand, laying another set of kisses on it, between words, “Jon. Yes.” She lifted her head, looking up at him, even as he looked everywhere, resolutely, but at her, “Theon and Robb are idiots—but they are right about one thing. You cannot go to the Wall without having known a woman.” He made a protesting noise, but she talked over him, “And I am selfish enough that I don’t want that woman to be anyone but me.”
He turned his lidded eyes to her then, his hand curling around her own to catch it, hold it there. “You are my blood. We cannot do this.”
She almost said something along the lines of The Targaryen’s do it, but decided that was not what would convince her older brother. She was not even entirely sure why she did not feel wrong about this proposal of hers—all she knew was now that she had thought it, she could not get it out of her head. “I am not asking for you to marry me, to give me children. Jon, I want us to have this memory, this one night before you leave—I want to experience this for the first time with you.” With only you, she added silently, but she pressed on, “You’ve been there for me whenever I have needed you most—well I need you now. I trust no other man with my maidenhead.”
“What of your future husband? Won’t he notice something amiss?”
Arya waved her hand, the one not clutched in his own, to the ether, “What of him. I do not know him, and I will most likely not love him. Sansa has been promised to one prince for political alliance, what is to stop father from promising me to another? I will not be marrying for love, and so I want to make sure my first time is with someone I truly love.” Arya knew Jon better than she knew herself—if she told him this was all for him, he would easily be able to reject her, to turn her away…but if she made this about her, what she wanted, he could not tell her no. If there was one thing Jon Snow was bad at, it was telling Arya ‘no.’
Arya’s hand in his own slackened, her back curving as she sighed, “Fine. Then go. It is almost time that the castle wakes up—it would not do to have you discovered in here.”
Jon’s hand let hers go, and she felt cold where they were no longer touching, the bed lifting as he slid off of it, towards her window. Arya did not turn to watch him, keeping her back to him, though she sat up straight. She would not let this bring her down, would not let this ruin their last night together. It had been perfect up until this rejection. She did not face him as she heard him move the shutters that covered her window, instead saying, “I love you, Jon Snow. You will do well at the Wall…remember me, okay? Remember Arya Stark.”
She heard the shutters close, and she sighed, knowing he was gone. She wondered if she would start to cry again, if the overwhelming sadness she felt would ever go away. She supposed she would see him again in the light of day to make a proper good-bye, but now—
Her thoughts were completely stopped short when she was grabbed, hauled and twisted off of the bed, Jon’s lips finding hers, his arms wrapping around her body as he stood at the foot of her bed, holding her to him as he crashed his mouth against her own. A muffled sound of surprise burst from her lips before she reacted, throwing her arms around him, holding him back to her as she kissed him back as passionately as she could. She had only shared a few pecks with boys before this moment, and so she was unsure of what to do, though Jon’s mouth on her own made all of the worries go away. There was a longing, a desperation behind their kiss, and when his tongue swiped across her lower lip for entrance, Arya could only answer with a moan, their tongues sliding together, coaxing each other to higher peaks.
It was Jon who pulled back when her shaky hands slid to the front of his breeches, grabbing her wrist, stopping her as he panted, resting his forehead on her own. Arya growled with sexual longing, but kept her voice low, trying not to sound too pleading, “Please don’t tell me you want to stop.”
Jon let out a dark chuckle that did something funny to Arya’s already queer insides, his voice a whisper, “No…no, it’s too late to stop this. But—Arya, this will be the only time we can do this, and I want—I want it to be special for you.”
Arya’s heart constricted at the words, and she pressed a kiss to his lips before she smiled at him, “I want it to be special for you too.”
This time when he pulled her to him, they were slower, more exploratory with their kisses. His lips brushed over hers lightly, once, twice, three times, and Arya felt her body thrum in response when he finally pressed his lips to her, before ghosting away, up to her closed eyelids, her cheeks, dropping kisses all over her face. She let out a whimper, her hands going to his shoulders for support, as his own twined in her hair, tugging her head back, angling her head so that the next time he kissed her, his tongue could thrust into her mouth, exploring the heat there. Arya groaned in satisfaction, her hands going to the tops of his arms, squeezing the muscles there. The longer he kissed her, the longer she kissed him back, the more she started to feel—the odd heat was back in her body, that thunder and lightning in the pit of her stomach that was causing an unfamiliar throbbing that only got more persistent as his kisses grew more bold, more unrelenting. Her legs grew restless as the throbbing settled between them, and she pressed her legs together, as if to alleviate the sweet pain.
It only made it worse.
She whimpered against him, and his mouth moved then, moved from her own, to her jaw, back to the soft spot behind her ear which he kissed tenderly, then flicked his tongue across before he pulled back just enough so that his mouth was at her ear. “What do you want Arya?”
She could barely find her voice, yet somehow she managed to get out, in a voice too deep and husky to be her own, “You. I want you.”
He chuckled, that chuckle going straight from her ear to that throbbing at her center, a jolt that shocked her as Jon pressed his leg between her own, hitting her in that spot—yes, right there—causing her to feel momentarily boneless, as she slumped against him. He held her, his arms around her waist, as he continued to bring her body to life. He pulled the soft flesh of her earlobe into his mouth, sucking on it before leaving a gentle nip that gave her another one of those shocks, straight to the gathering ball of tension in the center of her being, before his mouth traveled down the column of her neck, stopping at the pulse pounding at the center of her throat, sucking on that, causing her hands to tighten their grip on him.
He pulled back from her then, her name a prayer on his lips again as she reluctantly opened her eyes to look at him, and found her breath catching when she saw how he was staring at her. His grey eyes were dark and stormy, a red flush to his cheeks, his mouth open as he took her in, his red lips swollen from their kisses. Arya brought her hand from his bicep to her own lips, and felt the soft, slightly swollen flesh there as well, before she looked at him, again, smiling. His returning smile caused her heart to flip, and Arya took a step back from him, to give herself some room as she unlaced the front of her sleeping gown.
Jon’s eyes followed her hands, and she half expected him to tell her to stop, to push her hands away, to once again speak of the madness they were committing, but he just stood there, watching her as she pulled the strings loose from her bodice. Her breasts were not large, and she did not inherit her mother’s curves as Sansa did, instead favoring her father’s family with their leaner, more athletic bodies—so she had never felt particularly feminine. Not until the moment she shrugged the gown off of her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor, shyly looking up at Jon as he took her in.
The second she was unclothed he let out a hiss of air, as if he were in pain, and she looked up afraid to see what was wrong—though thought flew from her brain as she saw how he was looking at her. His already cloudy eyes were dark, and there was a look of hunger on his face that she had only ever seen before on any of the dire wolves when they had sighed prey. Jon wanted her, and by the way he was looking at her, he made her feel as if she were the only girl he had ever wanted.
This emboldened her, so Arya made quick work of her small clothes, sliding those off as well so she stood before him completely nude. Her eyes watched his own as they traveled from one breast to the other, to the curve of her waist, the gentle swelling of her hips, to finally rest on the juncture of her thighs, where the dark downy hair caught his eyes. Arya, feeling brazen with the way he was watching her, the red on his cheeks deepening, his breath coming out in little pants, shifted her legs open so he could further see her, smirking as she saw his jaw drop.
Arya was tackled to the bed in that moment, letting out an oomph as the air was knocked from her as Jon crawled up her body, dropping kisses wherever he could. He stopped as he grew level with her chest, dropping a kiss on the soft skin between her breasts before his right hand came up to grasp one breast, his mouth trailing kisses to the other. Arya let out a low moan, spreading her legs for him to settle between them as his mouth alternated between soft kisses, and little nips, all around her breast, her hands going to the soft curls of his hair. Her hands tightened as his mouth got to the center of her breast, flicking his tongue over the already hard peak, causing it to pebble tighter, sending another shot of thunder to her center.
He sucked her into his mouth then, laving her with his tongue, teasing her peak, before leaving a soft bite on it as he pinched her other nipple, her hips shooting off of the bed as she let out a groan. She tightened her legs around his own, trying to find purchase as her wet core met his breeches, the friction there giving her a little release as he switched his hand and his mouth, trailing his lips over to her other nipple to suckle her, suckle it, her body traveling to new levels of awareness as he let her go with a pop, before gently blowing on the wet skin there.
This time Arya bucked off of the bed completely, her body tight as a drawn bow, his name coming from her lips in little whimpers of pleading. He looked up at her then, and she almost clunked him behind the ear with the way he was smirking at her, but then he moved lower, earning her forgiveness as he continued to worship her body. He dropped kisses in a trail that went from her sternum to her belly button, flicking his tongue in the indent there, before going to her hipbone where he left a soft bite, before moving to the curls that covered her center.
Arya’s voice was strangled, and completely not her own as she whispered, “Jon, what are you doing?”
Jon gave her another one of those smirks, his breath fanning over her lower abdomen, “Relax Arya, Theon brags about doing this, and I just want to try it.”
Arya was about to say something about what a great idiot Theon was, but then Jon lowered his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her mound and all thoughts flew from her head. She made a desperate noise she had never heard before come from her lips, before her legs closed around Jon’s chest tightly, and she would have been afraid of breaking his ribs if she could think. Jon’s head reared up, and he looked at her, concern in his eyes, “I’m sorry, did that hurt, I won’t do it—.”
All Arya could manage, through gritted teeth was, “Don’t you…dare…stop….”
It was all the invitation Jon needed, and Arya felt her body shift, being dragged down before he threw her legs over his shoulders, opening her up to him even more. She should have cared…she would have cared…if he had not lowered his head back down to her entrance, taking in a deep breath before he said, “Gods, Arya, you’re so wet.”
Then his tongue was back on her, his mouth touching her at the top of her slit, where she felt as if all the lightning and thunder had been gathering, pressing kisses here, and all she could do was feel. His mouth was persistent, his tongue laving her as he had her nipples, before becoming more daring, sucking her into his mouth between flicks of his tongue before his tongue probed lower, between her folds, tonguing her opening. It was when he brought a finger up, slipping it into her as his mouth returned to that hardened nub that Arya gripped the bed sheets hard with one hand, her body stiffening like a plank as she brought her other fist to her mouth, biting down trying to stifle the unladylike noises that she could not seem to stop. Jon pushed her though, past whatever this was, and she felt it growing, swelling, rolling through her body in waves as he joined a second finger to the first, his mouth not stopping until she was quivering, boneless, her whole body feeling like it was one fire. Was this how the wildfire of old tales felt—so hot, burning, with no way to stop it?
He rose then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he trailed it back to her mouth for a kiss, one which Arya gladly reciprocated, intrigued by the taste of herself on his lips and tongue, and surprised that her seemingly jelly-like body could return to such a state of heightened arousal simply from his kisses. Her hips began to circle against his own, feeling a hard length bearing down into her, and her hands trailed from his arms to his back, down to his firm backside, holding him to her as she pulsed up. She broke from the kiss then, “Oh Jon, please. I need you.”
She opened her heavily lidded eyes, looking at him, and she was surprised to see him looking so serious, so intently at her as he trailed a hand down the side of her face. “Arya, you’re so beautiful, and you’re so good…too good for me.”
She saw the doubt entering in his eyes then, saw him begin to question himself, and without thinking too much besides needing him to stop thinking, Arya pushed him up and off of her. She deftly twisted them so he was the one underneath her, her on top as her mouth latched onto his own, her hands in his hair, her legs clamped around his hips, as she kissed him with all that she was worth.
As soon as his hands were around her waist, Arya pulled on his shoulders, tugging at him so he followed her as she sat up, breaking the kiss to finally throw his tunic over his head. She had often seen him shirtless, training in the yard, but there was something different about seeing the bunches and twists of the muscles he now had, her hands glossing over the firm, supple skin there, before twisting in the dark chest hair, following it with her eyes and hands as she found the smaller, darker male nipples that she ran her fingers down, hearing his intake of breath. Her fingers trailed lower, pressing into the hard muscles of his stomach, before finding the trail that disappeared into his breeches. Her fingers stopped, hesitant at the waistband of his pants, her eyes meeting his own, as his hand clasped over her own. “It is not too late Arya. You are still a maiden, and you have given me more than I could ever ask for. We can stop now.” He paused, looking pained, before repeating, “It is not too late.”
Arya shook her head, smiling at him as their eyes locked, the only sibling she shared her eye coloring with. “You are wrong Jon. It has been too late since the first time I crawled into your window eleven years ago.”
She kissed him again, softly, before drawing off of his lap so that they could both unlace his breeches, before pulling them off of his legs. Arya gave herself a second before turning back to him, her eyes at eye level before dipping lower, lower—there it was. A…what was the word she had heard some of the stable boys use? Cock…yes, there was Jon’s cock. It stood straight and proud from his body, like a branch of a tree, the head of it almost purple, the shaft of it thick and veined, jutting from a base of inky black curls that looked soft, resting on top of two globes, and Arya sucked in a breath.
She did not move her eyes, instead reaching with one of her hands for him, feeling the moisture that was at his tip, running her hand experimentally down the hard length of him, surprised at how soft the skin that surrounded the hard length of him was. She pumped her hand down his length again, hearing his groan, his own hand coming up to stop hers. She looked at him, expecting to see that doubt again, but was surprised to see him licking his lips, staring at her as if she were the tastiest dish he had ever seen. “I am already very close to the edge, Arya. It is probably best you do not continue to do that if you want me to last.”
Arya quirked her head, “It feels good then.”
Jon let out a strangled laugh, “Better than good.”
Arya bit her lip, wondering if she should say the next part, but unable to help herself as she blurted out, “So I do not get to taste you then?”
Jon groaned, reaching for her as his cock twitched, pulling her back into his lap as he kissed her, his hard length between them, pressing into her belly. She could feel the tension coiling in her belly again, the fire within her stoking to new heights as his kisses became more insistent, their mouths melding together, his tongue dominating her own, tasting every inch of her. Arya let out another groan as his fingers dipped between them, touching her, finding her sopping wet, before his hands moved to her hips, guiding her up. Arya responded quickly, shifting to where he wanted her, feeling his tip probing at her entrance as his lips moved down the tendons in her neck, stopping at the base of her neck, biting down as his hips thrust up, his hands pulling her down to him in one swift movement, the pain at her neck where he had bitten her contrasting sharply with the pain she felt from where they joined.
Arya bucked back, though Jon held her steady, holding her to him, rubbing his hands down her back as she allowed herself to feel him, push through the pain, listen to the words of love and praise into her ear, even as his hands kept rubbing. After a few moments, she began to relax into him, allowing her body to adjust to the new invasion, realizing that while at first there has been pain, there was an odd sense of fulfillment as he stretched her from the inside. A few moments more later and the stretching was no longer uncomfortable, and Arya gave an experimental wriggle of her hips, hearing him groan, and feeling a shiver of heat travel the length of her body from the movement.
Arya looked back into Jon’s eyes then, and seeing the concern and love shining there, she felt her body relax completely, and she smiled at him, nodding.
It was all the encouragement he needed, as he lifted her again, before thrusting back into her, her own hips pushing into his own as he brought her back down. Arya groaned this time, and he froze, but she kissed his brow, once again begging, “Please, don’t stop.”
That was all he needed, as the two of them discovered and worked together, finding a rhythm of hips and pelvis’ as she moved on top of him, even as he thrust into her, going deeper and deeper. When he found one particular spot that had her gaping, biting his shoulder to stop from moaning too hard, Jon flipped them, so she was under him, pulling her legs up even further, before thrusting into her again, finding that spot, going deeper, harder, Arya unable to stop the low moan that came from her then. His mouth sought her own as he began to thrust into her, again, the pair of them moaning into each other’s mouths as Jon’s pace began to quicken, Arya’s hips lifting to meet his thrusts, again and again. Her hands clawed down his back, his own holding her legs open shifting them every now and then, and before long, Arya felt that tight as a drawstring feeling again.
This was different somehow, it was another amazing feelings like earlier, but there was another dimension added to it as she realized she was holding Jon within her, he was the one whose body was joined with hers as they were always meant to be. She drew back from him, opening her eyes, even as she felt the wave within her gathering higher and higher. It was when she saw that he was looking into her own eyes, the grey as black as night now, love shining through them that she felt the wave inside of her crest, peaking, her whole body tightening again as she let out a loud cry, his name an oath on her lips as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, her arms holding him to her, even as he continued to thrust.
Before long she felt his own body respond, and though she knew what he would try to do, to pull back, to pull out of her, she did not let him, wrapping her legs around him, holding him to her tight, her body wrapped around his own like a vine, as she felt him tighten completely before his own body went slack, pressing her further into the feather mattress, the two of them panting as if they had just been playing at swords again.
He stirred first, shifting so he was no longer crushing her (though, to be truthful, she had not minded his weight pressing into her), shifting so they were in the position they had been when they had woken up only an hour before, though there was the added bonus of them both being naked this time. Jon tipped Arya’s face up to his own then, their lips catching, their kisses lazy and slow, before Jon sighed, head flopping back down. “I must go.”
Arya ignored the tightening in her heart, in her very body at those words, ignored the wave of misery that flowed through her, as she only told him, “I know.”
He did not move at first, just stroking her hair as it ran down her back, the two of them quiet as they stared into…nothing, before he sat up, then stood, moving to her washstand, returning with a wet wash cloth to wipe at the blood and semen that was still between her thighs. He was so gentle, so delicate about it—that was when Arya had to force herself not to cry, not to say crazy things to him, to ask him never to leave her side. Instead, she stayed silent, watching him, following the lines and curves of his body as he turned, returning the washcloth, before he grabbed his own clothes and began to dress.
With every piece of clothing he put on, reality returned more and more to Arya, and the urge to cry became so desperate within her, it took fisting her hands so her nails were biting into her own skin, biting her bottom lip and focusing on anything but him to not burst into tears as her throat became more and more dry. When he had finally dressed, he moved to the window, before changing his mind, stopping as he turned back to her, rushing to the bed to gather her in one more tight embrace, a long one that ended with her lips fused to his, her tears streaming down her face, mingling with their mouths.
He pulled away as it became obvious that the castle was coming to life, as the sounds in the yards and in the kitchens rose to meet them, walking to her shutters, stopping before he opened it, turning to look at her one last time as the two of them said at the same time, “I love you.”
Jon smiled at that, Arya chuckling, shaking her head, before their eyes locked again, sadness and happiness mingled there—and then he was gone.
Arya waited until she heard his own shutters close beneath her until she stood, finding her nightshift, and crawling under her covers, though she knew she would not sleep. She just lay there, allowing her body to feel and experience what they had been through, knowing that just because this was their last night in Winterfell, it was not going to be their last night together. She did not know how she knew, but she just knew that she and Jon Snow were not done with each other.
They were too connected for this to be their ending.