FIC: Blood and Bruises (Stannis/Jon)
May. 25th, 2012 06:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
linndechirTitle: Blood and Bruises
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Stannis Baratheon/Jon Snow
Rating: R
Words: 896
Summary: written a while back for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
asoiafkinkmeme, prompt was "angry frottage and bruises" - it's really just porn without any context, otherwise I would have written angsty UST instead ;)
Jon felt his breath go out of him as the king's body pressed him to the floor, heavier than he would have expected from someone so gaunt. Stannis' kisses were angry, more teeth than tongue, as if he wanted to shut him up more than he wanted to kiss him, but Jon didn't mind. Not the biting, not the rough hands that tore at his clothes, strong and surprisingly efficient even now as they made their way through too many layers of fabric. There was a desperation in Stannis' movements that mirrored Jon's own, the almost helpless need of someone who had not felt another man's touch in far too long.
Jon enjoyed it, savoured it. He hadn't felt wanted in a long time, and even though there wasn't much he could do with Stannis holding him down, there was an odd thrill of power in seeing the most disciplined man he had ever met lose his control because of him. He tried to give back as much as he got, unwilling to surrender so easily. Jon sighed in relief as they both finally struggled out of their clothes, wrapped his arms around Stannis as he felt the king tense. He kissed him again before Stannis could stop to muse about all the reasons why they shouldn't be doing this.
Stannis winced when Jon bit his lip, harder than before, a cheap provocation that still had the desired effect. The low groal in the back of Stannis' throat seemed to vibrate through Jon's body, feral and angry, as if every bit of carefully harnessed self-control had slipped out of him. Jon whimpered when the grip of Stannis' hands tightened, fingers digging into his shoulder, his hips, so hard he knew there would be bruises on the morning. It was almost as if Stannis was trying to punish him, or maybe he just thought they both deserved punishment for this.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Jon remembered the things he had heard of, the things men could do with each other, but even if he had had the courage to suggest any of it, he didn't want to take the risk of Stannis changing his mind if they stopped even for a second. So he simply clung to Stannis as the king moved against him, arched up against every somewhat aimless, desperate thrust. Their kisses had stopped, and Jon had given up on suppressing his moans when he felt Stannis' lips on his neck, hot breath, rough stubble, then teeth again. It hurt, it would bruise as well, like the spots on his hips and shoulders and arms, wherever Stannis grabbed him, as if he had to hold Jon down, as if Jon wasn't perfectly willing. Jon thought of how the bruises would keep aching, how he'd still feel the king's touch tomorrow, in the days after, burning on his skin even once they'd go back to playing their usual roles, the king and the Lord Commander, both always in control, both serving the realm without regard for themselves and their own wishes. It was the thought of carrying the marks of this night with him that undid Jon, moaning and tensing underneath Stannis as he came. He felt Stannis shudder only a few moments later, wondered not for the first time when Stannis had last felt anyone's touch but his own. The king was quiet even then, face pressed against Jon's neck to muffle his moans.
There was a stab of disappointment when Stannis' grip on him loosened, hands only resting lightly on sweaty skin now. Jon frowned when he felt something wet on his own fingers, lifted them to see blood staining his fingernails. He hadn't even realised that he had been just as rough as Stannis, that his nails had left their own marks on the king's back, bloody scratches on pale skin. Part of him hoped that would make it harder for the king to ignore what had happened tonight ... harder to keep this from happening another time. Jon smiled a little, lips moving against the stubble on Stannis' cheek. For a second he wondered if the king was smiling as well, but Stannis didn't even seem more relaxed than before. He was tense, muscles in his shoulders and neck straining as he suddenly sat up, eyes never meeting Jon's. His movements were slow as he lifted one hand to his mouth and touched his lips. He looked oddly distant, the shame in his eyes blossoming quicker than even the bruises on Jon's body. Just looking at him made Jon uncomfortable.
"We will not speak of this again." Even Stannis' voice was quieter than usual, and at the same time there was an unspoken threat in his words. Jon bit back the comment that they hadn't spoken of this before either, and simply nodded instead.
"Yes, Your Grace."
A glare, suspicious, always expecting mockery even when there was none. With anyone else Jon would have tried a reassuring smile, but with Stannis that would only make it worse, so he averted his eyes and started to pick up his clothes. Neither of them said a word as they dressed again, nor did Stannis meet Jon's eyes before he left for his own chambers.
They did not speak of it, but it happened again before the bruises on Jon's hips had healed.
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire
Pairing: Stannis Baratheon/Jon Snow
Rating: R
Words: 896
Summary: written a while back for the
asoiafkinkmeme, prompt was "angry frottage and bruises" - it's really just porn without any context, otherwise I would have written angsty UST instead ;)Jon felt his breath go out of him as the king's body pressed him to the floor, heavier than he would have expected from someone so gaunt. Stannis' kisses were angry, more teeth than tongue, as if he wanted to shut him up more than he wanted to kiss him, but Jon didn't mind. Not the biting, not the rough hands that tore at his clothes, strong and surprisingly efficient even now as they made their way through too many layers of fabric. There was a desperation in Stannis' movements that mirrored Jon's own, the almost helpless need of someone who had not felt another man's touch in far too long.
Jon enjoyed it, savoured it. He hadn't felt wanted in a long time, and even though there wasn't much he could do with Stannis holding him down, there was an odd thrill of power in seeing the most disciplined man he had ever met lose his control because of him. He tried to give back as much as he got, unwilling to surrender so easily. Jon sighed in relief as they both finally struggled out of their clothes, wrapped his arms around Stannis as he felt the king tense. He kissed him again before Stannis could stop to muse about all the reasons why they shouldn't be doing this.
Stannis winced when Jon bit his lip, harder than before, a cheap provocation that still had the desired effect. The low groal in the back of Stannis' throat seemed to vibrate through Jon's body, feral and angry, as if every bit of carefully harnessed self-control had slipped out of him. Jon whimpered when the grip of Stannis' hands tightened, fingers digging into his shoulder, his hips, so hard he knew there would be bruises on the morning. It was almost as if Stannis was trying to punish him, or maybe he just thought they both deserved punishment for this.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Jon remembered the things he had heard of, the things men could do with each other, but even if he had had the courage to suggest any of it, he didn't want to take the risk of Stannis changing his mind if they stopped even for a second. So he simply clung to Stannis as the king moved against him, arched up against every somewhat aimless, desperate thrust. Their kisses had stopped, and Jon had given up on suppressing his moans when he felt Stannis' lips on his neck, hot breath, rough stubble, then teeth again. It hurt, it would bruise as well, like the spots on his hips and shoulders and arms, wherever Stannis grabbed him, as if he had to hold Jon down, as if Jon wasn't perfectly willing. Jon thought of how the bruises would keep aching, how he'd still feel the king's touch tomorrow, in the days after, burning on his skin even once they'd go back to playing their usual roles, the king and the Lord Commander, both always in control, both serving the realm without regard for themselves and their own wishes. It was the thought of carrying the marks of this night with him that undid Jon, moaning and tensing underneath Stannis as he came. He felt Stannis shudder only a few moments later, wondered not for the first time when Stannis had last felt anyone's touch but his own. The king was quiet even then, face pressed against Jon's neck to muffle his moans.
There was a stab of disappointment when Stannis' grip on him loosened, hands only resting lightly on sweaty skin now. Jon frowned when he felt something wet on his own fingers, lifted them to see blood staining his fingernails. He hadn't even realised that he had been just as rough as Stannis, that his nails had left their own marks on the king's back, bloody scratches on pale skin. Part of him hoped that would make it harder for the king to ignore what had happened tonight ... harder to keep this from happening another time. Jon smiled a little, lips moving against the stubble on Stannis' cheek. For a second he wondered if the king was smiling as well, but Stannis didn't even seem more relaxed than before. He was tense, muscles in his shoulders and neck straining as he suddenly sat up, eyes never meeting Jon's. His movements were slow as he lifted one hand to his mouth and touched his lips. He looked oddly distant, the shame in his eyes blossoming quicker than even the bruises on Jon's body. Just looking at him made Jon uncomfortable.
"We will not speak of this again." Even Stannis' voice was quieter than usual, and at the same time there was an unspoken threat in his words. Jon bit back the comment that they hadn't spoken of this before either, and simply nodded instead.
"Yes, Your Grace."
A glare, suspicious, always expecting mockery even when there was none. With anyone else Jon would have tried a reassuring smile, but with Stannis that would only make it worse, so he averted his eyes and started to pick up his clothes. Neither of them said a word as they dressed again, nor did Stannis meet Jon's eyes before he left for his own chambers.
They did not speak of it, but it happened again before the bruises on Jon's hips had healed.
