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It is confusing. I shouldn't give a damn about Ned Stark's bastard, after I personally brought his father in, for Joffrey to get rid of a potential threat under the guise of “justice”. But it sits wrong with me how he handled the thing. One Eddard Stark would have been best served by joining the watch. The North would be at peace, and his young son, Jon's brother and just an inexperienced boy would take over the Lordship – and swear fealty easily.
Instead Joffrey's spite caused nothing but chaos, and the way he treats the offspring, all barely past their child's years, is despicable, even to me, and I have had my lot. Treating Sansa like property, unfortunate to say the least. Women have their way, and the whole court is appalled. Not even searching for her lost younger sister is irresponsible. Who knows what will come out of it. And constantly threatening Jon who doesn't even have a claim at the Stark name... I took a liking to this not quite boy anymore. We sparred. I was impressed. I considered taking him into the King's Guard, after he was denied the Black Brotherhood – and for the better – he would be wasted on them. Alas, none of that will happen now. It's only a matter of time before Joffrey loses it again. I won't sit and watch yet again. I like the son far better than the father.
Which is, why we are here, me in full armour, and him, bound hand and foot on a donkey beside my horse. He's scared, but too proud to show it, and I admit I like that about him. The balls, the courage, the self-control. Ned Stark and his holier than thou attitude, I wanted to shove it down his throat, but his one mistake in life is none. He is graceful and sharp, a fighter and more noble than many with a name.
I won't leave him to Joffrey. Once past the gates and well out of sight I will release him. Some bandits will have interfered, or so I will claim, and while I hunted them, he escaped. Or got killed. Maybe that's even better. With no name to his face the chances he will reach the North are better.
Unfortunately nothing is ever simple. The city watch hates to be ordered around by our kind and take their sweet time, watching both of us with utter distrust, and making young Jon Snow sweat blood and water. It would be horrible, if I had actually anything to fear – and if the sight wasn't so enticing.
Jon of course has it less pleasant, sitting on that donkey and feeling about to die in a gruesome way. That's the moment that I decide to make it better. To reward him. For this show of confidence, of restraint, of somewhat undeserved trust too. Then again, where else could he go? Joffrey's arms reach far, if not as far as to me.
At last we make it past the gate, and it takes long, far too long to get out of sight. I can tell that Jon is nervous, just by the way he clearly doesn't look back, by the way his back is stiff and his eyes focused on nothing but the path.
I would be afraid too. I have a reputation, after all, if not quite as bad as my.. nephew's. But I don't intend to live up to it – not that part at least. Once we are far enough away, I lead my horse and his donkey away from the road, until we find a copse of wood, nice and secluded. Ideal to stumble over some bandits, or release a prisoner. I cut his foot-rope and help him off the donkey, amused by the little insecure wobble, after too long in the saddle. “So, here we are. I could ask: how do you intend to pay me?”
He has the damn audacity to look hurt. Such a child still, all honour and no proper distrust. If it wasn't so sweet, I would be almost insulted that someone still believes in the glorious fame of the King's Guard... cesspool that it is under Joffrey.
“I won't.” I get closer, make him back against the next tree, helpless with his bound hands. “In fact, I will do the opposite. I'll give you something else. A unique experience.”
He has wild eyes, Jon Snow.
“Unless you... say no.” Before he can, I quickly add: “I wouldn't, if I were you, though. Not right away, not before you even know what I am offering.”
When he doesn't, when he stays in place, quiet, if wary, I wrap my hand around his throat, sprawling the fingers over his jaw, and steal a kiss from these tempting lips. He is old enough for a beard, and it tickles, but in the way he gasps, opening his lips to me unexpectedly, he still feels so young. He hasn't been kissed like this before. There is none of the performance, of the expectations I had from others, more so from my sister dear. She would always expect everything, and I've grown tired of bowing to her moods.
This is different, is fresh, is real. I can't help but take more of it. I barely let him breathe, so heatedly I assault his mouth, and would it, that he were opposed, he'd have plenty chance to kick me. Instead he is almost stunned, before hesitantly answering in kind, the tongue still shy, the lips still careful, but eager to learn.
“Yes,” I praise. “Such a good boy.” He stiffens, and I know. “Nah, not a boy, right? We'll make a proper man of you yet.” With that I push my knees between his, and now I can feel his arousal. I hadn't dared hope for that much excitement, but I won't complain either. I only get closer, until he can feel me too. Our bodies are now so close that we feel almost as one, even when there is still fabric between us. I can help with that though. I shove his tunic up and untie his breeches, then do the same for myself, holding him against the tree with barely more than my body weight.
It's a risk, I know that, but a calculated one. He is into it, and his bound hands still make him weaker and more predictable.
I need not worry in any case. The moment skin touches skin, he whimpers, and it's probably the most unrehearsed noise I ever heard. It's perfect like that. The uncommon flavour of unfiltered emotion gives me goosebumps. And hunger. I hunger for his lips, and I take them, I hunger for his skin, until my hands find purchase, I hunger for his cock in my hand, and right now I can have everything I want.
He doesn't even try to stop me, sparing me from the decision to go back on my word or... lose this. It would be a hard one. I take my fill – his lips shouldn't taste so wonderful after no food and drink all morning, his body shouldn't smell so freshly masculine after he could barely leave the tiny room Joffrey gave him. Maybe, maybe it's just delusion. Maybe I want him to be such wonderful and strange contrast to her. Maybe that is all it is. I don't believe it. Jon is something I might have sought all my life, and now that I found it, I have to let it go again.
Not without tasting it first, though. My mouth sinks deeper, licking the sweat off his neck and collarbone, while my hand finds him and starts pumping, too harshly, too tight for comfort. Or is it? He seems to like it just fine, the head thrown back, long, dark hair tangling with the ridges of the bark.
I want this, but I want more. I want us to come together, to mix our fluids, as if there was a secret bond, a brotherhood, or maybe something more sinister that can be achieved only by that. I take myself in hand, pumping in sync with what I do to him, and I pay careful attention. Every gasp, every moan is registered, every ticking muscle, every shivering inhale. I won't lose him, no, quite the opposite. Each sign of his rising desire stokes my fire, bringing me as much closer as him.
When he comes with a strangled moan, I am so close behind that I couldn't even tell what tipped me off. I just knew, and spilled, just like him.
Both my hands dirtied, I pull them up, rub them against each other, still pinning him with my hips and my legs, while I make him watch, how I lick our combined cum off my fingers. It tastes just like it should, but it's laced with something more poisonous than arsenic: triumph, unbridled joy, things I cannot afford.
I can't fully clean my hands like that, so I finally let him go and kneel down to wipe them on some leaves and grass.
Jon doesn't move right away, too stunned by what just happened, and maybe too exhausted too. It makes my heart sing, and I rise again in even better mood.
“See? I promised you something yet unknown.” I grab and turn him, cutting the last of the ropes away. “You need to disappear. They can't find you, or you are dead. And that would be a pity.” It really would. I look forward to finding him again. Maybe when I ride north to make peace with his half-brother. Or when I raid the Riverlands. I'd love to have a prisoner like that. I would even treat him well. As long as he is far out of reach from my father or – the gods forbid – my son.