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24 March 2012 @ 05:55 pm
fic, asoiaf: I'll know my name as it's called again (Jon/Ygritte), NC17  
Title: I'll know my name as it's called again
Pairing: Jon/Ygritte
Rating: NC17
Word count:
Spoilers: up to mid-ASOS
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: GRRM owns everything and the title is from Mumford & Sons. I know own nothing.
Summary: The gods, old and new alike, know that he doesn’t want to leave this cave ever, too.
A/N: written ages ago for a porn battle round. The prompt was The Cave by Mumford & Sons.

He should feel more guilty than he does.

Under a skin in the dark in the midst of a camp is something, naked and just the two of them in a cave is another, but then it doesn’t take much to make him forget about his supposed guilt. It’s easy to say that it’s a weakness hard to resist, it’s easy to think that he doesn’t want this, it’s easy to fool himself into thinking he has any control of the situation.

The truth is that he should feel crushed by guilt, not just guilty; the truth is that he should be pretending all the way when he isn’t, the truth is that he should feel ashamed in his defeat, which hasn’t been brought by a sword or the Others but only by Ygritte’s hands on him and her legs around him and her mouth on his.

There are worse defeats, maybe, but not for a man of the Night’s Watch; or this is what he tells himself, because right now, as he does what she says and doesn’t pull out of her, his vows aren’t what he’s thinking about. They should feel like a noose around his neck, tightening with every kiss and every caress, but it feels like the contrary; the more Ygritte touches him all over the less he feels that hold, and the more he kisses her the less he chokes.

He hadn’t thought he could last this long, but after Ygritte tells him to just stay where he is, not to move, it only takes twenty minutes and her hands running through his hair for his cock to stir. Ygritte laughs, apparently delighted and definitely not ready to be done either. “Oh,” she says as her legs reach up and hook behind his back, “yes, Jon, like this, don’t stop, don’t.”

Jon couldn’t even if he put some effort in trying, he realizes; it feels as if everything that isn’t the feel of his body against hers. He cups her breast before leaning down and kissing the top, feeling her moan, her voice sweet to his ears.

He just wishes that he didn’t feel as tainted; he knows that he’ll have to go back when it’s time, even if her voice is sweeter than any other he’s ever heard, even if he doesn’t want to go back to the world (he’s almost afraid that when he gets out of the cave he’ll see it turned upside down – he wouldn’t be surprised if it happened). He knows who he is and he knows what he swore (if only he hadn’t taken that oath because he thought it was his only way to some kind of honor), but it still fails to stop him and it fails that noose to choke him. He pulls out of her and brings them out of the pool.

“What are you – oh,” she says, he voice still so sweet, and she doesn’t tell him that he knows nothing as he leans down and kisses her between her legs again, first a trail over both of her thighs and then where it really matters. The water from the pool was chilly, but she’s warm in no time, his tongue caressing her soft, pink flesh all over. He knows she likes it, he can hear her liking it, and he likes it well enough, too. He doesn’t mind the taste, he loves the way she opens up to his mouth and his tongue, and when her hands reach down and push his head forward Jon moans and she shivers. He wants to give her as much as he can before he’s forced to turn his back when his name is called again.

He thinks that when it’s happens he’ll hear Lord Snow.

Jon moves away when he realizes she’s close; by now his cock is hard again and she welcomes him inside without resistance.

Jon can almost hear Theon saying that of course he can’t have enough, not when he was the maid out of the two of them. He shakes that out and leans down to kiss her again, his hand grasping for her hair. Kissed by fire, he thinks, and hopes with all of himself that it’s true. That even if he goes she doesn’t suffer from it.

He’s slow as he pushes inside her, trying to memorize all the sounds coming from the back of her throat, trying to remember the way she says his name (Jon, not Lord Snow, not even Jon Snow now). For a second he allows himself to wonder how things would be if only they were as easy as they are on this part of the wall. Here no one looks at you sideways because you don’t have a mother, no one thinks any less of you if you father children without being married. Ygritte hasn’t probably even thought about his status once. Their lack of concern about these matters had horrified him then – but now he’s not so sure.

He remembers Tormund’s words when Jon said he’d never father a bastard himself. A strong lively son or a lively laughing girl kissed by fire, and where’s the harm in that?

He sees no harm in that either, not now, not when he’s thrusting inside her and she’s moaning inside his mouth, her hair falling over her breasts and on the ground, her hips grinding against Jon’s. He knows it’s a lie, he knows it’s at fault, he knows that when he leaves his heart will feel like an empty valley, but he can’t find it in himself to think that it’s dishonor or that by doing this they’re wrong.

He knows they aren’t. “I know I want you,” he says against the shell of Ygritte’s ear, just before he can’t speak anymore and he comes inside her. Ygritte’s arms close around his back, her lips pressing kisses all over his shoulder and along his neck, and Jon feels something melt inside him at the bare gesture. He returns the favor when he’s coherent enough, his lips trailing over her cheeks and over her forehead as they lie in almost complete darkness. He hopes they have another time before it’s all said and done, he hopes that maybe he’ll come up with a way to somehow keep her safe. The Others are threats to both the wildlings and his brothers – he wonders why they couldn’t work together instead of killing each other. He also knows it’s not his place to lose himself in such dreams.

“Jon Snow, a real crow couldn’t look as dark as you,” she says. Jon Snow. Not Lord Snow. Nothing more. “Seemed t’ me that you weren’t complaining, before.”

“It’s not about you,” he says, moving closer, his hands cupping her breast again before moving to her cheek. “I was – I guess I really know nothing.”

“You don’t, because you’re not the one who gets to say that.” Her smile is small but sweet, and Jon wonders, why is the world so cruel and why should I answer to Lord Snow?

But he knows the answer – it’s because he knows who he is. But they still might have some time here, maybe just to lie down and try to see if her lips can look kissed by fire, same as her hair.

The gods, old and new alike, know that he doesn’t want to leave this cave ever, too.

feeling: okayokay