A Hunt

An afternoon breeze carried the scent of fresh blood. Shrieks of agony and **** pierced tendrils of mist snagged by the gnarled branches of oak trees. The Wolf Wood was currently home to dozens of men, as many horses and two score hounds that rushed ahead, snarling and barking in delight as a great hunt took place.

Sitting atop his stallion, his black cloak fluttering, attuned to the sounds of hunter and prey was Jon. Though they had some luck catching a collection of rabbits and a few foxes, Jon was set on a singular prize; a stag that they had spotted an hour previous who was otherwise proving elusive.

It was getting late in the day and Jon had decided that he had disliked hunting with so much distraction, so the prince had bid all but a few remain with him as he ventured into the depths of the snow covered woods. He had two of guard riding with him, but that was the extent of his retinue he allowed, instead moving with his Stark kin and their closest retainers at a considered pace. His Uncle Eddard and his man at arms Ser Rodrik seemed to have some notion of where the great stag might have moved to, mentioning in hushed breathes old trails where deer had often gathered. Jon kept mostly quiet, preferring to instead listen and watch all that went on in the ancient woods.

For much of the hunt his cousin Robb moved as his shadow, following with a dedicated patience. Though he did not acknowledge it, Jon had felt Robb’s eyes on him for much of the day; the heir to Winterfell drinking in the sight of the Targaryen prince whenever he thought no one was looking. Jon was not yet sure how to proceed with the information, but he had to admit the attention was not unwanted. He had taken male lovers on occasion, and Robb was comley enough, though such a tryst might prove problematic given Jon’s duty in securing a Stark bride.

A noise from the west drew his attention away from his musings and the prince dismounted as quietly as he could, bow drawn as he slowly crept forward through the snowy woods, his guards a few paces behind. Jon stilled at once as his prize lifted its head from a little clearing further on, its antlers standing out as a proud beastial crown. He drew in a breath as his bow grew taught, and slowly lined up his shot. His breath released along with his arrow, which cut through the air and found the stag’s heart, downing the animal with a single surprised crew.

A hand came to rest on his arm. “Well shot, My Prince.”

Robb’s gaze was openly adoring, his blue eyes sparkling as Jon smirked triumphantly. He patted his cousin on the shoulder, kept his hand there a touch longer than perhaps would be the norm, and then went forth to collect his kill.

Jon returned to the clamor of parties of men returning from their separate hunts, voices lifted in celebration and triumph, the gutted carcasses of their prey strapped to horse or cart, ready for roasting or tanning depending on the prey.

The feast that followed was glorious and lively in a way that only a Northern affair could be. Wine and ale flowed, music played and people laughed. Jon enjoyed it all, in his own way. He spoke with his uncle about potential problems that have been troubling the North and the Wall, he chatted politely with his Aunt Catelyn, enjoyed the obvious fawning that Lady Sansa was throwing his way. It was a pleasant evening, but eventually he left the Great Hall and walked the ramparts, enjoying the cold nightly breeze.

“Did you want to be alone?” Jon startled at the voice as Robb walked up beside him, following his gaze out into the night sky. “It’s beautiful out.”

“Aye,” Jon agreed, “ though truthfully I wanted an escape from the crowd at the feast.”

Robb smiled. “Well, if it’s a more low key affair you’re looking for, then perhaps we might take a flagon of wine back to my chambers?”

Jon saw the offer for what it was, and for a moment he had to consider if he truly wanted to go down that path. The political complications could be disastrous, but ultimately the yearning in his cock was too difficult to ignore so he simply smiled and followed Robb back to his chambers.

No sooner than the door shut behind them did the Heir of Winterfell throw himself at Jon, pulling the prince into a deep kiss. Tongues wrestled for a time before Jon pulled away, smirking at the other man.

Robb wasted no time stripping himself, revealing his bare flesh to the prince. He was well muscled, though not quite to the extent that Jon was, his decent sized cock glistening with urgent hardness. As if becoming suddenly bashful, the Stark looked away. “I have loved you since we first met,” he admitted sheepishly, “you have been the only one I have ever thought of.”

Jon regarded the young man, his admission filling the Targaryen with an **** amount of voracious desire. Silently he stripped himself until he too was naked and approached Robb, who was staring in awe at the other’s form. Jon pulled him into a kiss that was softer and more exploratory.

Robb moaned into his mouth and then Jon drew back, putting his hands on the other man’s shoulders and guiding him to his knees. Robb gazed at the cock presented to him, admiring it before taking it’s head into his mouth.

The Stark’s tongue bathed every inch of Jon’s cock and the warm wet suction felt as though it was enough to almost draw out his very soul through the end of his prick. Robb removed the shaft from his mouth only so that he could turn his attention to Jon’s balls, caressing one whilst he sucked and tongued at the other.

Jon signaled for the Stark to stop, and watched as Robb lay sprawled among the furs of his bed; lips red and swollen as his chest heaved fleetingly. He spread his legs wide, his cock stood rock hard, the tip of it was red and leaking small beads of precum which trickled down to gather around his inviting asshole.

The Targaryen crawled over the Stark, his eyes locked onto Robb’s as he lined his saliva-slicked cock up with the puckered hole. A gasp escaped them both as Jon’s cock pushed through until it hilted itself in Stark. Robb let out a long and contented moan, his blue eyes heavy with unshed tears. He reached up and pulled Jon into a kiss that was long and passionate.

“Gods,” he breathed, “I’m so full,” he swallowed “...I love you, My Dragon Prince.”

Wordlessly Jon began to move, pulling his shaft in and out in a steadily rising pace. Jon gripped his hip as leverage before pulling his cock out until the tip remained to thrust in one sweeping movement back inside, punching the air out of Robb’s lungs.

The Targaryen growl d when he felt Robb clenching desperately around his girth while he whimpered into the furs. Stark began grinding his hips backwards to meet with Jon’s thrusts, his legs wrapping themselves about the Targaryen’s waist to hold him in.

Jon bucked his hips forward with a groan as Robb’s mouth opened in a drawled-out moan, “Is this everything you wanted?”

“It’s the greatest thing I’ve ever felt, “ Robb gasped, his fingernails clawing at Jon’s back, “oh Gods, ohhhh,” his voice rose an octave or two as Jon’s cock hit his sweet spot, “You fuck me so good!”

Jon growled as he plowed into the Heir to the North, each thrust more brutal than the one before. “Pity,” Jon grunted, “that I...have to..wed...your sister...”

Robb’s eyes snapped open at that. “No!” He clung tighter to Jon, pushed his ass back even harder to swallow even more of the cock currently pillaging it, his arms and legs holding the prince vice-like. “We’ll...go into the Godswood,” he breathed, his voice straining under the pleasure, “You’ll...wrap your cloak around me...” he kissed Jon again, urgently, desperately, “in the eyes of the Gods I will be your bride...”

Jon felt Robb tightening around him as his own thrusts remained steady yet there was a slight quiver because of his own release welling in his loins. Robb’s hand found its way to his own cock, it was heavy in his palm as he tightened his fist around it to relieve himself, imagining himself as the wife of a Targaryen prince.

Caught up in the madness of it all Jon felt Robb’s walls completely tightened around him, while the Stark screamed out declarations of love for Jon, his cock spurting out between them. Jon slammed his cock inside a couple of times over before finally growling his release, filling Stark with his seed.

They lay togethered, intermingled in sweat and sex, Robb bathing Jon’s body with his tongue. The Targaryen could only smirk at the sight; Robb Stark was no direwolf, he was a bitch in heat.