They act on the feelings Jon made them have

Both the Queen and the Kingslayer pulled back only to surge forward together, the Queen and her sister-turned-twin in desire, their faces descending upon his in a flurry of kisses that peppered his cheeks, his brow, the line of his jaw.

Queen Cersei's laughter bubbled low and throaty against his skin, her lips trailing fire across his temple while Ser Jaime's mouth grazed his eyelid, then his neck, her armoured form clinking softly with each movement.

The press of their bodies closed in, the Queen's curves yielding soft through her velvet gown, pressing up against his chest as if she'd always belonged there, while the Kingslayer's plate armour ground unyielding against his side, hard edges digging in like a reminder of the warrior she'd been—and still was, in some unyielding core.

A gasp escaped Jon as Queen Cersei's hand wandered lower, bold fingers sliding down his tunic to cup the growing bulge at his crotch, squeezing with a teasing firmness that sent unwelcome heat flooding through him.

Her eyes gleamed with excitement, pupils dilating as she felt him harden under her touch, a wicked smile curving her crimson lips.

"See how you respond to us, my love," she murmured against his ear, her voice a silken purr that drowned out the grove's hush, her other hand pressing flat to his chest to feel his racing heart.

Ser Jaime leaned in closer, her breastplate cold against his arm, but the warmth of her breath on his collarbone betrayed the desire burning beneath, her own hand joining to trace circles on his back, pulling him tighter into their shared embrace.

The air thickened with their scents—perfume and polish mingling with the earthy damp of the godswood—as they continued their ****, lips brushing his in tandem now, one on his mouth while the other nipped at his earlobe.

Jon's body betrayed him, arousal stirring despite the horror clawing at his thoughts, the Queen's groping hand stroking with increasing urgency, eliciting a **** groan from deep in his throat.

She chuckled softly, delighted, her body arching closer, hips grinding subtle against his thigh, while the Kingslayer's armoured thigh pressed firm to his other side, her kisses turning hungrier, as if devouring the distance between them.

Branches overhead swayed in a sudden breeze, scattering red leaves like blood drops, but Jon barely noticed, trapped in this whirlwind of **** affection that blurred the line between curse and craving.

The Queen’s fingers worked deftly now, outlining his length through the wool of his breeches, her excitement palpable in the quickening of her breath, the flush creeping up her neck. "So strong, so ready for us," she whispered, eyes locked on his as if he were the only man in the Seven Kingdoms, her sister echoing the sentiment with a low hum of agreement, her lips capturing his once more in a kiss that lingered, deep and possessive.

The weight of their bodies pinned him against a gnarled trunk, bark rough at his back, the Queen's soft form contrasting the unyielding steel of Ser Jaime's plate, which clanked faintly with her every shift, a symphony of desire Jon hadn't summoned but couldn't escape.

Queen Cersei moved first again, her lips crashing back onto his with the **** of a storm wave, aggressive and unyielding, her tongue invading his mouth as her hands roamed wild—one tangling in his hair to pull him closer, the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise through his woollen tunic.

She kissed like she commanded, demanding surrender, her body grinding against him with a hunger that set his blood aflame despite the panic screaming in his mind.

In contrast Kingslayer—Ser Jaime, even in this feminine guise, the name stuck like a burr in Jon's thoughts—waited her turn with a patience that surprised him, her armoured form hovering close but not intruding.

When the Queen finally broke away, gasping for air with a triumphant gleam in her eyes, Ser Jaime leaned in softly, her touch feather-light as gloved fingers traced the line of his jaw.

Her kiss landed gentle, almost tentative at first, lips brushing his with a tenderness that contrasted her warrior's build, deepening slowly into something warm and coaxing, her breath a soft sigh against his skin as she tilted his head with care, as if savouring a rare vintage rather than claiming it.

They alternated like that, a rhythm building in the shadowed grove—the Queen's assaults fierce and biting, nipping at his lower lip until he tasted the faint copper of blood, her nails digging crescents into his shoulders through cloth; Ser Jaime's responses soothing the sting, her mouth exploring his with languid strokes, one hand resting lightly on his chest to feel the erratic thump of his heart, the cold seep of her plate armour a stark counterpoint to the heat rising between them.

Leaves rustled overhead, scattering like warnings ignored, while Jon's hands finally lifted of their own accord, one fisting in the Queen's velvet skirts, the other brushing hesitantly against Ser Jaime's golden curls, his body betraying him even as guilt coiled tighter in his belly.

Finally, Queen Cersei pulled back at last, her cheeks flushed, eyes dark with desire as she pressed her forehead to his, breath coming in hot pants that fogged the air between them.

"Do you want this, Jon?" she whispered, voice husky and commanding, her hand sliding down to tease the laces of his breeches once more, fingers bold and insistent. "Shall we take it further, here and now, my love?"

Ser Jaime drew back too, her gentle kisses lingering on his cheek like echoes, her emerald gaze searching his face with a softness that unnerved him more than the Queen's fire.

She nodded subtly, armour shifting with a faint clink as she leaned in to murmur against his ear, "Aye, but is this the place? The godswood, with its watching eyes and whispering leaves—sacred to your north, yet perhaps too exposed for such... intimacies."

The question hung heavy, the heart tree's sap weeping fresh trails down its bark as if in judgment, the grove's silence broken only by their ragged breaths and the distant call of a raven from the branches.