Sansa at Last

From the tangle of limbs and furs, her hand found his. Heat radiated between their palms in the cooling air.

Sansa drew him up. Their bodies almost touched. Her breath ghosted across his jaw in warm bursts. She rose on her toes and offered her mouth with a hunger that spoke of years of waiting. Her lower lip trembled, just slightly, before she caught it between her teeth.

The kiss came deep and thorough, as if consumption were possible. Her tongue slid against his with a familiar desperation. A groan tore from Jon's throat.

He pulled her closer. His hands roamed the curve of her waist, the softness of her skin. She smiled against his mouth, and the wickedness of it reached her eyes which were bright with triumph.

Against his lips she breathed the word, soft and teasing. "Brother," Sansa whispered, her fingers traced the line of his jaw as she said it, her eyes on his face for the reaction she knew would come. Jon stiffened, then growled. Low and throaty, her laugh followed, and she let him bear her down onto the furs.

Sansa lay back across the pelts, red hair spilled in wild disarray, shoulders lifting with each breath, her body pale and open. Jon settled between her thighs. Her eyes, heavy-lidded, darkened as she watched him lower himself, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips. Her legs came up to cradle his hips. She arched, caught his hair, and pulled his mouth down to hers.

"Jon," she breathed into the kiss, the word both prayer and curse.

It resounded through his chest where her breasts pressed against him. Her hands roamed down his back, nails digging in sharp enough to sting, dragging him closer until her heartbeat hammered against his own.

Trailing his mouth down her throat to the hollow above her collarbone, Jon fingers threaded through his hair and as Sansa held him there, her head falling back to bare the long line of her neck, a whimper escaping her lips. "Jon," Sansa gasped, and the second syllable broke, breathless and raw.

Lower still Jon kissed until he started on the swell of her breast and drew laughter from Sansa, those ribs of her were shaking beneath his palms.

"My lord," she said, thick with mock deference, eyes sparkling up at him with mischief even as her hips rolled up to meet him, heat teasing against his stomach. Jon groaned. His hips jerked toward that heat, and her smile widened, knowing and wicked, as she watched him struggle for control.

Against his trueborn sister's skin Jon groaned, then moved lower, tasting the plane of her belly and then the curve of her hip. A tremble ran through Sansa. Wider fell her legs. His mouth left her. He came back up her body and settled between her thighs, the head of him pressed to her, and only then began to enter her. The gasp came as her head fell back, neck bare. Inch by inch he filled her.

"Lord Stark," she whispered, and her walls gripped him tighter than Wylla had been, wetter than Alys, silk and heat rippling around his length. She took over. Her hips rose and fell with a rhythm faster than his, harder, her hands gripping his arse to pull him deeper still.

"Your Grace," she moaned against his mouth, and the smirk was pure Sansa, but her eyes were desperate, her body arching up into him with a hunger that said she would not wait any longer.

He moved into each thrust, but Sansa met it and surpassed it, nails digging crescents into his shoulders, breath coming in ragged gasps that had nothing of performance in them. She leaned up and kissed him, breasts pressed to his chest, then broke away. Her legs wrapped his waist and dragged him deeper still.

"My King," she whispered, and the smirk was already gone.

Between them Jon's thumb found where they joined and he circled it. Sansa cried out. Her pace turned frantic, grinding up against him, voice breaking over "My King, My King, My King" like a litany, like a spell, until her hair tangled in the furs and she arched beneath him with each collision.

Around him, rhythmic spasms locked her down. Relentless came the milking as she bowed beneath him like a drawn string. From Jon's throat tore a roar half her name and half prayer. Deep inside her he spilled.