He is doing more than just Escorting her

They wove through the great hall's clamor, slipping past revelers who laughed and clashed horns without a glance their way, the power's veil holding firm.

The massive doors creaked open to the yard's biting cold, snow crunching under boots as they crossed the open space toward the inner walls.

Torchlight flickered from the battlements, casting long shadows over the armory's squat form to their left, hammers silent now in the night.

They skirted the edge of the glass gardens' steamy glow, the hot springs' mist curling like ghosts from the pools beyond, before turning toward the guest house's sturdy tower, its windows spilling warm light like invitations.

No guards hailed them; no servants paused in their hurried paths with platters or linens.

The group moved unseen, the yard's vast emptiness swallowing their footsteps, the distant kennels' howls the only sound piercing the hush.

At the guest hall's door, it swung inward on silent hinges, the entry hall empty save for a dying hearth's embers.

Cersei led the way up the spiral stair, her hand trailing along Jon's arm, the others close behind in a line of quiet anticipation.

They reached the royal chambers at the top, the door latching shut behind Sandor with a soft click, sealing them in warmth scented with beeswax and southern incense.

Cersei's eyes met Jon's, bright with promise, as she drew him further in.

The door to the royal chambers swung shut with a heavy thud, sealing out the distant echoes of the feast. The room sprawled before them, vast and richly appointed—thick tapestries of lions and stags muffling the stone walls, a massive hearth crackling with fresh logs that bathed everything in a golden haze. The large bed dominated the centre, its canopy draped in deep crimson silks, pillows piled high like an invitation carved from velvet and down. Candles flickered on every surface, their flames dancing shadows across the polished oak furniture, the air thick with the scent of beeswax and faint jasmine.

Releasing Jon’s arm with a lingering touch, Cersei’s eyes gleaming as she turned to Jaime and Tyra. "Attend me," she said, voice a low command laced with anticipation. She stepped toward the bed, lifting her arms expectantly.

Jaime moved first, her white cloak whispering as she circled behind Cersei, fingers deftly unlacing the gown's intricate ties. Tyra joined without hesitation, her platinum waves brushing Cersei's shoulder as she tugged at the sleeves, the crimson fabric parting inch by inch.

The gown slipped down in a slow cascade, pooling at Cersei's feet like spilled blood, revealing pale skin flushed from the fire's warmth. She wore nothing beneath, her body unveiled in the candlelight—curves that spoke of power and motherhood, hips wide and inviting, thighs strong from years of riding southern roads.

Pivoting gracefully, Cersei enjoyed how the light play across her form as she faced Jon, her green eyes locking on his with bold possession. But then her gaze dropped to her own reflection in a nearby polished shield hung on the wall, and a faint shadow crossed her features. She traced a hand over her belly, fingers lingering on the faint silver lines that stretched across the skin there, remnants of the children she'd carried.

"These marks," The Queen murmured, voice soft but edged with rare vulnerability, "from bearing Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen—they pull at me still." Her hands rose to cup her breasts, lifting them slightly before letting go, watching as they settled with a natural sag against her chest, no longer held firm by the gown's structure. "And these... not as taut as in my youth. Time takes its toll, even on queens."

Transfixed, Jon nonetheless watched as the firelight gilded her skin, standing unashamed yet exposed. He wondered, a quiet puzzle forming in his mind—why hadn't he noticed these details before? In the broken tower's haze, or the godswood's dim hush, her body had seemed flawless, a vision sculpted from desire alone. Now, in this clearer light, the marks told stories of life lived, of burdens borne.

Cersei stood bare in the chamber's firelight, her pale skin glowing warm against the crimson silks of the bed behind her. The flames danced shadows across her belly's faint silver lines, the soft give of her breasts as they rested heavy against her chest, the subtle curve of her hips that spoke of years and burdens borne.

At her precious words his power already stirring in his chest like a breath drawn deep. He stepped closer, his fingers tracing the air just above her skin, voice low and deliberate as the words took shape.

"Your body is youthful again," he murmured, the command slipping out like a caress. "Your breasts are perky and firm, rising high and proud as in your girlhood." Her chest lifted with a soft inhale, the weight easing as flesh tightened, swelling fuller and buoyant, nipples hardening in the warm air like rosebuds kissed by dawn.

He continued, gaze dropping to her midriff. "Your stomach bears no stretch marks—smooth and taut, flawless as untouched marble." The silver lines faded before his eyes, skin pulling sleek and even, the faint ridges dissolving like mist under sun, leaving only a glossy sheen that caught the fire's glow, inviting fingers to skim its warmth.

"And your ass," he added, his hand finally touching her, palm cupping the curve as he circled behind, "is pert and plump, rounded and firm like ripened fruit begging to be plucked." Her hips shifted under his touch, the flesh plumping beneath his fingers, lifting higher and fuller, a taut bounce rippling through as she arched instinctively, the skin smoothing to a lustrous polish that gleamed soft in the candlelight.

Cersei gasped, her hands rising to explore the changes—fingers pressing against the now-firm swell of her breasts, tracing the flat expanse of her belly, twisting to glance over her shoulder at the pert lift of her rear. The fire's warmth seemed to amplify it all, her body now a vision of renewed perfection, glossy and inviting, as if time had rewound in a single breath.

Her eyes met his in the polished shield's reflection, wide with wonder, the lament dying unspoken on her lips as she turned, pressing against him with a heat that needed no words.

"How?" she whispered, her voice trembling as she clung to him, fingers digging into his arms. "How is this possible? My body... it's like I never bore those children, never aged a day past my prime."

Jon held her gaze, the power still humming faintly beneath his skin. "You believe it is because you love me," he said softly, the words weaving outward like a gentle command.

Cersei's breath caught, her expression shifting as belief settled over her like a warm cloak. "It is," she murmured, wonder giving way to conviction, her hands sliding up to cup his face. "It must be... because I love you so fiercely, Jon. Nothing else could explain this gift."

She pulled him into a kiss then, her full lips crashing against his with **** hunger, body arching to press every renewed curve into him, as their kiss deepened in layers—first the press of softness yielding to hunger, her teeth grazing his lower lip in a sharp nip that sent sparks down his spine, then her hands fisting in his hair to pull him closer, breaths mingling hot and ragged as her body pressed up against his, every curve pressing with insistent heat. The fire's crackle faded under the rush of blood in his ears, her scent—jasmine and skin—filling his lungs until the world narrowed to the slick slide of tongues and the soft, needy sound she made deep in her throat.

Breaking away with a gasp, Cersei’s chest was left heaving, green eyes wild and dark as emeralds in shadow. Cersei’s fingers dug into his arms, nails biting through fabric. "Fuck me, Jon," she breathed, voice ragged with command and plea. "Fuck me so thoroughly I forget Robert ever touched me—forget every trace of that drunken brute on my skin, forget the dishonour of being his queen." Her hands slid down to tug at his belt, ****. "Wipe it all away until there's only you."

The irony almost caused Jon to scowl—The Queen’s lament ringing hollow while she stood here, bare and eager for him, her lover in secret, the ultimate dishonour to her king. If forgetting traces was her game, she'd already played it long before tonight, with him as the latest player.

While he was the latest Jon noted he would be the last and only one going forth.

Cersei backed toward the bed, her glossy skin catching the firelight like polished marble, pert breasts rising with each shallow breath, her plump ass swaying as she sank onto the silken sheets. She spread her legs in invitation, thighs parting to reveal the slick heat between them, her full lips parting on a soft whine. "Please, Jon... I need you."

Not wanting to delay, Jon shrugged off his jerkin, the wolf-fur mantle pooling at his feet, then dropped his breeches and smallclothes in one swift motion, his length springing free, hard and throbbing in the warm air. Cersei's eyes darkened further, fixed on him as he knelt between her thighs, guiding himself to her entrance with a steady hand. He guided himself to her entrance, the slick warmth parting for him as he pressed forward inch by inch, her inner walls pulsing in greedy clutches that drew low groans from deep in his chest.

She arched beneath him, spine bowing off the silken sheets, nails raking red trails down his back that stung like firebrands, her full breasts heaving with each **** inhale. "Yes... gods, yes..." the words spilled from her swollen lips in fractured whispers, her green eyes wide and wild, pupils blown black with need. Her hips bucked up to meet his, frantic and uncoordinated at first, chasing the friction as if starvation drove her, every thrust pulling sharper gasps from her throat.

The passion surged between them like a storm building—his rhythm quickening, hips snapping forward with growing ****, the slap of skin echoing off the chamber's stone walls amid the hearth's crackling roar. The Queen’s desperation poured out in tremors, her body writhing, thighs quivering around him as she ground against each plunge, her nails biting deeper, drawing beads of blood that only fuelled the heat. Sweat gleamed on her glossy skin, trickling between her perky breasts as they bounced with the **** of his movements, her head thrown back, golden hair splayed like a halo across the pillows.

Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes, not from pain but from the overwhelming rush, her voice breaking into sobs of plea. "Harder... please... make me forget..." She clawed at his hair, yanking him down for a bruising kiss, teeth clashing as her tongue invaded, **** to consume him whole. The desperation peaked in waves—her walls fluttering wildly around him, body tensing like a bowstring drawn taut, every muscle coiling tighter until she shattered with a keening cry, back arching off the bed, nails scoring his scalp as ecstasy ripped through her in shuddering pulses.

The others moved then, drawn like moths to flame. Jaime pressed in from his left, her white cloak discarded, fingers tugging at his tunic to bare his chest, her mouth finding his neck in hot, open kisses while her hand groped lower, cupping his balls as he thrust. Tyra flanked his right, platinum waves brushing his shoulder as she stripped off his belt with deft pulls, her full breasts pressing against his arm, one hand sliding down to stroke where he joined Cersei, lamenting nothing but adding fuel to the queen's cries. Jocelyn knelt at the bed's edge, her gown hiked up, fingers fumbling to unlace his boots while her other hand roamed his thigh, groping the flex of muscle with eager squeezes. Even Sandra joined from behind, her storm-grey eyes fierce as she peeled away his remaining layers, her callused palms groping his ass, pushing him deeper into Cersei with each roll of her hips.

“Deeper... gods, Jon, make me yours... erase him..." The plea tore from her lips in fractured gasps, her body writhing beneath his as he thrust harder, each drive pulling sharper cries from her throat, her nails scoring bloody trails down his back while her legs locked around his waist, heels digging in to urge him on. Sweat gleamed on her skin like dew on marble, her perky breasts heaving with every slam, nipples taut and flushed as she arched up to meet him, desperation carving her face into a mask of raw need—eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in silent screams that broke into moans when he hit deeper, her walls clenching like a vice in frantic pulses that begged for release.

Jon drove on through her climax, the velvet grip milking him until his own release crashed over, hips stuttering as he sheathed himself deep within the Queen, he could feel it, his seed building up, read to spill forth, the question was would he spill it in the Queen again?

The pressure coiled tighter within him, seed surging hot and insistent, teetering on the brink as her walls fluttered wildly, milking him with urgent pulses that begged for his release deep inside.

Now the Queen’s eyes locked on his, wide and fevered, her full lips parting in a gasp that twisted into words. "Jon... please... put your baby in me," she begged, voice raw and commanding all at once, her hands clutching his shoulders as if to anchor him forever. "Fill my womb—give me the bliss of carrying your child, swelling with our love... I need it, gods, I crave it more than air..." Her body arched higher, thighs trembling around him, desperation etching every line of her flawless form as she pleaded, the firelight turning her tears to gold.