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Jon walked quickly down the corridor to his sleeping berth, his stomach in knots and his hands aching with tension.  He let himself in quickly, blowing a breath out through his nose and pressing his lips together.

There was a buzz of excitement, anticipation akin to what he felt before battle, that had been coursing through him since the Queen had agreed to sail with him to White Harbor.  He really did think the Northern lords would receive them better if they arrived together as allies, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped for some other possible outcomes.  And he’d thought, from the way she looked at him, the tone of her voice when she’d agreed to the plan, that she might have the same thoughts.

So Jon had been concocting a thousand different foolhardy plans; when he should seek her out, what he should say, how long he should wait.  They were all impossibly terrible, of course; he shouldn’t have expected any less, as in his limited experience the only sure way to know if a woman was flirting with you was if she tried to kill you at some point.  As Daenerys had not made any overt attempts on his life, had in fact brought her dragons to save him, he couldn’t find enough evidence to convince himself that calmly walking up to her door was going to happen. 

Jon had to, though.  For all that it might completely ruin any alliance, for all that he may be totally mistaken in how she felt about him, he needed to do this.  It was a hunger that had been soft at first, just there around the edges, the natural attraction any man would feel towards someone as beautiful as she was.  Then it had changed, and he wasn’t sure when it started, but when he’d woken up to find her sitting at his bedside he’d realized it was far too late for him to stop it now.  Now that hunger had grown; it had claws and fangs and was devouring him from the inside, demanding to taste her and touch her and know what it was like to be inside her.

Jon groaned, covering his face with his hands.  Best not to think about that right now, either; He hadn’t had a woman in so long that he had a very real concern that he wasn’t going to make it past seeing her tits before he spilled like an overexcited virgin.

“Working up the nerve, your Grace?”  Jon should have been aggravated that Davos was in his room.  He should have been frustrated that Davos couldn’t seem to keep himself from meddling when it came to the Queen, but all he could seem to conjure up for now was a helpless indecisiveness.  Jon looked up, seeing Davos seated before the fire, a book open on his lap as he smirked at him.

“For what, Ser Davos?”  Jon walked over and stood before the fire, holding his hands before the flame, his back to the Onion Knight so he wouldn’t have to have this conversation while actually looking at the man.

“Marching yourself down to the Queen’s cabin and givin’ her what she came for, I suppose.”  Jon scoffed at both the words and the tone, furrowing his brow as Davos just chuckled.

“And that’s what, in your estimation, Davos?”  Jon could tell he sounded irritated.  And when it came to Daenerys Targaryen, Davos seemed to think he was some sort of expert, which just made Jon even more irritated.

“Oh, I don’t know, Jon Snow.”  Davos stroked a hand across his cheek and down his chin.  “Seems to me a right good fuck would be the logical place to start.”

“And what, Davos?”  Jon wasn’t sure what Davos expected of him.  He was not the sort of man who had a way with words, especially around women.  Especially her.  “I can’t just walk down there and tell her my Hand thought it’d be a good idea to come and fuck her before everyone turns in for the night.”

Davos laughed then, coming to stand beside Jon before the fire, staring into the flames as Jon was.

“No, I suppose that wouldn’t be the best option.”  Davos heaved a deep breath, exhaling loudly before he started to speak again, his tone a bit cautious.  “Should’ve told you this before now, but I thought you’d figured it out just like the rest of us had.”  His pause made Jon turn to look away from the red-gold light of the fire and meet his eyes.  “Hells, Jon, she’s in love with you.”  Jon immediately opened his mouth to refute the claim but Davos held up a hand, his tone serious now.  “Stop.  You didn’t see her at Eastwatch, before you somehow managed to cheat certain death.  Yet again.”  Davos shook his head, staring into the flames and clucking his tongue once.  “Saddest thing I ever saw.  She watched for you from the top of the wall, wouldn’t leave to eat or rest, wouldn’t accept that she’d had to leave you behind.” 

Davos hummed under his breath, apparently having had enough of the flames for now as he took his seat.  Jon was feeling a bit numb now at his Hand’s words, but wasn’t entirely convinced that even strong concern for him meant that Daenerys Targaryen had somehow fallen in love with him.  “Doesn’t mean she cares for me enough not to slam her door in my face for my presumption alone, Davos.”

“Gods, you’re thickheaded when you want to be, Jon Snow.”  Jon narrowed his eyes, but didn’t interrupt when Davos made to continue.  A part of him wanted to hear this, all of it, wanted to be convinced that it was an excellent idea to go to her room and do all the things he’d thought about doing to her.  “She refused to leave your side until you woke up on that ship, Jon.  And then, this Queen with dragons that can take her wherever she wants to go, she agrees to sail with *you* instead.”  Davos picked up his book again, a low laugh punctuating his next words.  “I was there, I saw the way she looked at you when she agreed to this little excursion.”

Jon felt a wave of relief at that; perhaps that hadn’t been entirely his own imagination convincing him she had any interest in him at all.  “And how do you think she looked at me?”

Davos smiled, wide and knowing, pitching his voice low.  “Looked to me like she was starving, and you were the meal.” 

Jon could feel his eyes grow wide.  Alright.  He could do this.  If he was going to do this, he had to do it now, before he made it home and had to start fighting in this godsforsaken war.  He nodded to himself and took a few deep, slow breaths to settle his nerves.  He could do this.  He just had to go down there, and knock, and…shit. 

“What the fuck do I say, Davos?”  He could hear the desperate edge to his voice, and under other circumstances he might have been ashamed, but as far as women went Davos had leagues more experience than Jon.

“Nothing.”  Davos’s voice was gruff.  “You aren’t a bleedin’ poet, Jon Snow.  You’re a man of action, not words.  You go down there and knock.  And when she answers, don’t say a word, just wait.  She’ll know why you’re there, trust me.”  Now Davos gave him an encouraging smile.  “If she lets you in, you’ll know I’m right.  If she doesn’t then come back here and hit me ‘til you feel better.”

Jon looked around, wondering if he’d truly lost his mind this time, for even considering this.  Perhaps when that Red Woman had brought him back some common sense and self-preservation had been lost in the process, because Davos was relatively convincing, and he’d gone and pushed Jon past the point of backing down now. 

If Jon was going to die, he wasn’t going to die a fucking coward.


Time to knock, if he was going to.  He’d been standing out here too long to have a good reason for it if someone happened by, so he either needed to be a man and knock or come to his senses and escape to his own room before he got caught mooning at her door like he was fucking daft. 

Jon let out a breath, raising his hand and hesitating.  He remembered what Davos said; he remembered how they’d looked at each other when she’d agreed to this voyage with him.  He’d come this far, so he might as well see it through.  He gave the wood and iron door three rapid knocks with his knuckles, nerves immediately seizing his stomach and making him shake his head. 

Then she opened the door and he realized he couldn’t have said anything if he’d wanted to.  All he could do was stare at her; at first she looked as though she was surprised to see him, but that had rapidly shifted to something else in those amethyst eyes.  Davos was right.  Daenerys Targaryen was hungry.  For him.

Perhaps that was the extra bit of confidence he needed to ease those last nerves coursing through him.  Her eyes never left his but her arm was gently swinging the door wider, inviting him in.  And as he stepped across the threshold, turning to push that door closed and seal the both of them together in her chambers, he wasn’t nervous at all.  Just hungry.

Jon left one hand on the door, eyes moving from the wood back to her face.  She’d kept her expression relatively blank when she’d opened her door for him, but now he saw it, the corners of her lips turning up slightly, lips twitching a bit as if she were trying desperately not to allow more than that.  Maybe she was as nervous as he had been.  He hadn’t really considered that; she was a Queen and she had dragons and she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever fucking seen in his life.  Surely she’d known he’d find his way here eventually.

Her eyes dropped to his lips, now, then down to his chest, still covered in leather.  He stayed silent while her eyes studied him, in no rush, and finally she met his gaze once more.  Now she did smile, coyly, her eyes showing a bit more of the desire she’d managed to contain before this night, this moment.

“I’m impressed, Jon Snow.”  The Queen stopped trying to keep her gaze from his mouth, now, and he watched her wet her own lips with her tongue before he responded to her, the low, silky tone she used firing his blood.

“Why, Daenerys Targaryen?”  He kept his voice just as low and quiet as she had, realizing that she was just as lost in all this as he was when her eyes slipped closed at his words, and he reached out without realizing what he was doing, bringing a hand to cup her face.

Her eyes shot open at his touch, leaning against his palm before bringing her hand up, tracing her fingertips over his lips.

“You are far braver than the Mother of Dragons.”  She gave him a wry half smile, her hand now venturing down to hook her finger in fabric at his collar.  “I didn’t think I’d work up the nerve ‘til at least tomorrow.”

She turned, now, silver hair cascading down her back, and his fingers itched to be buried in it, strands slipping through his fingers.  Daenerys gave a gentle tug at his collar, pulling him over to her bed where she faced him once more.  He saw it, again, a little flicker of shyness; he marveled that his seemed to have been purged from his system as soon as she let him in, just as Davos had sworn she would.  And he also realized that if he didn’t kiss her soon he was going to lose his mind altogether.  Jon slid a hand behind her back, palm rasping against the course fabric of her thick dress, drawing her against him suddenly.  There was no tension in her at this, he was relieved to see; she melted into him and against him, her face upturned as if she was on the edge of madness as well to feel the press of his lips. 

Jon had always considered himself a giving man, so he gave her what she wanted.

He brought his hand up, palming her cheek and kissing her gently at first, just gliding his lips against hers, getting used to the feel of those lips against his, sweeter than he could have imagined and softer than he’d dreamed.

But when she moaned against him mouth he had no choice but to tease his tongue against those oft-thought of lips, blood rushing southward as she did not hesitate to open to him and meet his tongue with her own.  His own moan, impossible to contain as she softly stroked her tongue against his, was all the encouragement she needed to bring her hands to his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest through far too many layers.

Jon pulled back, releasing her mouth and studying her face, her cheeks flushed prettily as her eyes crawled open.  She gazed at him in return, smiling now until her eyes travelled down to his chest.  She frowned at him, but her eyes betrayed her intent to tease him, sparkling with amusement.

“I ought to send you straight back to your cabin for wearing all *this* Jon Snow.”  Her hands came to rest on the leather covering his chest, one finger plucking at the lacing.  “Treasonous, expecting me to sort all this out.” 

“Well now we can’t have that.”  Daenerys smiled at the growl in his voice, stepping back to see him quickly unlace and pull his leathers over his head, remaining in almost frantic motion as he made short work of the quilted tunic as well.

She bit her lip, bringing her hands up to trail over the thin tunic covering his chest now, the heat of her hands bleeding through the fabric and setting his skin aflame.  Jon brought her back into the circle of his arms, then, and brought his lips to her ear.  He could smell the sweet scent of her hair, his nose buried in the strands as he whispered her name.  “Daenerys.”

“Hmmmm?”  She shivered in his grasp, her hands sliding around his side to sneak under the hem of the tunic, mapping the muscles of his back as she slid her lips lightly down his neck.

“You’d better show me the proper way to take this thing off or I’ll end up ruining it.”  Jon ran a palm along the center seam, detouring to slide along her covered breast, and she couldn’t seem to stop herself from arching into his hand.

“Don’t you dare.”  Her words were chastising but she was laughing, slim fingers that Jon suddenly imagined elsewhere flicking hooks free until she’d reached the last.  Her hand held the two halves of fabric together, a small smirk gracing her lips as she finished her task.  “It’s fortunate, Jon Snow, that I had faith in your bravery.”

Jon brought his lips to neck, needing to feel and taste the silk of her skin against his tongue.  “And why is that, Daenerys?”  His hands slid to her hips under the flare of the fabric she held closed, rubbing slow circles as he tried to slow his racing heart.

“Because unlike you I made sure I wasn’t wearing unnecessary, troublesome layers.”  He pulled his head back just in time to see her shed the garment from her body, and Jon had known deep down, in that place in his mind that allowed small luxuries such as imagining what every part of her would look like naked, that she would have magnificent tits.  Of course she would.  But the reality of it…there was a fierce battle raging between his cock and his knees, neither of which wanted him to remain standing much longer.

Jon slid his hands up, slowly tracing across the soft skin of her abdomen, gooseflesh rising in the wake of his fingers until he reached the full, round swells of her breasts.  He ghosted his fingers across her nipples, watching them harden further in the dim light of her room, his mouth fastening down on one dusky pink peak.  Any blood that had thought to linger elsewhere flew straight to his cock as she cried out sharply, her hips shifting before him still covered in woolen leggings.

Too many clothes.  Far too much still existed between his skin and hers, and he worked her with his mouth and tongue and fingers until her nipples were slick and glistening from his attention, her breath coming in swift pants now. 

Daenerys pushed at his shoulders suddenly, ‘til the back of his knees hit her bed.  “You’d better get the rest of those clothes off, Jon Snow.  I’m tired of waiting.”

Oh, he was certainly ready to be rid of his clothes, and hers, to see what it actually felt like to feel her against his skin.  He pulled the tunic off, flinging it across the room and smiling at her burst of laughter at the action.  And when he unlaced his breeches she was more than willing to match him, hooking her thumbs into the waist of the leggings she wore and sliding them slowly over her hips and down her legs, taking her boots off as well.

Jon’s heart was thundering in his chest as he made short work of his breeches and boots, straightening slowly as they each stared, eyes tracing everything that had been hidden from view before this moment.  He felt his chest tighten as he looked at her, now, completely bare before him.  Jon wanted to explore her, take his time with her, feel her break around his tongue and his hand and whatever else would please her before he buried himself inside her, but it had been far too long since he’d had a woman like this, and she was far more perfect than his mind had been capable of imagining.  He’d make this last as long as he could manage, and he’d pray the Old Gods hadn’t taken whatever stamina he’d been in possession of before he’d died.

Daenerys brought her hands to his shoulders and pushed, not hard enough to force him onto the bed, but firmly enough to make her wishes known, certainly.  Jon took the hint, moving back and up ‘til there was a pillow beneath his head, realizing she was just as eager as he was when she crawled quickly up, straddling his thigh and attacking her mouth with his and making him groan as he felt how ready she was, how slick she’d already before he’d really gotten to touch her everywhere he wanted.  Her hand slid across his chest, fingers dancing along his skin as she ventured down, the gentle touch almost torturous as she teased along the hot, hard skin of his cock.  He whimpered in his throat, the sound barely escaping between their lips, and she withdrew her hand, shifting her body so that he was pressed against her soft stomach.

He smiled against her lips, feeling hers twist in return as he brought his hands to her braided hair to hold her against him.  Davos had been absolutely right, he realized.  She wanted this as much as he did.  Maybe she did love him; his own battle against it had been lost for a good bit of time now.

Jon was not stingy with praise for those who had earned it.  And, every now and then, Davos Seaworth was the smartest man in the Seven Kingdoms.