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The way Satin giggles can only mean one thing. Jon knows him well by now. But what could he possibly be thinking? It escapes Jon, no matter how hard he tries to figure it out. Besides, him focusing on finding out whatever naughty thing his pretty steward is thinking, makes him less focused on whatever it is the men are saying. And it is a serious matter. He gives his steward a warning look and continues the conversation with the rangers.
There are still wildlings beyond the Wall, a whole army of them, despite their largest part being safe within the Wall's icy towers. They are led by Soren Shieldbreaker, and he doesn't believe that the Night's Watch has suddenly turned all soft and welcoming, he doesn't trust them. He wants Jon to come meet him, both because Jon is well known among the wildlings and, despite his loyalties being questionable, they still trust him more than they trust the other black brothers, but also because Jon is the Lord Commander, a figure of authority. He must go meet them. They are willing to talk to him and will wait for him for a fortnight at the Fist of The First Men. Then, if they are happy with whatever he tells them, they will come to the Wall. If not, they will most probably kill him on the spot.
So Jon cannot understand what it is that Satin finds so funny. He's careful not to laugh openly again, as it would be unseemly, but Jon notices the way his lips curl and how he is trying to hide his smile, pretending to have dropped a quill so he could lean down to the floor under the pretence of picking it up and smirk silently, fanning himself with his hand, trying to calm down. Naughty thing. What could be on his mind, Jon sometimes doesn't even dare to ask.
After the rangers leave, Satin can finally relax and he giggles out loud, even more so seeing Jon's puzzled look.
"What?" Jon demands.
But Satin only laughs more.
"Satin." Jon smiles now too, as he can't stay immune to that sweet laughter for long. "Tell me. What is it?"
And it could be all sorts of improper things, judging by the sly look in those pretty brown eyes. Satin clears his throat. "Nothing, it's just funny."
"What is funny?" Jon presses on as he gets up from his chair and closes the distance between them. The daring look he gives his steward is a bluff, just as his authority as a Lord Commander is an illusion--he's still but a shy boy, and it is Satin who holds the reins, even when he's on all fours, with Jon inside him buried to the hilt, making him moan and shudder as he takes him roughly like a bitch in heat, it is still Satin who has the upper hand.
Satin knows it too, he exerts his power over Jon with every new thing he teaches him, every new pleasure he gives him, and even more so, with every little thing he teasingly keeps to himself, making Jon ask and leaving him amazed by the answer, blushing like some green boy and not the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
He smiles in Jon's arms. "Fist of The First Men."
"Why is it funny?" Jon hates having to ask, but he is dying to know.
Satin chuckles again until Jon, annoyed now, shuts him up with a kiss. He presses him firmly against the wall, biting his lips and growling, "Tell me. Why is it funny?"
And out of all the moments, Sam has to come into Jon's chamber now. Without knocking even. Satin and Jon quickly part, trying to look unflustered, but as Satin walks out he again bursts in a fit of laughter, almost bumping into Sam.
"What's with Satin?" Sam asks.
Jon rubs his beard. "I don't know. He's been like that all morning."
They shrug and Jon proceeds to tell him about the wildlings and the trip he will have to take.
In the evening, after a whole day spent in discussions about the wildlings waiting for him at the Fist of The First Men, and some tedious but necessary careful planning, Jon retreats to his chambers earlier than usual. He will leave tomorrow at dawn, and with a harsh long ride ahead of him, it will be better if he gets as much sleep as possible. Or steal some more moments with Satin, more likely--the outcome of his endeavour uncertain, who knows if he will ever hold him in his arms again. Jon is sure that if he is to meet his death, his last thought will not be regret over not having slept more, but over not having spent more time with his lover.
Satin has prepared him a bath, but it is both of them that soak in it, their legs entwined, as they rub each other's bodies gently.
"Will you now tell me why you laughed today?" Jon asks. "Why is the Fist of The First Men funny?"
Satin chuckles. "It reminds me of something."
Jon pulls him closer, until Satin's legs are wrapped around his hips and they are only inches apart. "Of something funny?"
"Of something naughty."
Jon smiles too and leans closer to kiss him. "Tell me," he whispers through his kisses. If he was annoyed by constantly feeling so inexperienced around Satin, that feeling is fading, and he is now genuinely intrigued. Satin never mocks him, and Jon's curiosity is always rewarded--Satin has shown him things he never dared dream of.
He has long ago stopped being too surprised with the lewd acts Satin was constantly introducing him to, but when he hears what Satin thought of this time, his jaw drops and he immediately blurts out: "You're japing. That is impossible."
Satin smiles, raising his eyebrow. "Oh, is it?"
Jon thinks about it, trying to imagine it done, and he feels flush coming to his cheeks. He must be blushing like never before. He looks down, unsure of what to say.
"I... I never knew... that something like that could be done," Jon mutters quietly.
Satin's hand caresses his face, pushing locks of hair to the side. He looks up, shy to again be that young boy who knows nothing. But Satin never taunts him for it, he is a gentle and loving teacher, considerate and careful to never wound Jon's pride. Still, Jon knows--feels--that while he may be the Lord Commander, he is nothing but a green boy in his presence.
"Have you done... that?" He is not even sure why he's asking.
"What do you think?" Satin asks back, making him blush again.
Jon decides not to speak of it anymore.
Satin smiles kindly, gently pressing his lips to Jon's. When Jon's lips part, the slow wet kiss grows in intensity. Jon gets lost in it, sucks and bites on his lips, rubbing the insides of Satin's mouth with his tongue. He is getting hard and Satin notices it. He straddles Jon, wrapping his fingers around his cock. Jon moans as Satin strokes him slowly, making him harder.
His hands clasp Satin's ass, squeezing, and his fingers go down, searching for his opening. He presses, slow but hard, and Satin moves, rolling his hips. When his one finger rubs Satin's shy little asshole, the flesh not yet open for Jon, his thoughts unwillingly go back to what Satin said. It seems so obscene--and impossible.
"Did you... How can... Um, if..." Jon doesn't know what is it that he is trying to say.
Satin, however, knows very well. "Would you want to try?" he asks, wicked smile adorning his beautiful face.
Jon shakes his head immediately. "No." He moves his hand away from Satin's ass.
But Satin smiles knowingly, takes Jon's hand to his lips and kisses it. He whispers, the movements of his hips teasing Jon, as he kisses each of his fingers, "Just imagine, not only one, or two, or even three... But all five. Your whole hand... sword hand, that has dealt justice, that has fought and killed... This powerful, strong fist--" Jon moans as Satin takes his hand back, pressing it against his asshole, "--deep inside me, my ass surrendered, conquered, stretched tight around it, clenching as you fill me whole."
Jon is so aroused, he trembles. "Would you--" he swallows hard, "--would you want that?"
Satin has positioned himself just above Jon's cock. He sits carefully, and Jon feels his slender delicate body open gradually and spread for him as his cock slowly slides deeper inside.
Satin doesn't stop until Jon is all the way in. Then he shifts, rolling his hips in slow and sensual motions. His eyes are open wide, glazed with lust. "I would want nothing more than to be claimed by you like that, to be so completely yours, so owned."
"Aaah," Jon whimpers, bucking his hips upwards.
He is usually patient, but now it's like he's possessed. He pulls Satin even firmer onto himself, his hands grabbing the soft skin of Satin's buttcheeks hard enough to bruise, as he gets up from the bathtub, Satin still impaled on his cock, and moves them to the bed. He fucks Satin so mercilessly hard that evening, like never before. He spends once, two times, and then three, yet he cannot get enough. And each new time is wilder, rougher, more powerful.
By the time he seems to have finally had enough, Jon is so exhausted he can hardly move. Satin lies in his arms, dazed and content, purring like a very happy cat.
They kiss and cuddle until they find themselves dozing off, when Satin quickly jumps.
"I must prepare our things for the ride tomorrow. Better do it now than hastily in the morning," he says.
"Just my things, Satin. You are staying here."
Satin stops and looks at him as if he'd been slapped.
"You are staying here," Jon repeats.
"I thought you were taking me along. Why aren't you?" He looks offended.
Jon sighs. "Satin," he starts, "I want you here where it's safe. I will go alone. I'm not even taking any rangers with me as I don't wish to risk any more lives than I absolutely have to. I want you safe. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you."
Satin blinks. "Jon, nothing will happen. Not to me, not to anybody. Those people, the wildlings there in the forest, they are afraid. They asked for you because they don't trust anyone else from the Watch. They are petrified and in need of shelter. Their threats and warnings are all empty. They are scared, Jon, and they want to be safe. And they know you. They trust you more than the others, they know you are their only chance of ever surviving this winter that has come and brought... you know what."
Jon nods. Long ago he stopped being amazed that Satin understood things better than many of the seasoned black brothers. When he warned Jon about Bowen Marsh and the plot, Jon thought he was mad. But it wasn't the only thing Satin's been right about. And Jon learning to trust him has saved his life then.
Still, it is not only the wildlings that worry Jon. There are other things in those forests.
"Satin, you are staying here. I will not risk it." Jon tries to sound stern and appear adamant. By the hurt look in Satin's eyes, he can tell he succeeded.
Satin nods. "Very well. I will prepare you for your ride, my Lord." He then gets busy around the chamber.
Jon is quiet, but he feels bad. He hates to hear Satin call him "my Lord". He always calls him Jon, except in front of other people, when he uses Jon's official title--Lord Commander. He also calls him that when they fuck, and Jon's cock soars to those words. But "my Lord" is distant and cold, it alienates him, shuts him away, and Jon hates it.
He lies in his bed, leaning against the headboard and watches Satin as he moves about, preparing his clothes. They are both quiet. Once Satin has finished, he blows out the candles and walks towards the little room that is his in name only, as he always sleeps with Jon. He opens the door and Jon calls after him: "Satin. Come back."
Satin does return, he can see his lithe shape in the dark. "Did you need anything else, my Lord?"
"Don't be like that. Come here."
But Satin doesn't move. "You better rest now, my Lord, you have a long ride ahead of you tomorrow."
It is now a battle of wills taking place in his chamber, Jon knows it. He says sternly, "Satin, as your Lord Commander, I order you to come here and..." But he finishes that thought with a sigh.
They are both quiet, not moving. Then Jon says, his tone soft now, "So be it. Good night."
"Good night to you too, my Lord."
After Satin disappears inside his little room, Jon cannot fall asleep. He thinks about what Satin said about the wildlings. He knows Satin is right. Those people are afraid of the long approaching winter and the horrors thought dead and gone. Their cruel threats mean nothing. No harm would come to him from that meeting. And he hates to see Satin sulking like that. So, after some time, he gets up and goes to his steward. It is dark, but he sees Satin is awake too.
Jon sits next to him on the bed and they are both silent for a few moments. Jon takes his hand, pleased to see Satin doesn't move away. Jon wonders if Satin knows just how he cannot deny him anything. He probably does. Lord Commander--what a jape.
"It will be a cold and harsh ride beyond the Wall, you have never ventured that far north before. Nor have you ever been that cold. The dangers that lurk there are not-- The wildlings would not harm us, Satin, but other things might. You know that?"
Satin looks at him apologetically, his eyes sparkling in the dark. "I just wish to be with you, is all."
Jon nods, then shakes his head with a disbelieving smile. "I must be mad to bring you along."
Satin gives him a sly smile. "I'll make it worth your while."
"Oh, will you now?" Jon grins teasingly.
"You'll see. When we reach that Fist of The First Men. I promise you will never think of that place again without your cock soaring to the sky."
Jon chuckles. "I'll see if you will be intent on keeping your word when you realize that every time you take your cock out for a piss you risk losing it to frostbite."
Satin licks his lips. "You worry about my cock, Lord Commander?"
"Aye, I have to. It's in my charge." Jon places his hand on Satin's crotch and gives a gentle squeeze. Then he is serious again. "You will come along. But you will not do anything... silly. When we come back here, we can... see that you keep your word." Good thing that it's dark, and Satin can't see how much he must be blushing. "But beyond the Wall, you'll have to be chaste and obey me as if I really was your Lord Commander."
Satin pulls him to himself, and Jon nestles next to him. The dawn finds them still kissing.
Their ride beyond the wall luckily turns out to be uneventful and, being just the two of them and unburdened by a large party or many supplies, they reach the Fist of The First Men in record time, much quicker than the black brothers did on the great ranging the Old Bear lead.
What Satin said about the wildlings couldn't be more true--they are a miserable and sorry lot. While numerous, most of them are women and children, with just a few seasoned warriors that look just as scared. Soren looks happy to see Jon, even if he tries to bridle his enthusiasm. They agree on everything rather quickly and set off for the Wall the very same day. The trip back is somewhat slower, as they travel in large number now, but the wildlings are not only relatively well organized and skilled at moving their entire party fast, but they are also very anxious to reach the safety of Castle Black.
If Jon was worried Satin might be reckless, he soon realizes that Satin honestly had no idea just how harsh the cold can get, and the thick dark forest frightens him, so he stays close to Jon, not daring to even go for a piss more than just a few steps away, compliant as ever. His easy smiles also seem to have frozen and he is quiet and alert. Still, he claims he's not afraid when Jon asks him, and that he's not sorry to have come along. Needless to say, except for that piss he has to take every now and then, Satin's pretty cock stays confined for the entirety of their ride. Jon smirks to see that change in his steward, feeling powerful and experienced in Satin's presence for once. A true Lord Commander, not just in a name. Satin may know the ways of the flesh, but Jon knows the ways of the North. He gets almost drunk on this power, but resists the urge to show it off too much or rub Satin's words from that night in his face. But whenever he thinks of what awaits him when they are back at Castle Black, Jon's cock hardens, and the blush in his cheeks is not due to the biting cold.
It is early afternoon when they return to the Wall. Jon issues commands on housing the newcomers and leaves Sam in charge or seeing all is done properly. He retreats to his chamber, feeling tired and cold, sore from the long ride. Satin prepares a bath and soon both of them are relaxing in hot water, enjoying a flagon of spiced wine, feeling the warmth and strength slowly return to their bodies.
Then they sit wrapped in clean sheets, drying each other, rubbing away the soreness from their muscles. Jon thinks to call it a night, but Satin nestles to him and whispers, "How I missed this. Being naked, being close like this."
Jon smiles. He has missed that too.
Satin pushes him to the bed, lying on top of him, kissing his lips, and Jon suppresses a moan. When Satin squirms on top of him, he knows it will be mere moments before he is rock-hard, but he is uncertain whether they should do anything more than sleep that night.
"Aren't you tired and saddle-sore?" he asks through the kisses.
"A little," Satin replies, smiling, his hand looking for Jon's, their fingers intertwining," but I have missed you more. Besides, I have made you a promise. And I always keep my word."
Sure enough, that makes Jon's cock jump. He grunts as he rolls them over, getting on top, spreading Satin's legs with his thigh, pressing onto his crotch. Satin is hard, too, and Jon's hand takes both their cocks and strokes them together. Satin writhes beneath him, moaning.
Jon tosses the sheets aside, letting them drop to the floor, and Satin stretches his body to the left, grabbing the oil from the night cabinet drawer.
He again takes Jon's hand, kissing his every finger, then rubs his lips softly on the palm. "I want all of this in."
Jon shudders with arousal. Yet, he is uncertain. "Won't it hurt?"
"No, because you will go slow and gentle. Take your time, Jon, we have the whole night ahead of us."
Jon nods. Satin turns around on his stomach and lifts his lower body to his knees. His ass is high in the air as his head is resting on the pillow, looking back at him.
Jon lowers his head and kisses his asscheeks, rubbing his beard all over Satin's soft skin, as he moves slowly towards the cleft in the middle. Satin moans gently, and Jon grins. He knows how much Satin loves this.
Jon's tongue laves the cleft that goes from Satin's balls all the way up, and Jon delights in the little sounds of pleasure Satin makes every time he brushes over his asshole. He repeats this a few times, until Satin starts moving impatiently, spreading his legs a bit wider, his moans sounding more like wailing. Then Jon kisses the puckered flesh, tickling with his lips, making Satin squirm and whimper. When his tongue presses firmly against the rim, Satin cries out a soft yes that becomes an incoherent noise as Jon's tongue slowly goes in, rubbing and pushing the tender folds of skin.
He loves tasting Satin like this, opening him gently with this soft tongue-fucking, feeling him squirm and moan, more and more impatient, until Satin's need for him is wild and insatiable and he begs, desperate for Jon's cock. He loves bringing him to the verge of tears with nothing more than his lips and tongue.
For his first finger to go in, Jon doesn't even need any oil, as he has licked Satin slick. His forefinger slides in easily, pushing back and forth, until it's in knuckle-deep. He fingers him like that for a little while, then takes the finger out, oiling it up. Satin moans his complaint over the loss, but the finger is quickly back inside, joined by another. It's so tight, and Jon pushes in slowly, thinking how impossible the task ahead of him seems. But Satin moves, bringing his body further onto Jon's fingers, and he can feel Satin's muscled ring relaxing a bit more, as two fingers go in and out and in and out, until Satin lets out a happy needy sob.
Jon chuckles, giving his ass a gentle smack. "Are you hungry for me, Satin?"
"Gods, yes, so much," Satin pants.
Jon adds more oil and then, slowly, a third finger. They have already done the three fingers before, this is a known ground to both of them. He pushes, first gently, but then harder, making Satin whimper.
"Look at you, so wanting. So shameless. Gods, you are beautiful like this," Jon whispers. "Does your pretty little hole need more? Is it hungry... for my whole fist?" he asks, blushing to the rude words he says.
"Fucking starved." Satin has no problem with lewd words, or blushing. He rocks his hips back and forth as his ass opens even more.
The fourth finger troubles Jon a bit, he pushes it in, feeling Satin's rim so taut around his fingers, but then he stops and takes his fingers out, unsure how to proceed.
"Please," Satin wails, "go on. Don't stop."
"Satin," Jon mutters, flushed bright red, "how do I, you know... How do I put my fist in you?"
Satin chuckles, but he turns around, lying on his side now. He shows his hands to Jon, one a closed fist, the other fingers straight and pressed firmly against each other. "Which one you think can go in easier?"
Jon looks down, embarrassed suddenly. But Satin comes up to kiss him. He whispers, "It's just called like that, but it's not an actual fist that goes in. You're doing so well, my love, don't worry. And don't stop."
Jon nods, returning the kiss. Satin stays on his side, but spreads his legs wide, lifting one and resting it on Jon's shoulder. He nods encouragingly and Jon resumes the fingering.
He's hard--Satin's warm ass tight around his fingers never fails to arouse him--but he notices that when his four fingers are in almost all the way to the knuckles, Satin's erection subsides. He feels bad instantly and goes down on him, taking him in his mouth, as he continues to finger his asshole, feeling the tight flesh give way under the pressure.
"Oh, gods, Jon, don't stop," Satin moans, and Jon soon feels him hardening in his mouth.
He takes his other hand to his own cock, stroking slowly, trying to keep up the rhythm with his fingers' thrusting, as his tongue lovingly teases Satin's length. Then he just sucks the tip and Satin squeals.
"No, please, no, wait. I don't want to spend yet," he begs, and Jon smirks lifting his head up.
He kisses him some more, his four fingers still working committedly. Jon prefers this side position as they can kiss like that, kisses making this rude act rather gentle and intimate. Satin's body is so relaxed now, but his ass still feels incredibly tight around Jon's fingers--he doesn't dare move too fast or too hard. He keeps drilling Satin's ass like that and stroking himself, making short breaks every now and then, allowing Satin the time to adjust.
After a while, Jon thinks this is proving futile--there is no way Satin can get any more loose than now, and fitting his whole hand really is impossible. He thinks he should suck Satin off, and stroke his own release out, abandoning this pointless mission. But Satin nudges him on.
"Press your thumb against your palm," he pants, "Then slowly bring it in."
Jon obeys reluctantly, surprised to see the tip of his thumb getting in, as Satin gasps.
"Don't stop, don't stop," he urges.
Jon nods, pushing. He has started sweating with the effort, the pressure he uses must be strong enough to breach the rim, but he is also restraining himself, fearing any damage he might cause.
He adds more oil, coating his knuckles in a thick layer. He pushes slowly, hesitantly, almost certain it cannot go any further, his knuckles still outside, their way barred by the force of Satin's sensitive flesh resisting this impossible assault.
And then it happens. Amidst Satin's wanton needy moans, urging him to advance, Jon finds himself shocked, staring in bewilderment, that the widest part of his hand has finally managed to get it. Satin starts keening, loud high pitch sound fills the chamber, and Jon is, maybe for the first time, really thankful for the strong winds that scream and wail in the night around Castle Black and its towers. Satin's face is pinched in a grimace so intense, and Jon is not sure what it is. Is it pain? Is it concentration? It can't possibly be pleasure? He immediately starts taking his hand back, but Satin's eyes open suddenly and he grabs Jon by the wrist.
"Don't stop," he says, his firm grasp on Jon's wrist not allowing Jon's hand to retreat.
"Are you... Does it hurt? You seem in pain. I don't want to hurt you."
But Satin smiles, and shakes his head, breathing loudly. "No, it's good. It burns a little, that's all."
Jon is still hesitant. "I don't want to hurt you," he repeats.
But Satin is not letting go of his wrist, urging him to continue. "And you're not hurting me, Jon. This is a good kind of burn, I swear. Please, don't stop, we're almost there."
Jon nods, and Satin's hand slowly releases his wrist, leaning back on the bed, his dark eyes on Jon, warm and expectant. Jon swallows hard and resumes his advance. It goes slow, but the knuckles are getting in, stretching Satin so wide, Jon fears he might tear. Satin bites on his lips, tilting his head back.
After the knuckles, the rest goes relatively smoothly, until he is wrist-deep, Satin's pink rim stretched flat around his hand--once puckered folds now seem smooth with the force of the spread.
Jon holds his hand still, afraid to move it. But Satin, impressed with the success, lets out a throaty laugh and shifts a little, rocking back and forth slowly. Jon has let go of his erection, staring in amazement, watching Satin's little asshole glistening around his wrist, as he makes small movements with his hips, urging Jon to move his hand too.
Jon has seen many strange things he didn't deem possible--white walkers or giants. But he now thinks that his whole hand deep inside Satin's stretched ass amazes him more. That is so unbelievable, he can't stop staring in awe, both his eyes and mouth open wide.
That is also the most lewd thing he has ever seen, or imagined even, and it makes his cock leak, despite being all but forgotten.
He moves his hand slowly, watching the flesh spread so taut around him, as Satin moans and keens wantonly.
"Satin... Gods, this is--aah, how warm you feel, how tight," he speaks in awe, flustered with arousal.
"Yes, oh, gods, yes," Satin is sobbing, his words becoming just pitiful squeals that Jon silences with kisses.
He is amazed how hungry Satin is for him, how pliable his body is, what it is ready and able to take. He knows this must also hurt at least a little, he knows Satin will be sore, but the fact that he moans for Jon to move his hand faster and harder, begging with his hips, with his whole body--that blows Jon away completely. He has never been so aroused. His cock is straining, twitching, demanding attention, so Jon resumes his steady stroking, keeping the rhythm with the thrusts of his hand. Soon, Satin starts shifting, moving his hips slightly backwards, forcing Jon's hand to angle. Jon knows why and he complies, speeding up. Satin is whimpering quite loudly, but then, as if he remembers himself, he bites on his lips and shudders, his whole body trembling, his stretched asshole clenching tight around Jon's wrist, as his cock spurts out gushes of milky seed. He is lost in a long wailing moan he's trying so hard to keep as quiet as possible.
Jon's own cock twitches, and he starts fucking his fist faster now, pumping the release out of him, powerful violent stream spraying them both when he spends. He tries not to close his eyes, tries to keep on watching that obscene image, his hand inside Satin's ass, wrist-deep, pink puckered rim stretched flat. He might keep his eyes open, but his vision blacks out with the force of his release nonetheless.
When he catches his breath again, Jon slowly removes his hand, Satin hissing and whimpering as the knuckles now make their way back out. They both watch as the sensitive pink skin, turned red now, slowly shrivels back, but still not closing completely. It looks sore and molested.
They both breathe loudly as Jon takes one of the sheets they dried themselves with and soaks it in now already cold tub water. He cleans them both with it, gently, his touch on Satin's abused asshole feather-light, not daring to press harder.
Satin looks so dazed. His usually very responsive body feels now like a rag-doll, limp and lifeless. He looks exhausted, and Jon starts feeling guilty. Satin must notice that, because he smiles at him and extends his arms, pulling him in warm embrace. Jon nuzzles at his neck and thinks of all the sweet nothings he would now whisper if only he didn't have that lump in his throat. He wonders how tired and sore Satin must be, and he was gentle, so gentle. He also thinks about all the times Satin must have been forced to do this with hands that were not loving or careful like his was, and all the times he must have been hurt or bruised, too sore to move, maybe even injured, with no one to clean him tenderly, care for him afterwards or soothe him with soft kisses. This makes Jon so incredibly sad. He hides his face in Satin's hair, not saying a word, trying to push those thoughts out of his head--the thoughts of numerous rough hands hurting and tearing and raping his lover who was not allowed to refuse them. Also, despite knowing he isn't, he somehow feels he is just as bad as any others who might have violated Satin's delicate beautiful body. The guilt almost brings tears to his eyes.
After a while, Satin lifts his head, propping himself on his elbow. "Jon? What is it?"
Jon sighs. "Nothing. Sleep now."
"Did you not like it?"
"I did."
Satin is now serious. He looks at Jon intensely. "Then tell me what it is."
Jon would rather not speak of this, he has never questioned Satin about his past and all he knows--and he knows a lot--was because Satin himself chose to tell him. But now, Satin is asking what it is that's making him so sullen, and it would not be fair to not say the truth. He clears his throat and speaks, "Satin... back when you were... in Oldtown--"
Satin nods. "In the brothel, you mean?"
Jon blushes. "Yes. Then."
"What about it?"
"Did you... with how... did you have to do this with a lot of men?" he blurts out finally.
Satin looks at him, expression blank, unreadable. "You would not believe with how many," he says.
If Jon was sad before, he is now absolutely miserable, hearing this. He feels so sorry for all that Satin's been through. He nods solemnly. But Satin then smiles. "Do you really want to know?"
"If you want to tell me," Jon whispers, looking in his eyes.
Satin kisses him softly on the lips. "I had never done it before."
Jon shakes his head. "What?"
"This was the first time I've done it. I had never done it before," Satin repeats. Then he adds, smiling, "I told you that you wouldn't believe me."
Jon smiles too, still not sure if this is a jape now. "Really?"
"Really." Satin nods. "Jon, I wasn't even allowed to let my beard grow, as to appear younger than I was. The proprietor was intent on selling me out as a very young boy, and very young boys must be as tight as possible. I was fucked. A lot. But that was all. No fisting for me. Only older whores did it. This was my first time."
Jon starts chuckling now, no longer sad. "You're an impudent little tease, Satin. Why didn't you tell me?"
Satin giggles too. "You never really asked. You just assumed I did it, and I didn't want to have you disappointed, since you probably think I have done everything."
Jon pulls him on top of himself and kisses him gently. "Naughty thing. Why did you then do it? I didn't even know about it, I mean, that something like that could be done."
"Because I love you, and I want to do everything with you. Even things I haven't done before."
"But you'll be sore for days."
Satin laughs. "I know, I doubt I'll be sitting very well in the next couple of days. Or walking, really. But I loved it. I loved feeling so... yours. Besides, it was a long ride we had, no one will think it strange I am sore."
Jon pulls the heavy furs over them, and holds Satin tight. He blows out the candle, and then, in the dark, he finally manages to whisper all the sweet words he thought of, all the sweet gentle things he has ever wanted to say. And even long after Satin has fallen asleep in his arms, Jon still kisses his hair, still caresses his skin, still whispers "I love you."