Discover Top Posts Tagged with #bartender!jon

Dec 11, 2022

An Acquired Taste

moodboard by @libradoodle1

An Acquired Taste

The Night’s Watch was slammed tonight. There were three things northerners loved in boisterous, unabashed fashion: ale, rugby, and hockey. Tonight, the Winterfell Wolves had crushed the Casterly Rock Reds in Game Five of the Torrhen Cup Final four to nothing. The Wolves had been on a cold streak, and the cup hadn’t been theirs in thirty years. When they won, northerners poured out in droves to celebrate. Jon, Tormund, Gendry, and the new barback Satin hustled around the bar. Tom and Marya in the kitchen were slammed too.

While as an owner, Jon was pleased there were so many customers, the bartender in him hated the unending roll of rude, greedy patrons. The air was thick with the heat of crammed bodies, smelling of sweat, the sharp whiff of alcohol and cooking oil. Gods, it was hot. His black t-shirt clung to him, sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Jon irritably blew a strand of hair from his eyes as he leaned over the bar to hear the soft-voiced girl’s order.

“--our,” she shouted.

“What?” Jon shouted back.

“Amaretto sour!” she repeated.

“Lemon lime soda ok?” he said. She nodded eagerly. A plain girl, she wore a well-loved Winterfell Wolves jersey, her hair caked with dye half white, half grey. The look was one he was used to, half admiration, half invitation. Jon kept his smile polite.

“Comin’ up!” Jon scanned the crowd as he found the square amaretto bottle without looking down. Drinks slid across the bar with machine-like regularity. Billiard balls clacked. The radio blared some top forty song that Jon didn’t know. Jon nudged Gendry.

“Don’t overserve,” he said in his ear. Baratheons thought if you didn’t feel the burn in your throat, it wasn’t a proper drink—and Gendry was no different, even though he’d never met his deadbeat dad. Gendry nodded, measuring the vodka he was pouring more precisely. The din of so many voices were punctuated here and there by a burst of laughter, or angry words. The latter made Jon nervous. From the corner of his eye, he saw Theon and his brothers shoulder in, neutralizing an argument. Theon’s older brother Rodrik leaned over the bar.

“I’ll expect a free drink as acting bouncer!” he said with his long, toothy smile. Jon flipped him a rude gesture, to which Rodrik laughed. I really do need to hire a bouncer for nights like this. Without missing a beat, he poured, adding the sweet and sour mix. He jiggled the jug. Shit, they were almost out.

“Satin! Get more sweet and sour mix from the back!” Jon called over the racket. Ice, topped with a splash of soda, garnish with a cherry. Jon slid the drink to the girl on a black napkin with a nod. Another guy wanted a beer—draft, garnish with a slice of orange. Another a whiskey—ice, pour. Another woman wanted a gin and tonic—gin, ice, top with tonic water, stir, garnish with lime. Another, another, another. The pace slackened to a bit of a lull.

“I’m taking five,” Jon shouted to Tormund over the din. Tormund nodded.

Weaving through the crowd out the side door, Jon sucked in a grateful breath of cold, clean air. Ears ringing from the noise, the silence was just as sweet as the cold air. He wished passionately for a cigarette. The urge was always there, even after quitting two years ago. Jon took a long draught of water from his reusable bottle. Dany had used her fancy water infuser to make mint-lemon water for him. It tasted delicious. He sucked down gulps of it. Reaching for his phone, he tapped out a question. Can you fly?

The back-and-forth of learning the extent of her abilities was surprisingly fun. Hypnosis, speed, strength, enhanced senses, immortality. Pretty fucking awesome. No mind-reading, though, and she didn’t need an invitation to enter a home. Three dots danced on the screen.

Of course I can fly

WHAT??? Really?

I have a pilot’s license 😊

Jon smiled at his phone. Dany had been generous to the point of desperate in the week since she’d confessed. In bed and out. As flattering as it was, Jon reassured her it wasn’t necessary. He was glad a semblance of their usual easy humor had returned. In fact, it was almost like he could sense her smile. Bummer she couldn’t shapeshift into a bat or a raven though. If Jon could have a superpower, he would have chosen shapeshifting. I miss you, he typed. Dany kept the details of her ‘work trip’ vague—code for hunting. Jon wondered what it was like to be her prey. That smooth, liquid gait, her ethereal colors kissed by moonlight, her cool hands clamped tight around his throat, the sharp sting of her fangs—

“Fuck,” Jon said. There was that gut flip of terror and excitement . . . and he was hard as brass. How about that. He had a biting kink? Who knew?

I miss you too The dots danced.

Are you ok? Jon frowned, scanning the previous messages for why she was concerned. Heat flushed his cheeks at the thought of her being privy to his musings. She promised she wasn’t able to read his mind, but sometimes she made him wonder.

The bar’s fucking slammed, but I’m fine Jon glanced at the time on his phone. His five was up about three minutes ago.

Hydrate. I’ll be home in morning Jon was at a loss with how to reply, so he settled on a thumb’s up emoticon.

He waded through the throngs back to the bar. Damn, there was nothing but slushy water in the ice bucket. Wet, wrinkled napkins littered the bartop. Liquor bottles strewn on the workspace.

“The fuck is this mess, Tormund? I’m gone for five godsdamned minutes and it all goes to shit,” he said, shoving bottles back in their places. He shouted at Satin for more ice and napkins. The rush had slackened. People had their drinks and were munching on cheese fries, or playing pool, or reliving the high points of the game on replay. Tormund grinned sidelong at him, mopping the bartop with a rag.

“When’s Dany getting back?” he asked. Jon’s irritation mellowed at the joke. He grinned.

“Early tomorrow.”

“Thank the gods,” Tormund said.

They had time to reorganize before patrons finished their drinks. A second wave broke. Another, another, another. Close this tab, cut this guy off before he’s too pissed, shout for Satin to fetch more ice, tell this kid off for flashing a fake ID, diffuse an argument. Announce last call. A seemingly unending roll of closed tabs. Wads of damp cash. Swipe, swipe, swipe. Tormund’s booming voice ushering the last rowdy patrons out. Jon’s ears rang in the sudden silence.

“Good work, everyone. Tips are divided even, remember,” Jon said. Gendry and Tormund settled into their usual post-close tasks. Satin took initiative and began flipping barstools.

“Satin, we need to clean everything before we set up the chairs,” Jon said, coughing to clear hoarseness from his voice. Satin blushed prettily, dark curls bobbing as he nodded.

“Sure, boss. I’ll get right on it,” he said.

It was almost four in the morning before Jon was satisfied with the state of the Night’s Watch.

“Get some rest. We’re taking tonight off,” Jon said. The take was good—really good. He could afford closing for a night to give his employees a day off. There was a couple hoots and applause. Jon waved it off.

“We’ve earned it. I’ll lock up.”

The walk home passed in a fog. Ghost greeted him with a thump of his tail, but otherwise did not stir. Dany had taken him on a long run before she left for her ‘work trip.’ Jon shuffled up the stairs and collapsed facedown on his bed, toeing off his boots. He snuffled into his pillow. He could smell Dany: notes of apples and jasmine shampoo and another note he couldn’t place, but knew was hers. Jon hummed, breathing deeply of the smell and was comforted by it. Sleep took him.

Ghost’s cold nose woke him.

“Off, Ghost,” Jon croaked, his mouth dry and mossy. He blinked into the dimness of his room, realizing he was straight in the bed and tucked in the sheet and cover. Dany. Jon smiled, touched by the tender gesture. He groped for his phone on the bedside table—it was dead. Dimly, he heard the homey clatter of dishes and the hiss of a pan. Dany was downstairs cooking. Jon roused himself from the warm comfort of his bed to tiptoe on socked feet to the shower. He felt more human (what a pun) once he showered with his teeth brushed. Some spice filled the air, along with the scent of sizzling meat. Jon’s mouth watered. He pulled on sweatpants and headed down.

“Smells delicious,” Jon said as he descended the stairs. Ghost clattered down at his heels.

“About time you’re awake, you lazy sod!” Arya said. Jon cursed, startled.

“Fucking hells, Arya! What did I say about boundaries?” Jon said. Dany manned the stove, resplendent in a midnight blue sundress, her silver hair in a single braid down her back. Arya stood smirched in flour, dredging chicken cutlets. Arya shrugged.

“Boundaries smoundaries, cuz. I wanted to meet Dany.”

Jon leveled a mock glare at Arya, winding one arm around Dany and kissing the curve of her shoulder.

“‘Mornin,’” he rumbled, watching over her shoulder as she deftly sauteed vegetables and fried the chicken in separate skillets.

“Evening more like, Lord Commander. It’s five o’ clock,” Dany teased, nuzzling a wayward lock of his hair with her nose. Wow, he never got sleep like that. Jon kissed the side of her neck, feeling her subtle shiver. Unbidden came the thought of her biting him and Jon warded off another surge of terror and arousal.

“Eech, no PDA, please. And where’s your shirt?” Arya said with a shudder.

“You don’t want to see it, don’t break in,” Jon shot back, continuing to happily nuzzle Dany’s neck. He couldn’t see her face, but he could sense her smile. There it was again, that weird reflection of her mood. Was it a vampire thing?

“I hope my cousin hasn’t been too obnoxious,” Jon said.

“Not at all, we’ve been chatting. She says she has all the dirt on you,” Dany said, flipping the sizzling cutlets. Jon gulped.

“Dirt?” his voice cracked. It was too damn early for this. Arya’s grin was pure evil.

“Yeah. Like when you were thirteen and got really into seances and shit. I can’t tell you how many times I found him asleep in the godswood.” He felt Dany stiffen. Jon swallowed.

“I guess I’ve always liked supernatural stuff,” he said.

“Or that time my mom walked in on you--”

“Arya, for the love of all the gods, shut up!” Jon thundered. Arya giggled, unrepentant. Jon hugged her roughly.

“Now quit making a mess of that and go set the table,” Jon said.

The meal was excellent: the chicken was crispy and had the perfect balance of salt and spice, the vegetables tender and flavorful. Jon shoveled it down with relish, and wondered how she was such an excellent cook when she didn’t eat. Decades of practice, he supposed. Conversation flowed as easily as the wine, and Jon felt pleasantly tipsy as the three of them sprawled on the couch. Jon lay with his head in Dany’s lap. Her cool fingers carded through his hair in hypnotic strokes, lulling him into a contented stupor. Arya lounged crosswise on the loveseat, swinging her feet.

“I see why Jon wanted to keep you to himself, Dany. Every one of my siblings would question your taste,” she said with her lupine grin.

“I suppose Jon is an acquired taste,” Dany joked, rubbing his arm to soften the words. Jon snorted loudly. Acquired taste?

“Hah! That’s an excellent way to put it!” Arya chortled.

Dany clicked through their streaming services to settle on a show. Arya loved true crime shows, forensics. During her last deployment, Arya’d binged shows and podcasts alike—a potential career once she was discharged from the military. She and Dany debated the pros and cons of various career tracks, the best being the House of Black and White in Braavos. He loved how Dany could speak intelligently on almost any topic. Jon lost interest in the show and watched the colors of the TV wash over Dany’s perfect white skin. Dany grinned at something Arya said, displaying the wet white gleam of her teeth. Fangs.

Arya said her goodbyes after a text from Gendry. Her motorcycle turned over with a roar, and she sped off, short brown hair whipping behind her. Dany rounded on him.

“What is it?” she demanded, with a fierce scowl. Jon sat up from where he lay draped on the porch bench, muddled by wine and drowsing.

“What?” he said. Dany made an irritated sound, jabbing his chest with her fingertip.

“Ow!” Jon said, with a giggle. It tickled more than anything. Dany flattened her lips, fighting a smile.

“You’ve been looking at me strangely all night. Did I say something wrong to Arya? She was already here when I got home,” she said. Jon stood.

“No no, it’s not that. Arya really likes you. She wouldn’t have hung around if she didn’t.” Dany chewed on her lower lip in a very distracting way.

“I just . . . you talk a lot about your cousins, and I wondered why we hadn’t met yet.”

Jon sobered, blinking owlishly. His brain was slow on the uptake. Dany was feeling . . . insecure? That boggled the mind. He scrubbed his chin.

“Dany, my family’s . . . a lot. Since my uncle died, my aunt and one cousin—we don’t speak. They despise me. The rest are normal enough, but ever since the Ygritte Incident, I haven’t brought any girlfriends around.” Not that he’d had a girlfriend since his hellbitch of an ex until Dany.

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you. Scare you off,” he finished lamely. Dany relaxed.

“I’d hoped that I hadn’t . . . ruined it.” By telling you what I am, the last was unspoken, but rang in the air between them all the same.

Jon pulled her into a tight hug. He breathed in the dizzying smell of her hair, apples and something wild he couldn’t place. Insects hummed, a faint chilly breeze stirred the air.

“Of course not. I’ll call Robb tomorrow. We’ll have ‘em all over for a cookout. Full Stark immersion.” Dany nuzzled his neck.

“That sounds nice.”

Dany bumped her forehead gently against his, leveling a narrow violet glare at him. One hand reached down and playfully grabbed a handful of his arse. Jon twined his arms around her with a chuckle. They danced a little on the creaking porch and Jon fancied himself truly happy.

“Is there anything else you’re thinking about?” she asked. Jon squirmed under her direct gaze. The words were on his tongue, but he chickened out.

“I was just thinking . . . has anyone ever . . . enjoyed it? Knowing what you are?” Daenerys’ posture relaxed and Jon inwardly marveled at how much more comfortable she was around him. He noticed when she was too still, too focused, too different. Dany snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Yes. Wealth, power, immortality. It is a potent allure to most. And so very dull.”

It wasn’t at all what he meant, but Jon was too embarrassed and tongue-tied to articulate what he wanted. Jon nodded.

“I can imagine,” he mumbled. No slouch at reading tones, Dany cocked an eyebrow.

“Why do you ask?” she murmured, breathing air-soft little kisses along his shoulder. Jon basked in her easy affection, feeling that weird reflection. Warmth and contentment, as warm as her hug. Better to focus on that than any weird kinks.

“Just . . . curious,” he said. Jon licked his lips.

“It seems like I can . . . sense your mood. Is that normal?”

Dany blinked, peering at his face. She didn’t relinquish her grip on him. No reflection of distress. The feeling chilled from warm contentment to something ambivalent. Confusion, maybe?

“Really? Um, I’m not sure. It’s never been mutual before.”

“Mutual?”

A muscle fired in her face, almost a wince.

“When I hypnotize my . . . prey, I can sense the tenor of their mood, recent memories. Very superficial, and it ends when I’ve finished feeding.” The halting and clinical way she said it was evidence of her distaste. Each word was extracted slowly and painfully. Yeah, it was weird, but Jon was fascinated by the little details.

“But you’ve never fed from me,” Jon said, hoping the strange connection would convey his mingled disappointment and relief. Dany’s brow forked.

“Or hypnotized me?” Jon asked, with a hint of a question. Would he even know if she had? Dany looked affronted.

“No! Of course not.”

“I was mesmerized all the same,” Jon said, stealing a kiss. Dany softened under the touch. Jon tugged her inside.

Psychically linked. It was a phrase that was strange to utter, even for a vampire. Missandei, who had rescued and changed her lover Grey Worm over a hundred years ago, hadn’t known of the phenomenon. For all the weirdness, it was . . . nice. It was like there was Jon-compass in the back of her mind pointing to where he was and how he was feeling. Right now, at eleven in the morning, the itch would guide her back to the house, and the mellow quiet was one of sleep. It was Wednesday. After the Monday night shift and Delivery Day on Tuesday, he was always exhausted.

“There’s something he isn’t telling me, Missy,” she said into her earbuds. Dany yanked a snarl of weeds from the budding green of her garden. There was nothing she loved better than the feeling of earth between her fingers, the rich smells of loam and water and flowers. Dragons plant no trees—one of her brother’s maxims. In this undead life, she strove to prove him wrong. Trees, flowers, herbs and vegetables.

“Tell me the context.”

“Well, he asked if ‘anyone enjoyed it,’” Dany said, framing the operative words in finger quotes even though Missy couldn’t see her. A habit picked up from Jon. She patted the dirt around the tender roots of a cluster of osteopermums. Beautiful blooms, and cold resistant.

“‘If anyone enjoyed it.’ Hmm, and he didn’t mean proximity to one who is rich and powerful. Surely he didn’t mean enjoying being bitten?” Dany stilled at Missy’s words, every cell of her frozen in a rictus of shock. Bitten? Dany replayed the interaction last night when her Jon-compass pealed. A cold zing of fear, along with the familiar ripening of arousal. Could he really . . .? Dany snorted.

“Surely not!”

Dany felt the warning prickle as the sun threatened to break through the blanket of clouds. She blurred back to the porch, irritably watching the sky.

“Anyway, when are you and Grey going to visit? It’s been an epoch.”

The seed Missy planted in Dany’s mind germinated as quickly as the plants she put in the ground. It lingered, following her through the day as she took Ghost to the dog park, bought groceries for Pentoshi spicy noodles, and secretly corrected Jon’s messy ledger. His books were detailed, but a couple alterations to the till would only protect him from audits. Since she’d confessed, she given up the pretense of ‘working,’ and had offered to help Jon with his finances, but he refused. Her wealth languished, accruing interest, ready for when he wanted it.

Did . . . did Jon want her to bite him? Their sex life was robust, passionate. That hadn’t changed since the revelation. He was the same generous, ravenous lover as before. He had only seen her fangs one time—that one horrible time when she confessed. The thought of broaching the subject made her want to melt into a puddle of embarrassment.

“There you are, beautiful,” Jon said with a sleepy kiss as she washed dirt from her hands in the sink. In his typical fashion, he wore baggy athletic pants and no shirt. She loved Sleepy Jon. Affectionate and moving a little slow. Completely adorable. He had a shift in a few hours, there was time to talk about it. If she had the courage to broach the subject. Dany blurred around the kitchen, fixing his favorite breakfast: toast, scrambled eggs, and avocado.

“Thanks, love,” Jon said, tucking in. Dany settled in the chair across from him, at a loss for how to continue.

“Any news on the reflection thing?” he asked, taking a long gulp of Dany’s infused water—cucumber cilantro this time. Dany loved how messy his curls were when he woke up—sticking up straight like a porcupine’s quills. Jon scrubbed his beard.

“Missy had never heard anything like that. She was a historian in her previous life, so she is well-versed in the peculiarities of our kind,” she said. Jon blinked, then one of his sunny smiles broke out, stealing her breath in how gorgeous he was. Jon took her hand and squeezed it.

“I guess that means we’re soulmates,” he said. Dany’s unbeating heart fluttered.

“I guess so,” she said, choked.

The meal passed in pleasant silence. Dany plucked up her courage. Just say it!

“Is there anything you want to . . . want to try?” Dany asked. Jon knew what she meant. She watched the bloom of blood beneath his pale skin. The apples of his cheeks, the base of his neck, even in blotches on his naked chest. Intoxicating.

“You noticed that last night, huh?” he said, combing his fingers through his hair. Dany nodded.

“What did you mean by ‘enjoying it?’” she asked.

Jon blush deepened to a deep dusky red. His gaze slid away from hers to inspect the worn wood of his kitchen table as if it held the world’s knowledge. Jon’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. Very distracting. Why was this so hard to say? No two lovers instantly knew what their partner liked or wanted—even psychically linked ones. They had had frank conversations about sex before.

“The um . . . the biting part. Has anyone liked it?” Jon mumbled. If she was capable, Dany would have blushed too. There were those humans who craved subjugation, but Daenerys had never interacted with them—even when they threw themselves at her feet. She simply hadn’t been interested. Saliva filled her mouth at the thought of tasting Jon’s blood. Hot, rich and full of life. Hunger quivered through her at the thought, hands curling into fists.

“Yes, some have. I never entertained them,” she hedged. Jon risked a glance at her, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“Do you not like it? When they--”

“Jon, I go through considerable pains to ensure those I drink from do not suffer unnecessarily. But being a vampire . . . yes. Biting and drinking their blood . . . to my unending shame, I like it. I like it a great deal. And the thought of drinking from you . . .” Dany closed her eyes briefly, trying to master the demon clamoring for a taste. Her cunt throbbed as well, a well-placed touch and she could come just from fantasizing about it—as she never dared to. The heated look in Jon’s eyes was one she well knew, and the moment stretched on in the sweetest of agonies.

“Ok. Let’s try.”

It took some extracting to tack down the details Jon wanted. Not quite a ‘scene’ per se, but a hint of violence. A vampire bite was by its very nature, violent. The safeword was ‘ghost.’ Dany followed him up the stairs, trembling with anticipation and nerves. Like a giddy virgin all over again. With Jon, so many things felt new, and so right. Jon pulled on an old grey t-shirt and took his place against the exposed brick wall, arms spread as if restrained.

“Like this?” he asked softly.

“Just so,” she whispered.

Daenerys grasped her control and breathed in. Her senses sharpened to painful acuity. She could smell the spicy scent of his skin, his spruce shampoo, a hint of cilantro on his breath. The thud of his heart was swift. She tilted her head, wondering if it was fear or arousal that sped its beat. All those blood vessels dilating, the roused animal heat of him. Dany closed the distance between them in a blink. Jon flinched, eyes wide. So innocent. So beautiful. Ripe for her corruption. Dany grasped his jaw, hard enough to hurt. Dany waited, gauging his reaction. Jon sucked in a gasp. Gods, the tempo of his heart would drive her mad. The heat and woodsy scent of him enveloping her. Heat radiated from his cock, already tenting his athletic pants.

“Mmm, I wonder what makes your heart race, handsome. Fear . . . or excitement?” she drawled, smirking in a manner to expose her fang. Even Jon’s eyes were dilated, only a border of grey around the black. He licked his lips. Dany followed the movement with intense interest.

“I’m . . . I’m not sure,” Jon said. Dany leaned in, bracing her forearm against his chest with a bit of pressure. Pressing him back against the rough brick. Attuned to her Jon-compass, his mood was rich with hunger, whetted sweetly with fear. Dany loosened the tight rein she held on her control. Wildness surged through her. She squeezed her thighs together; the throb of arousal was almost painful. He was so gorgeous like this, vulnerable and hungry, eager and wrecked.

With a negligent move, Dany’s nails shred open Jon’s shirt, then his athletic pants. Tearing it like tissue paper. They hung in tatters, the pants held up by Jon’s glorious arse pressed against the wall. No underwear, his cock stood at attention.

“Yessss. Hard for me? You’re perfect,” Dany whispered. Jon squirmed a little at the praise and Dany logged that away for future reference. He hissed in a breath through his teeth as Dany traced one finger down his broad chest and hard, quivering belly to grasp his cock. Dany tilted his captive jaw to one side and leaned close . . . Jon cried out, his hands scrabbling on the brick wall. She pumped his cock, spreading around the silky fluid weeping from the head. The panting silence broken only by those slick strokes. The echo of his heartbeat thudded against her palm with each stroke. Dany licked his earlobe.

“Let me taste you.”

Dany bit down on his neck. His sleek white skin gave way and the hot, metallic richness of his blood sang on her tongue. That first taste called down one of the most intense orgasms of her life, completely untouched. She shuddered through it. Pleasure burst like fireworks behind her eyes, and she was intensely aware of Jon’s matching orgasm. Hot seed spraying in sticky drops on her hand and forearm, the musky smell. Jon roared, arms snapping tight around her as he thrust helplessly into her hand. Dany drank from him, not pausing to moan lest she waste a single drop. Magic. He tasted of magic and wilderness, pleasure and home. If any god would listen, she would have begged to live in this moment. Sacred with his trust and love, incandescent with pleasure.

I love you

The words were not spoken, but flooded through the link between them.

“More!” Jon begged, clinging to Dany. Her tongue lapped at the wound in his neck, lazy strokes that made him shiver and his cock throb. Despite the best orgasm he’d ever had, Jon throbbed back to full hardness.

“Please, Dany. More. More!” the words fell out, unbidden and needy. Dany guided him down to the floor and tore off her clothes. The cloth and denim shredded to ribbons. She looked like an otherworldly creature: hair a wild snarl from his tugging, her lips were vivid red, painted with his blood, violet eyes glowing. Gods, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen, shredding her clothes so she could fuck him. The inner reflection had become a door—a door thrown open and washing him in the glory of her soul. Her loneliness and longing, her love and pleasure. Dany . . . Dany.

Dany crouched over him to lap at his neck and slid down on his cock. The fresh sensation made him cry out again. Jon fisted a hand in her hair, holding her to his neck as the tender lapping turned to a sharper suction. The pain was a whisper compared to the pleasure of her cunt riding his cock. Warm and so wet, gliding up and down. Jon’s back bowed up, seeking more contact. He was saturated in her. The smooth cool touch of her skin, the tickle of her hair, wild, appley smell of her, the musk of her sex. There was a cooling tickle of his blood down his neck. The hot point of contact of her cunt milking him as she came again. Her pleasure called down his own and howled through another orgasm. Her name punched out of him with each stroke, his ardent prayer.

“Dany. Dany. Dany. Dany!” I love you I need you, don’t leave me I love you It was a stream of thought pouring into her. The answer was instant: I love you I need you you’re mine you’re mine you’re mine forever! The pace quickened, short, fast strokes. Jon screamed as the pleasure pierced him as surely as her fangs. Come poured out of him with each spasm. She was there joined with him—the tide of pleasure crested over them both. Dany cradled his head to keep it from thudding against the floor.

Jon floated, cruising on waves of bliss. Pleasure so excruciating he couldn’t think, pain so sweet he felt tears leak out of his eyes. A noise somewhere far away. Jon held tighter to Dany. The noise again, louder. Dany tugged the turf of his hair, pain a delicate prickle. He moaned, eager for more. Anything to please her. Look at me, love. Jon blinked. Dany’s beautiful face was above him, thick brows puckered in a frown.

“Jon, are you ok?” she asked, framing his face between her hands. Her whole world. Jon’s heart fluttered.

“Yes,” he said fervently. Jon was hoarse and limp, thoroughly fucked out. He’d never come that hard—much less three times in rapid succession. Sex with Dany had always been white hot, but discovering his ‘biting kink’ had taken it to a new level. Jon tugged her closer, missing the press of her weight. Vaguely he was aware of the hard floor, and a stickiness from fluids . . . oh! Jon stirred himself.

“I better get up, I don’t want to bleed all over the floor.”

Jon sat up, gingerly touching his neck. The skin was smooth, unbroken. Dany smiled, her fangs winking in the light.

“I took care of it. Vampire blood has restorative properties.”

“Oh,” Jon said, shuffling to the bathroom and cleaning up before returning to lay next to Dany in bed. He would’ve liked to keep the scar. Maybe next time. Already arousal stirred at the thought of next time. Jon winced, kneading away a cramp in his thigh.

We’ll have to pace ourselves. Hydrate and stretch, definitely. They drowsed together in silence, but even with his nose in her hair and his eyes shut, he could see the worried pucker on her face.

“What is it, love?” he asked.

Dany peered up at him, chewing on her lower lip.

“It wasn’t too much? You’re ok?” she asked. Jon kissed her, slow and lingering, tasting the metallic tang of his own blood.

“Never better.”

#jonerys fanfiction #daenerys targaryen #jon snow #vampire!Dany #bartender!Jon #fp37fic #smut

fierypen37