flashback: three months ago; Jon S./Alys
He’s had too much but she’s had more, and he’s determined that she wouldn’t walk home alone.
“Fuck off, Stark, I’m fine,” Alys slurs, stumbling between him and the hallway wall. Jon wraps his arm around her, bringing her close, breathing in the spray in her hair and the perfume on her neck. He lets the “Stark” comment slip pass, though he feels the sting.
Alys wraps an arm around his waist, leaning into his shoulder. Jon leads them out of the flat where the party had gone on (forever, it seemed), back to his flat. Alys can crash on the sofa. She sounds small and far away when she asks, “how much further?”
Jon licks his lips. “A few blocks,” met with Alys’s exasperated groan. He grins despite himself, memories calling back to the Karstark playdates her father had arranged – anything to get closer to the Stark family. Their playdates had ended when her brother Torr had grinded Bran’s face in the sandbox and Robb pushed Harry in the pool. There’s a sort of comfortable awkwardness in Alys – they had known each other as children and at the brief talks they had had at parties throughout the past year, it was like getting to know a whole new person.
Jon fumbles with the keys, removing his arm from Alys. She hugs the doorframe as he shoves the door open. His apartment smells of stale pizza and he thinks with a pang, I would've cleaned this for Ygritte.. Alys shuffles into the apartment, dropping her purse and kicking her heels off, the light catching her ring.
She stumbles again, almost crashing into him. Jon cracks a grin, “I’ll get some water for you,” as he turns on the television. Alys leans into the couch, sinking into it really, eyes bleary, and a frown tugging her lips downward.
She takes the water cup as Jon settles in next to her and they watch the mundane sports network. Alys’s head falls into his shoulder, and Jon reaches behind to catch her water – setting it on the side table. Jon can’t explain why, but he keeps his arm behind her.
Jon turns to look her, at her eyelashes and freckles sprayed across her nose and cheeks. She meets his gaze - she grabs his collar and tugs him closer and he covers her lips with his. His tongue flicks into her mouth, brushing past her teeth, grazing hers. His hands falls to her breast, to her side – the curve of her body as it meets her hip. His thumb brushes against her nipple through her clothes and Alys lets out a soft sigh. Encouraged, Jon pinches lightly through the fabric.
Alys has her hands tangled in Jon’s hair, pulling him closer, aligning their bodies on the sofa. Jon pushes her leg roughly to the side, getting between her knees. Alys tosses off her shirt and she’s wearing a black bra – and god, Jon traces his palms over the lace pattern and pulls Alys slightly to him as he fumbles with the bra strap. Alys traces her tongue along his pulse point as she unbuttons his shirt and flings it to the side.
“Having a little trouble there?” Alys grins as she reaches back and unhooks it herself. Jon leans into her, deepening the kiss, palms cupping her breasts, fingers tweaking her nipples as he settles them into the sofa cushions. Alys’s hand is smooth and cold against his chest, against his abs, as she moves it downward, unbuckling and unzipping and wrapping it around his hard cock.
His fingers turn into thumbs and Alys has to shimmy out of her jeans and underwear and pull down Jon’s boxers. Jon reaches for the side table to get a condom and half-elbows Alys in the face as he blindly searches for it in the drawer. Alys laughs softly into his neck and takes the condom from him.
Alys smirks, “Are you sure you’ve done this before?”
Jon rolled his eyes as he reaches to stroke her clit, “Pretty sure.”
Alys softly moans and leans away to slip the condom on Jon’s cock. Jon hesitates, and glances at Alys’s ring – she catches his eye and whispers huskily, “fuck it,” as she grabs his shoulders and hooks her legs around his hips. Jon sinks into her with a groan, biting into her shoulder as she drags her nails across his back. He starts thrusting in and out, faster and faster, building up a pace, the rhythmic slap of their thrusts filling the room.
Alys shifts, putting her legs on Jon’s shoulders and his thumb starts circling her clit, as their pace quickens. He braces himself with his other arm to look at Alys’s face – her eyes are wide-opened, mouth open, and head tilted back. She’s near, he thinks, nearly coming right there. He gives her nub a final flick, a gentle rub, and is rewarded with the sounds of her pleasure, as her cunt clenches tight around him, her nails digging into his skin, her sighs high-pitched and whiny.
He’s not for much longer, whispering “Alys, Alys” into her ear as she reaches down to cup his balls. He comes with a ragged breath.
Afterwards, she’s tucked tight against him and he asks, “do you love him?”
Alys doesn’t respond for a long moment, only presses back against him. “I do. But - ” she doesn’t turn to him, but he knows that she’s scrunching her eyebrows. She lets the sentence trail off and Jon thinks she may have fallen asleep. He starts when she finds his hand and squeezes it.