Stellar Constellation - november drabbles - day 16
Day 16 of @creativepromptsforwriting November prompt list.
I'm stupid. I had completely forgotten I was saving the Andromeda-inspired story (that I wrote for day 9) specifically for this prompt. So, I had to come up with something else real quick and thankfully found ASOIAF's Moonmaid constellation and the little tidbit Ygritte tells Jon about it.
“So, what are the marriage customs for the wildlings?” Sansa asked as they sat across from each other at the roaring fire.
She and a small contingency of guards had visited Castle Black to see how things were coming along. Learning of Jon’s whereabouts beyond the wall, helping to resettle another faction of wildlings, she had insisted they go out and find him. When he saw a group heading toward their encampment, he didn’t think anything of it – just brothers of the Watch bringing some goods. But then he saw flaming hair upon a white horse and a smile lit up his face. He could hear Tormund making some joke about not knowing Jon’s mouth could do that.
This was the third night of her visit. She had been very interested in the free folk culture while she was in their land – going about the camp, speaking with the people, learning things from them. Her modest tent was set up at the edge, a fire built for her in front of it. It was cold, but the near unbearable cold was gone now that the White Walkers had been destroyed. Sansa sat wrapped in a white cloak embroidered with the Stark direwolf, her own handiwork. The firelight danced in her eyes. Ever since her sudden arrival, Jon had realized just how much he had missed her.
“They don’t really marry. Wildling women get stolen.”
“Stolen? Against their will?”
“Strength is valued above all here. The act of being stolen is more of a mating process. If a man is strong enough to steal a wildling woman, he deserves her. If that woman doesn’t want him, he can be assured that she’ll probably kill him in his sleep. And the woman is not seen as his property.”
“Interesting,” Sansa nodded.
“You see those stars up there, the ones that make up the Moonmaid? And just inside of it, the red wanderer? You and I were taught that that is the Smith. But the free folk call it the Thief. And, they say, when the Thief sits in the Moonmaid, it is the best time to steal a woman.”
“And have you stolen any lucky woman in all your time spent with them?” she smiled.
“No,” Jon laughed. “Well, Ygritte thought I had stolen her, but that wasn’t my intent.”
“But none now?”
“No. None.”
Sansa eyed him with a lifted brow. Her look was piercing, beguiling, and playful. “I wonder if I would be stolen while I’m here.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen,” Jon answered strongly.
“What if I want to be stolen?” she asked with a teasing smile.
“By one of the wildlings?” he laughed.
“Just by someone,” she smirked and got to her feet. She walked to her tent and turned back to him. Away from the warm glow of fire, her pale skin frostily shone in the moonlight. “Good night, Jon.” Her smile held so many secret meanings as she disappeared into the tent.
Jon sat alone at the fire and stared at her tent. Was he crazy? Was she inviting him to “steal” her in the night? The looks they shared in the past always had hidden facets to them, some form of desire beneath the passionately stubborn and frustrated gazes. Jon had always thought it might have been wishful thinking on his part. But, with her visit, the desire in their eyes shone more brightly now that wars and enemies weren’t in the forefront of their minds. Their seemingly innocent touches lingered much longer than they used to. She gave him smiles that seemed only meant for him. And then her eyes just now, so mischievously inviting. He looked up at the Moonmaid constellation again. The red wanderer twinkled brightly in the middle of it. Without another thought, he determinedly strode into her tent.
She stood, waiting for him with a knowing smile. “Have you come to steal me?”
“Usually a man would have to fight to take the woman – prove his strength,” Jon explained, coming closer.
“I did learn some fighting moves from a few of the women,” she admitted as she stepped toward him. “But I surely already know your strength. You don’t need to prove that to me.” Her hands graced his strong arms. “Take me, Jon.” Sansa’s voice dripped with desire.
His fingers attacked her cloak and dress. With her help, they loosened them and had it dropping to the ground in short time. She didn’t seem to mind the cold as his hands traced the curves of her body that he had longed to know. He grasped her waist and guided her to sit on her makeshift bed. His hands spreading her legs, Jon knelt before her, taking in her scent like the wolf within him, his arousal growing. She let out the most beautiful gasp as he licked a strip up her slit. He ate her up, with her fingers tangled in his hair, until he had her body racked with euphoric shudders. Her hands clutched at his cloak, bringing him up to her, their lips melding together while she seemed to enjoy her own taste. He shed his clothes and laid her back on the bed, covering her with his body. Her hands skimmed along his skin; her lips and tongue tasted the salty flesh of his chest. Her whispers of “take me, steal me” set fire in him. He pushed into her, the tight wetness pulled him in until he was fully seated within her. Sansa let out a satisfied sigh. She moved with him, her hips meeting his thrusts, her hands roving his body and gripping tight when he hit deep within her. She had no interest in staying quiet either, unladylike noises poured from her mouth. Eventually, Jon started to lose control, he pulled out and spilled on her soft belly.
“So I’m yours now?” Sansa whispered as they lay under the furs, her leg and arm draped across him.
“As long as I’m yours.”
