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diabla616 · 2 years

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Some nights I call it a draw

Written for the Fic & Art prompt swap over at @thepassifloradiscord for @kueble's prompt.

Geralt is a creature of habit, as much as the unpredictable and frankly unsociable hours of his trade allow him to be. Jaskier should know – he's been cataloguing Geralt’s likes and dislikes ever since Geralt moved into his spare room eight months ago. His parents’ spare room – whatever. It’s not as though they’re ever going to live in the tiny apartment they bought instead of having their eldest son rent a room like a pauper. Though they might well be reconsidering their generous investment now Jaskier’s veered firmly off the Pankratz-approved path for his studies.

Point is – Jaskier knows all of Geralt’s habits by now. It’s not obsessive, thank you Priss, it just means he’s an excellent roommate. He knows when to clear out if Geralt’s likely to need some alone time after a bad hunt, or when he can be wheedled into watching cheesy rom-coms even though he claims to hate them. Knows that at the end of a bad week it’s a guilty pleasure for Geralt to watch corny Hammer horror movies, and that if it’s been a particularly good week he’ll order takeout, something more spice than sustenance, and try in vain to expand Jaskier’s palate to something more adventurous than ‘mild’.

Right now, it means he knows he’s got at least an hour to himself while Geralt walks Roach, and damned if he isn’t going to take full advantage. It’s not that he couldn’t do this while Geralt is here – it's his home too – but the walls in the apartment are paper-thin and –well, he’d really rather not.

It’s not going to take long- Jaskier might also be a creature of habit, at least a little. His routine has been pretty much the same during the torturous eight months he’s lived with Geralt so far.

It’s not that Geralt is a bad roommate, far from it; he’s respectful, quiet and cleans up after himself – and Jaskier sometimes – without having to be asked.

He’s also front and centre in all Jaskier’s fantasies since long before they lived together. At first, he'd assumed Geralt knew and was letting him down gently, but now – now he’s starting to think Geralt doesn't have the faintest idea, and the time to drop that bombshell was, oh, about eight months ago.

Anyway; a free apartment, some good lube and his imagination is all Jaskier needs right now. He’s even stopped watching porn, since none of it actually measures up to the scenarios he can dream up, all involving Geralt, of course.

Is that creepy? He doesn’t think about it too much, just in case it is.

So, he shucks off his pants and settles back onto his bed. It always feels a little indulgent, being naked in the middle of the day, but Jaskier has never really had much need for modesty in his own spaces (neither has Geralt, which Jaskier’s thankful for more often than not).

Besides, he’s being a little indulgent - sue him. Classwork can wait.

Jaskier runs his hands over his thighs, across his chest. He’s not hard yet, but his body is certainly starting to pay attention – it helps that he’s always been sensitive, responsive to the lightest of touches.

He drops his head back to the pillows, lets his imagination run away with him a little as he reaches down to stroke himself; Geralt’s ass, his abs, the way it feels to be the focus of all that intense attention...

Slowly at first; little more than teasing, letting himself get further lost in the fantasies, then firmer strokes, toes curling into the mattress below him, each breath a symphony of gasps and soft moans.

Then, a snarl of pain in his legs as his calf muscle tenses and catches, throbbing. Jaskier yelps, equal parts frustration and pain.

“Jask?”

Out in the hallway the apartment door clicks closed, and Jaskier freezes.

Roach’s leash clatters onto the table, then Geralt’s rapping a knuckle against his door. Jaskier pulls a blanket into his lap in a vague attempt at modesty, just as Geralt pushes the door open.

It shouldn’t be embarrassing – it's not embarrassing; they’re adults both of them, with normal human needs. It’s not as though Geralt is going to take one look and realise he’s the star of Jaskier’s evening entertainment. Not as long as Jaskier can pull himself together.

“Cramp.” He manages, a little hoarsely. Great, nailed it.

Geralt sits on the mattress near him, slides his hand, huge and warm, up Jaskier’s calf to reach the tight knot of muscle there.

“Painful.” He says in a low voice.

Jaskier can’t quite tell if it’s a question, but he nods anyway.

“Okay,” Geralt says, “turn over.”

Jaskier gawps at him, and he shakes his head, “you’re not going to do it any good curled up like that. Lie down, let me help.”

Oh, right. A little disappointing, though much less so once Geralt starts in earnest, thumbs digging firmly into the snarl of muscle in his calf. Jaskier muffles a moan into his pillow, with questionable success.

Geralt doesn’t say anything more, and Jaskier relaxes a little; it’s nice, companionable mostly. They’ve always known how to be calm around each other.

Until the pain starts to subside a little, and the arousal it pushed away comes roaring back with a vengeance. He’s still half-hard from earlier, and rapidly regaining ground as Geralt’s fingers work out the knot in his leg.

Geralt doesn’t seem to notice, continuing to knead at his calf as though Jaskier’s not biting his lip hard enough to draw blood and panting heavy breaths into his bedclothes, as if he’s actually managing to hide the little thrusts he can’t quite stop, simultaneously too intense and not quite enough pressure.

Geralt’s thumb slips on the next upstroke, rubbing gently at the inside of his knee, and somehow that’s all it takes.

He’d been so close before, and having Geralt here, touching him is blurring the lines of his fantasy so sweetly. Jaskier tenses, and comes across his duvet with a gasp he hopes Geralt doesn’t recognise as his own name.

Geralt’s hands still on his leg and that’s - worst case scenario? Perhaps. He can’t quite bring himself to look and see.

Jaskier buries his head further into his pillow with a groan. If he throws himself out the window he’ll break both legs at least – though it might almost be worth it.

“Can we please skip the part where I throw myself out the window, and move right to never talking about this, ever?”

A huff of breath, like Geralt almost wants to laugh at him, and he’s silent for a good minute. Jaskier bites his lip and tries not to catastrophise. Too much.

When he speaks again it’s calm, measured. Jaskier can’t tell without looking whether the smile is real or imagined, but his mortification hasn’t subsided enough that he can show his face just yet.

“We can if you like,” and Jaskier's about to agree, to lick his wounds in private a little, while he adjusts to this new world where he knows what Geralt’s hands feel like on him, and likely won’t ever experience again, when Geralt continues, “or, we could -”

Jaskier isn’t holding his breath. Really.

“-talk. About it.” The words sound like they’ve been wrenched out of him, and now Jaskier does turn to look. Geralt isn’t looking at him, he’s glaring very intensely at a corner of the ceiling.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything – you've never before-” a sigh, “if you’re not interested, we can forget about it, but if you were, we could – talk, maybe.”

“Actually, I’ve got a better idea.” Jaskier manages, and what a better idea it is, when Geralt leans into the kiss Jaskier angles for.

Truly, a genius idea.

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The prompt was: “And they were roommates! Jaskier is jerking off and gets a leg cramp and ends up shouting for help. Cue Geralt massaging his cramp out and them getting their shit together at the same time. A getting together/first time fic with some humor mixed in.”

#geraskier #prompt #my fic #geralt of rivia #jaskier

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fightevilandthengetblownup · 7 years

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ASOIAF AU III

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Harry Rosby was a terribly deep sleeper. It was a known problem around the Citadel, as if the man hadn’t woken on his own violation, he would be nigh on impossible to wake for his tasks. Often times, when the two had stayed up into the early hours studying, the shorter of the pair wouldn’t wake up at all for their morning rounds.

Fortunately, as the other had handled this for the last seven years, Jackson Waters knew the exact tactic and had planned for exactly that as he approached the bed before upturning the bucket of ice water over his sleeping friend.

“Seven Hells curse you!” The younger acolyte screamed, jerking awake right away before looking in confusion about the room. He hadn’t been woken like that since he left the Citadel five months earlier. A surprised laugh came out as he took in the sight of his friend, clearly dusty and sweaty from the road. “When the hell did you get in, where the fuck did you get that bucket, and how’d you get in here? Didn’t I lock the door?”

As he sat down on the driest corner of the bed, watching his friend struggle out of the wet fabric and over to his privacy screen to change, Jackson frowned to himself. “I just got in about an hour ago, nobody in the court is awake just yet and I have sent word to my mother and siblings. However given the unholy hour, I figured I would visit my best of friends.” He ran a hand through his slightly matted hair, trying to untangle the longer strands from the sweaty clumps. “Where did you pick up that language? This must be why they say acolytes shouldn’t leave the Citadel until they’ve completed their training, less they be lead astray.”

The other man faked a laugh, changing quickly into his dry clothes for the day before he emerged with a washbowl and mirror for the other. “No, I think it’s just that the old fucking kooks want us to have our brains go musty like theirs earlier and earlier. Bet they haven’t seen past the whorehouses of Oldtown in decades, like Maester Beldon.” Harry Rosby was known to make such comments in the privacy of their private rooms, however not so colourfully. “It’s been so eye opening being out in the world, Jackson, I cannot wait to complete my chain and be free to travel to a new holdfast than that dusty pile of rocks and books.”

It was at that point it seemed his friend had noticed the new chain, weighing heavy upon Jackson’s neck and shoulders. He had completed his chain just after Harry had left the Citadel, and three more chains finalised since. The royal’s planning to take a wide ranging approach to study had paid off as the years drew by and he could complete his studies all together. The jewels embedded in the other chain around his neck also spoke words. “What... when did that happen?” The younger man looked confused, pointing out the secondary chain. “I thought Grand Maester Castiel was recovering.”

“Simply rumours. The Conclave voted and decided that it was better to send a Maester who would not be,” Jackson Waters paused for a moment, as though trying to decide whether to be diplomatic or open with his friend. “Surprised by the level of sadism and insanity within my brother. It was decided I would be most suited to advising our king, given our history as brothers.”

Both men shared a look, the understanding coming from both as to the trouble that was likely to be caused by the Conclave’s decision, as well as the likelihood that they would not see each other after this tourney for some time. Unless the other was to keep travelling or became assigned to one of the houses near Kings Landing.

Harry coughed awkwardly, a hand rubbing at his slightly stubbled chin. “Well, at least it should be entertaining here in the mean time, and perhaps after. We can enjoy the tourney and your sister’s nameday celebrations together, at the very least.”

“Ah yes, I am sure she is looking forward to be named Queen of Love and Beauty several times over. And Jeffrey will be excited to watch the Ser’s bash eachother black and blue.” Prince Jackson sighed, the chains jangling softly as he moved to stand up. “But we can sit together and avoid the trouble together then, my friend, and perhaps cheer on that knight friend of yours you advised me of?”

The other man nodded sharply as he too stood to escort his friend from his rooms, already planning to introduce the tall knight to the studious royal before the turns of the melee. “It sounds like a plan, /Grand Maester/ Jackson.” They both shared a laugh and a brief hug before the other departed, leaving Harry to straighten up his room as his soaked bed would not allow him a few precious hours more sleep.

---

He reclined back in his chair in the middle of the dais overlooking the field - prepared for the finales of the first and most anticipated, jousting - with a look of contempt. The relaxed set of his body as his leg was thrown over the arm of one side offset against the sheer fury all had seen displayed earlier in the day.

Jeffrey Targaryen had wished to compete and conquer the tourney itself, not out of a love or desire for his sister’s favour but for the chance to enjoy the cooling blood of his opponent on his face. It had taken over a candles time of argument between himself and his sister, before the queen mother herself was able to talk him down - appealing to his infamous vanity and desire to keep the throne underneath himself rather than his current heir, Prince Ian - however that did not stop the king from being in a thunderous mood as the finals of the competition were due to begin.

He glanced over where his priss of a sister was sitting with her ladies, the anger at her insubordination simmering darkly as he glared at her. That Princess Shada was the cause of the celebration did not matter today to him, she had worn out his patience with her for the day and worn out his grace towards her happiness. Dark eyes caught his as he went to turn away, the young Lannister girl he had been warned away from were staring curiously back at him before quickly looking away in what would be mistaken as demurely on any other lady. Perhaps it was time he stopped conceding to his bratty sister’s desires and went back to indulging his own.

As the thought passed his mind, King Jeffrey found himself staring face to face with his older brother, the squirrelly acolyte to his side.

“Your Grace. How are you today, brother?”

Jeffrey ran a careful eye over his brother, the tone of the question perfectly polite and unable to give him a reason to torment the other more than his simple existence. Thankfully the Gods obviously favoured himself, letting him be the Crown Prince of their childhood compared to the elder one.

“I would be better should I be down on the field, but unfortunately being King is a burden only some of us will ever endure.” He gave a chuckle at that, the look from his brother borderline mutinous before the younger of the pair added, “I see you’ve finally finished sucking enough cocks in that tower to upgrade to the bondage level, tell me, do the Maesters at that old pile of bricks whip each other with those or is it just the underlings?”

Both of the other men flushed at that question, as Jeffrey grinned wickedly back at them. Neither man responded to him as the grin grew wider and more cruel.

The elder brother gave a sharp cough, his blue eyes filled with hatred despite his voice being devoid of any such emotion. “I am glad to be back in Kings Landing, and able to assist my /little/ brother in his duties, alongside representing to Citadel’s knowledge in the capitol.” Jackson ducked his head in a representation of a bow, chains jangling softly on top of the shirt he worse, more suitable for the weather than the typical Maester cloaks, as he shoved his friend away and both left the king to his foul mood again.

A herald stepped forward, shouting out the names of the final competitors of the joust, between a richly dressed and armoured knight from the Reach and the future Lord of Winterfell, Dean Stark.

As both riders took their place and the flag waved down, his attention was drawn from the display by a loud and unladylike holler from near his sister. It was that blonde again, waving and cheering more like the paupers on the other side of the viewing areas than the nobles around her. “Go Dean! Make the little runt fly!” A loud cheer followed it as a slight smirk quirked on the king’s lips.

Four more charges went on fairly similarly, the Northern man gaining five points to the other’s four, until the final round found the Reach knight popped from his saddle and flying through the air as the other held his unbroken lance aloft. The crowds on both stands cheered and cheered as the handsome lord rode back and forth, leaving his lance at the far end with his squire before he rode forward for acknowledgement from the king.

Jeffrey however had noticed the bright gold sash tied about the man’s wrist, almost hidden behind his shield as the North man dismounted and knelt before him. It would make for a scandal for the first winner of the tourney to crown someone other than the princess the celebration was for, and it almost made up for her foolish fighting if she would be slighted in his mind.

“Well done sir.” The pleasantries and traditions of these celebrations bored him, dark grey eyes rolling slightly as the herald called out the champions name and the winning score before the wreath of light pink roses was handed to the other man.

It was no surprise to any other than the king when the roses were offered to Princess Shada, who blushed prettily as expected of a Queen of Love and Beauty as well as a well mannered lady, along with a plea for a dance that evening with the beauty. The king felt his mood sour again, as the fun of a slight disappeared at that crowning despite the knight wearing some other lady’s favour.

As the field hands rushed about reassembling the field for the archery challenge, he gestured for more wine and observed the crowd as the jousting challengers who were fit and healthy for being seen began filtering into the crowd to find spaces. The Stark man sat down near another knight beside Harry Rosby and the king’s own brother, all four men appearing to share pleasantries, gold sash gone from his wrist.

It reappeared as the competitors in the final rounds of the archery stepped forward, tied fastly around the upper arm of the younger Stark as the men lined up for presentation to the crowd and bowed to the king. Jeffrey frowned deeply, staring down at the younger man as he stepped forward, but felt a hope that perhaps this one would win the championship and slight his sister. If the uncertain nervousness of the man’s face as he stepped back under such a negative reaction threw him off balance at all - it did not show as he competed through the whole event to become the victor.

Presented again, and a wreath of white daisies placed into his hands by the herald, Jeffrey’s dark look grew even more stormy as these too were presented to the princess without fail.

The dark haired beauty’s smile grew wider and wider throughout the afternoon as more and more floral wreaths were placed upon her head or into her lap by potential suitors winning the staff, axe and mace competitions. A man whose entry was paid by the Lannisters with dark skin and a terrifying grin upon his face won the spear competition and offered his wreath of golden honeysuckles to the princess, a slight sheen of blood on some of the flowers as he raked his eyes over her like a hunting hound would a fox making the picture all the more sinister as he sauntered off. Gold sash tied onto the pointy end of his staff almost covered in blood.

It wasn’t until the sword melee ended, with the knight that had been speaking with his bastard brother earlier that no wreath was given to his sister. As the lowly knight had been presented with the almost black dahlia victors laurel to bestow, it had not been gifted to the expectant and grinning princess, but taken from the field still within the knights hand, bloodied fist coating the flowers closest and eventually all the petals with blood from the wound on his upper arm which had caused the crowd to gasp as he fought on despite the wound from a supposedly blunted sword.

Jeffrey had enjoyed many of the fights, the last and the spear where the victor had managed to draw copious amount of blood despite the blunted edges due to his size and ferocity, but not nearly so much as the crest fallen look on his sister’s face when she did not manage to make a clean sweep of flowers and praises from the champions. It would be the talk of the evening that the princess had been slighted by a low born knight, despite the differences in their station.

As the mummers came out to begin the play of The Conquer’s Two Wives, King Jeffrey gives a bored sigh as he turned to watch his sister’s attempt to pay attention fail as she turned to talk to the Tully and Lannister girl’s beside her quietly. Lady Deja of course acted sympathetically and was obviously trying to comfort the dejected princess, however Lady Joanna was busy tying her hair back up into a dark golden ribbon before answering his sister.

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The party was in full swing, the toasts to the Princess Shada’s beauty and charms from all around the room quickly plying all around into a jovial mood from the sweet Dornish wines and thick, heady Northern meads and all those in between. Her nameday celebrations would be talked of for years as the crowds around her never seemed to drop off until the minstrels started upon a range of joyful songs for the room to engage in dances and celebration.

King Jeffrey had spent the night in his wine, with a few ladies interchangeably approaching him throughout the night. Some, such as Bela Waynwood, went so far as to sit atop the arm rest of his chair to speak with him; the less discrete of the guests would observe the king exploring further through the skirts of the ladies dresses than was acceptable for anyone but a king.

Princess Shada was never seen far from her lady in waiting, Deja Tully, who would always hold both ladies glasses of wine and occasionally even dragged the princess out for a dance when no men seemed appealing. Shada’s deep purple dress, swirled with lavender and silver lace with a plunging neckline, and the floral wreaths still decorating her head meant that she wasn’t often missing a dancing partner, compared to the demure light pink and cream gown of her friend.

Joanna gave a sigh as she held both other girls drinks this time, as they ran about the dance floor, dancing and weaving between the other dancers and partners from where she had stood just off the side of the collective group fawning over the princess. If she had had her way, she would be tucked up in bed already or out walking the walls that surround the keep and face the sea like those back home. She watched the girls subtly, ducking her head so her eyes would be shielded from others by the sweep of her hair as she looked about the room.

From the two women dancing jovially in and out of the dancing couples, Joanna turned her head to view her friends on the other side of the room. Dean and Sam Stark were both speaking frequently with the two men she’d joined on the road to Kings Landing. The knight himself was responsible for the black flowers decorating the braid across the back of her head before her loose waves fell all below. He had caught up with her just outside her grandfather’s chambers to gift her a few of the dark blooms, a mutter about the princess not likely wishing them due to the dark blood that now matched them her deep red and black dress. Alongside them was a dark haired man, with eyes obviously crystal blue from even across the room who seemed to know whenever he was watched. The girl bit down a laugh when she watched him turn red before talking with the other men again.

She took a sip of the wine from her cousin’s glass, turning again to look around the room further. Her grandfather and the older court members were seated at tables around the quieter end of the room, but she didn’t dare try to catch his eye. Inevitably she’d be scolded for not engaging herself like the other women, flirting for a dance partner or longer term partner and batting eyelashes to draw attention rather than with an obnoxiously loud laugh or comment as she was to do. If she can make it through the year without an engagement, her father may be able to call her back to Lannisport.

Another sip found her looking at the king and a brunette girl simpering over him. The tales about what happened to some of the low born women who came across him made her shudder slightly, hair shifting to clear her face, and the tales of what happened to the noble born ladies who entered his chambers were sometimes not any better. It was such a shame such an alluring man had such a dark character, but perhaps that was part of the appeal. As she lowered the drink, she found her eyes locked with the man in questions for a long moment until he turned back to the brunette.

“My lady,” The husky voice surprised her, looking up at the tall blond knight and around at the two shorter men beside him. “I wished to ask for a dance if possible while my new friend here was after an excuse to approach his sister’s group of friends.” Joanna looked at the dark haired man, known as the Bastard King amongst the low-folk, and felt a responding blush come up on her cheeks. /Like some stupid chit lady,/ she thought bitterly, taking another sip of her drink, /thought I was better than that./ “Once your friends return from their play of course.”

She gave a bob of her head in agreement, running a hand to push back her hair to give her time to recover herself before chirping happily back. “Of course you may. Your melee fighting was truly impressive this afternoon, Ser William, though are you quite alright from that blow to the arm to dance with someone likely to jab you there?”

Harry Rosby gave a laugh, as did William Baelish, while the would-be prince simply stared at her quietly though his eyes crinkled as if he were hiding a laugh. “Now, Joanna, you cannot go injuring the only knight to dub you his Queen of Love and Beauty, again!” Harry gave a conspiratorial grin, speaking quietly until looking abashed as all three glared him into silence.

“I would have thought that our kind knight simply wished the lady may have some flowers, given her friends were unable to grace her with any in thanks for their lucky charm.” The soft voice surprised her, not quite deep but not quite high either, and filled with a little more sarcasm than she would have expected from a maester given his chains. It caught her off guard and made the same flush rise in her cheeks again while she could feel the tall man beside her straighten up awkwardly.

William Baelish gave a nod of agreement as suddenly the sound of pattering heels and laughter approached them, as the princess and lady in waiting came rushing over. The dark haired sister flung herself at her brother with a laugh and greetings as the other girl grasped the drinks off of her blonde cousin and took her spot beside the acolyte.

A minute passed before both the fair haired of the group headed for the floor with the other dancers, falling into line as the lines reconfigured for the next dance. Thankfully for her, the dance was a relatively formal one involving held hands and passing by each other, with rather a lot of spinning required of her. Joanna loved the dances that let her spin, and it was obvious to her that her dance partner was happy it was a relatively simple dance for him.

It didn’t leave them much time to talk, however the spins allowed her the time to see what was happening around them. Her grandfather seemed confused when she spotted him, Princess Shada and Deja were talking elatedly to her brother and his friend, and the king was not where she last saw him on his throne-like chair. Joanna frowned slightly as her spin brought her in a little harder than it should to bump into the knight’s chest, head turning about trying to locate where the king had moved to without noticing the flush on her partner’s face.

Another round of steps finished off the dance, as all the couples genuflected to their partner, she finally spotted the king as he tapped the knight’s shoulder to claim the next dance himself. The blonde girl shot William a look, desperation clear on her face before the knight nodded and placed her hand into the king’s outstretched one. Her grandfather was visible just past the side of the dark haired man’s face, and she felt her stomach drop out at the pleased look on his face.

The next song started up, and she had to fight back a cringe as the steps called for the pair to be much closer. Her spare hand went to his shoulder as she was pulled in close flush against him, his arm tight around her waist and fingers slayed, almost digging into, the small of her back. As she looked up at him, she could tell he knew how hard her heart was beating out of anxiety or excitement or something else entirely by the wicked smirk on his face.

“I see you are still with us, little lioness. Are my walls not to your liking?” It was much easier for them to talk as they went through the steps alongside those around them than the previous dance, and the other dancers seemed to give the pair a wide berth. King Jeffrey’s eyes glinted with humor and his voice got deeper as he murmured against her ear, “Would you like me to show you the best spot for your flight?”

The hairs stood up on the back of her neck as her fingers gripped into him tighter unintentionally, a shiver running down her spine. “I apologise, your grace, if I have disappointed you. I know how rarely you find yourself experiencing that feeling.” She tried not to wince as the words came out.

His chuckle rumbled in his chest against her, a full blush reddening her from the top of her head down her neck. Joanna sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, but simply flooded her senses with the smell of sweat, smoke and wine as she looked back up at him. The smirk on his lips widened and the pair made it through another turn in a charged silence.

“I do not believe I’d find you...disappointing in the least, in other regards.” The hand on her back drifted lower than strictly acceptable, and the heated glare she shot him brought out another of the deep chuckles. “I suppose I could bear the disappointment of your not fulfilling your promise so long as you made an equally enticing offer.”

Another turn around the dance floor was silent as the king looked about the rest of the dancers and Joanna tried to avoid thinking to hard about his suggestion as the king’s hand drifted up and down her back to brush across the top of her backside and to tug gently on the bottom of her hair.

“Unless the little lioness has a different offer on the table.” The comment made her stumble, held upright only by his tight grip on her as she caught her footing again. “I see you’ve received some very beautiful hair pieces, my lady, meant for a very beautiful and loved lady of that unnaturally tall knight. I can’t be the only one to have noticed.” His hand came up and he brushed the side of her neck with his thumb as though to tease at where the first flower rested. “I’d be a much better offer than that though.”

“Says who? That Wynwood girl or one of those servant whores around the Keep whose stomachs are filled or empty at your wishes?” Joanna gave a laugh in response to him, trying to pull back slightly though his fingers gripped harshly upon her neck keeping her in place. She added hurriedly with a gasp, “Not exactly trustworthy sources, your grace.”

“And you suppose that they would lie to their liege lord? You suggest treachery of them all?” The bite behind the words made her want to smirk right back at him, lips twitching stubbornly as she stared back at him. It seemed to surprise him, though the slightly manic grin that replaced his scowl was not exactly an improvement. “Why, Lady Joanna, it is so lovely of you to look out for the interests of your humble king and lord so thoroughly when we’ve not been able to be better acquainted. I do so look forward to our acquaintance growing further.”

The band played the last few notes of the song, signalling that the partners should step back and bow. Joanna went to pull back, desperate to get away from the king and the warmth his words and closeness brought up, before she was pulled back in for a long moment against him, Jeffrey’s hand ran down her back again to her hip and pulling her closer as he growled against her ear. “I look forward to showing you just how trustworthy those sources are before the season is out.” The words echoing in her ear as they parted and she scurried back to the princess and friends as quickly as she could. Joanna wasn’t sure if the idea thrilled or terrified her.

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#AU stories #Not Quite GOT verse

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