Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1862118.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Jon_Snow/Robb_Stark, Jon_Snow/Ygritte
  Character:
      Jon_Snow, Robb_Stark, Ygritte
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Incest, Angst, a_tiny_little_book_spoiler_at_the_end,
      spoiler_alert_for_the_whole_show
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-28 Words: 1679
****** Liar ******
by anewkindofthrill
Summary
     Now she lies with him, her head framed by red, beautiful hair. Her
     hair holds the same colour in the ice Robb's would in the sun.
Notes
     Robb and Jon are... pretty young when they're together. Yeah.
See the end of the work for more notes
The thing Jon has been missing most in the Night's Watch is human contact. With
touches, caresses.
There are pats on the back, smiles, even hugs, but so seldom, and way too...
formal, brotherly. Jon wants, John needs somebody to kiss on the head, to
snuggle into the neck, he needs to bury his nails into the skin of someone
loved.
He thinks of the Night's Watch as home now, yes, more than he even has of
Winterfell to be honest, Catelyn Stark has seen to that. As she has seen to the
fact that Jon had been starved for touch all of his life. Ned Stark was a good
man and Jon knows he had always loved him as much as he loved his other
children, but Ned Stark was also a hard warrior of the old ways. There had
never been more that a pat on the back, for none of his boys, only sometimes a
hug for his girls.
Catelyn Stark did the touching, the kissing, the stroking. For everyone but for
Jon Snow, of course; the walking and breathing proof of her husband's
infedility. In her mind she saw him as the culprit, because she couldn't hate
Ned; she punished a motherless boy for her husband's misdoings.
Jon Snow has learned to be bitter very soon because of that. He would never
stop resenting Lady Catelyn Stark, even she's now lying rotting in her grave.
As Robb does. The reasonthat, while he sometimes starved, Jon Snow never died.
(Jon blinks away tears while he thinks about this, head buried in Ygritte's
bosom.)
There was Arya, of course, the light of his life, all smiles and hugs and
kisses for Jon, but sometimes Jon thought this was only because the wild child
who has been called "Arya Horseface" saw the outsider in him and related to
that, and not to Jon as a person. But at those moments back then, he took
everything he got, so he accepted. His heart still bursts of love for that
child, and he prays to the old Gods that she might live somewhere every night.
So, while he has friends in the Watch, brothers even, he still feels hollow, so
he buries his face into Ghost's fur everytime he can, only to get some warmth,
he lets him lick his face to feel some love.
That's what makes it so hard for him to resist when Ygritte snuggles up to him
for warmth when he wasn't able to kill her. Now she lies with him, her head
framed by red, beautiful hair. Her hair holds the same colour in the ice Robb's
would in the sun.
_____________________________
Jon Snow doesn't love Ygritte because her hair reminds him of Robb. Or because
her willfulness is like Arya's. He loves her mostly out of sheer need to love
someone, which doesn't sound like a noble motive, but it is a basic human need,
and more often than not, when Jon watches her sitting alone, isolated from the
other Free People, he thinks it could be Ygritte's reason, too.
That doesn't stop him from being ashamed to the bones. Breaking his vows to the
Watch only to break his vows to the woman he loves is against all honours he
had learnt from his father.
But this is nothing new for him, he thinks, as he looks at red hair in the snow
and sees auburn burning in the sun.
_____________________________
Ghost was nothing but a pup, but Jon Snow loved him with all of his big heart
that was so full of feelings he wasn't able to name or share. At night, he
kissed and stroked Ghost, cried into the white fur, cried of joy of finally
having someone to love with all his heart.
He had to stop himself loving his siblings without bounds, because everytime he
hugged or kissed one of them, Catelyn Stark would glare, would hiss. She even
stopped Sansa from referring to him as her brother, she would only call him
"half-brother" now.
How long would it take all of them to start calling him "bastard"? Because
that's what he was.
Jon Snow was only a child, and when he stopped acting like an adult at night,
he realized that. He knew and he cried as he mourned a mother's touch, a
mother's smell and laugh and love. He thought he saw a woman's face in his
dreams sometimes, a face that resembles his, but that could not be since he
looked like his father, Eddard. It had to be an illusion. So when he would wake
up from those dreams, he would cry even more.
One night, as he just stopped sobbing, the pain dulling and farther away now,
someone knocked at his door. He didn't get up to open it, a fierce blush on his
face out of fear that someone had heard him, until Robb's soft voice said:
"Please let me in."
Robb was his rival and his best friend. Robb was so much stronger than he was,
better looking, he would be heir to Winterfell, and he was the only one
throwing his mother hateful looks when she treated Jon badly. Jon's feelings
towards him were so unclear to himself, there was so much love and admiration
and envy. And want, the want to be his favourite; that's why he hated Theon
Greyjoy so much.
Numbly, he got up and opened he door. He was ashamed that his brother could see
he had cried; he had probably heard, too. Robb took his hand without a word,
pulled him towards the bed he was just lying in and lied down with him.
"She was terrible today, I'm sorry," Robb whispered.
Ned and Catelyn Stark had discussed the visit of the King earlier, and how she
thought it wasn't proper that Jon should stand with his trueborn siblings at
the arrival of the King's party. Robb and Jon had overheard after they sneaked
into the halls to grab a bite of the pie; on their way to the kitchen, they had
passed the chamber the lord and the lady thought was secluded.  Jon had gone
white as the snow he was named after, but kept his composure in front of his
brother.
Until he had entered his chambers, that was. And Robb knew. Robb always knew.
As he did now, gently putting his arms around Jon's frame as he used to when
they were little; as toddlers, they would always hold onto each other at night,
to save each other from the dragons under their shared bed. They shared a bed
for a long time, and a lot of nights, they would still sneak into the other's
chamber, like Robb did now.
Jon didn't answer and buried his face in Robb's neck, kissing hard, as Robb
held on to Jon's black curls. They didn't talk about the way they were
together; they knew deep down that it was wrong and were ashamed, but they
didn't see any other possibility to survive. Robb, who was being drilled into
being the strong and stern man his father was, and Jon, who was always hungry,
always hollow. It was wrong when Robb's hands, which were way too young to be
so rough, clawed into Jon's back, which was way too young to be so muscular and
tense.
They kissed and nipped and clawed like young wolves, but never more, even if
they felt each other getting hard... That would have been a line they could not
cross, the Stark blood in them was too strong to let them dishonour themselves
in that way.
So Jon still stayed hungry. But Robb kept him alive. Barely.
_____________________________
Jon lies in furs next to a fire, older now, harder, more bitter, with Ygritte
in his arms. Jon resorts to taking what he needs now, Stark blood be damned.
That doesn't mean he doesn't feel bad, but feeling bad has become part of
himself.
Ygritte looks beautiful in the light of the fire, and she knows that. She loves
Jon Snow from the bottom of her heart, and she knows she loves him so much more
he could ever love her. He holds too much darkness in his soul, but she wants
to be the fire that casts away the shadows of his past.
She has the feeling his shadows are much stronger than her fire when a single
tear runs down Jon's cheek.
"I just remembered that my brother is dead."
He thinks Ygritte knows that this is only a short-timed love. He thinks Ygritte
will let him go. He thinks Ygritte doesn't want to save him, that she only
loves him for the sake of loving someone, like he does.
"You know nothing, Jon Snow."
She gets up, all naked and strong and beautiful, and Jon Snow's heart still
bursts of love for her, his throat closes when he thinks of the betrayal that
is about to come. He thinks about fleeing, about staying with her, about the
children she could give him, and he is still a child, wishing for it while
planning the betrayal.
He thinks she is stronger than him, strong enough to survive him leaving.
He knows nothing.
_____________________________
Jon Snow is Lord Commander, Keeper of the Wall and Heir to Winterfell, although
he doesn't know about that.
He sits at Ygritte's grave, nothing gives it away that this is the place he
burned her, but he knows. He knows now how she has loved him, he knows what it
means to not be a child anymore. He knows how she has been the one, how she
could have been everything.
He sees Arya's long, warm face, feels Robb's touches, smells Ygritte's skin,
but the tears don't come anymore. They have become the splinters of ice that
hold together his heart. He is a man now, colder, harder, stronger than Eddard
Stark has ever been.
He is Ice that finally stopped wishing to be melted away by Fire.
But Fire will come soon for Jon Stark.
End Notes
     This was my first ASOIAF/GoT fic. I watched the show and read half of
     the first book, currently reading. I hope I didn't do too bad.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
�� Scorpius insisted, his voice taut with anger. “Pour me
one.”
“Not such a swot after all.”  Tipping the bottle to the glass, Lacer poured him
a shot of the firewhiskey. “Alright, but down in one.” Obediently, the nearly-
fifth year downed the shot, coughing a bit into his fist, and then laid the
glass back on the oak top of the dresser for a refill.  Lacer topped him up, a
blatantly amused look dancing on his features. “You’d better be able to handle
this,” he cautioned.
With another flick of his wrist, Scorpius downed the second shot, this time
without coughing.  “Don’t worry about me. I’m not a baby.”
Lacer’s eyes flickered over him.  “I can see that.”  Once more, he began to
refill Scorpius’s glass.  “D’you like it? It’s a bit on the cheap side, but
it’s not half bad once you’ve made a start.  Like most things, really.”
“It goes down a bit rough at first,” the blond answered thoughtfully, “but once
you’re used to it, it’s alright.”  As if to prove his point, he drained the
shot glass again. Only then did he notice that Lacer had yet to do a single
shot.  “What are you, all talk?”
The smirk on the alumni’s lips worried him just slightly.  “No, not usually.” 
He downed a swallow and refilled.  “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“Hardly,” Scorpius sneered.  “But I could ask you the same question.”  He laid
his shot glass down, this time letting his fingers leave it completely. He’d
just begun to notice that the edges of things were a bit blurry now, and his Ls
were a bit more pronounced than usual.  He resolved to slow down before he
wound up with his head in the toilet and Seb laughing at him from the doorway.
“S’true, but I think you’re already halfway there.”  Lacer’s voice was amused. 
“And what if I am trying to?”
“Then I’d think you’re succeeding,” Scorpius announced with uncharacteristic
lack of hesitation.  “Top me up.”
Lacer did as he requested, and then took a long sip from his own glass. “You
didn’t answer my earlier question.” Scorpius arched an eyebrow at him. “How do
you know you’re not – well, y’know – unless you try it?  You wouldn’t still be
here if you weren’t curious.”
Curious? Bollocks.  “How does anybody know?” he said with a ‘poppycock’ sort of
wave of his hand.  “I’ve never looked at a bloke and thought, ‘Wow, I’d really
like to snog him.’”
“You try it and see how it feels, that’s how you know.”  His voice was so sure,
so steady, that Scorpius had to look at him. “You could try it now. We could
kiss properly this time, and see.”  The suggestion was light enough, quiet, and
Scorpius considered it quietly.
If he was looking at it objectively, he’d have to admit that Lacer was a
relatively attractive man.  His hair was very, very dark, a sharp contrast to
Scorpius’s own, and his eyes were a few shades lighter.  He had at least half a
foot on him height-wise, but looked about equally as scrawny. Still, his
clothes fit him well, and he had an impudent sort of lilt to his mouth that
irritated Scorpius a bit just looking at it.  And, no matter what the topic of
conversation, there was a challenging glint in his eye that made Scorpius’s
teeth grind.
“Fine, then.  But if you tell anyone, you’ll wake up the next day on fire.” 
This said, he downed the newest shot in his glass and dropped the empty tumbler
to the dresser.
“I’ll keep that in mind.”  Lacer’s fingers caught Scorpius’s, and he began to
pull the younger boy toward the bed. “No worries, we’re both too drunk to do
much more than sit.”
Scorpius sat.  His knees were bent over the edge of the mattress, and Lacer
leaned over him, his hands resting on his knuckles on either side of Scorpius’s
thighs.  They were awkwardly close together for people who weren’t touching,
and Scorpius swallowed hard, his dark grey eyes having trouble focusing on
Lacer.  Hesitation danced within him, and, as if reading his mind, Lacer softly
said, “You don’t have to, if you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” he exclaimed angrily.  Malfoys weren’t afraid of anything. 
“Just do it.”
He did. Lacer’s mouth was hot and hard against his, manipulating his lips open
for his tongue.  It swept purposefully through his mouth, tasting every inch of
it, and one strong hand held the back of his head in place so that Scorpius
couldn’t weasel out of it if he’d wanted to.  For a few shaky heartbeats, he
was too stunned to do anything but sit there and be thoroughly snogged, but
then his senses came back to him in a rush, and his fingers were in Lacer’s
hair, the other hand curling into the shirt he wore. Then there was a whoosh,
and Scorpius was flat on his back, with Lacer’s knee between his thighs,
leaning over him.  They were still kissing, fast and wetly.
Dimly, Scorpius thought that this wasn’t what he’d meant to happen. If he
didn’t stop Lacer, things would undoubtedly get out of hand.  If he did, he was
putting on a giant sandwich board that said in block letters “I CAN’T HANDLE
THIS.”
Lacer cupped his crotch, and Scorpius felt himself swell traitorously in his
jeans.
“Try to keep up.”
Magic words.
The flare of temper inside Scorpius was sharply incongruous to the gentle,
soothing way Lacer kissed him, as though he knew how much his smartass little
comments bothered the Malfoy, and apologized for them with his hands and mouth.
At some point, Scorpius’s shirt had become unbuttoned, and Lacer’s knuckles
were dusting over his abdomen teasingly, just as his teeth nipped Scorpius’s
bottom lip.
The button on his jeans was the next to go, and then the zipper, and Scorpius
tensed with terrified anticipation as Lacer’s hand breached the waistband of
his boxers.  Lacer hesitated there, his damp lips brushing Scorpius’s ear.  “If
it gets too much, I’ll stop.”  When he received no protest, he pressed onward.
Scorpius was already nearly at full-mast when Lacer’s fingers wrapped around
him, and whatever size was left to be gained by a full-blown erection was
gained swiftly thereafter, even under the constraints of denim. Immediately at
the contact, a pitiful and involuntary whimper escaped his mouth, and Lacer
chuckled, teasingly asking, “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
Instead of attempting to form a suitable insult, Scorpius growled in
exasperation, his fingers tugging at Lacer’s shirt for lack of anything better
to do. Lacer caught onto his dilemma quickly and curled his free hand around
Scorpius’s wrist, directing it below the belt. Brief hesitation caused Lacer to
still his stroking and ask, “You all right?”
“Fine,” Scorpius said stiffly, and tugged open Lacer’s trousers. He shoved them
down with one swift movement, and Lacer’s burgeoning erection sprang free,
right into his waiting palm. His fingers shook just slightly as he curled them
around the shaft of Lacer’s cock.  He gave a tentative, experimental stroke.
Nervousness and the confines of his pants dulled the sensation of Lacer’s own
work, and then his own pants were gone, off completely, but his mind was too
fuzzy to figure out how or where they’d gone.  He cursed harshly when Lacer’s
hand returned, hot and quick on his skin, and his own strokes stilled as he
arched off the bed and into Lacer’s calloused hand.  How people could do this
properly to each other at the same time was beyond him.  He could feel orgasm
quickly approaching, and, it had only been, what, five minutes? But nobody but
him had ever touched his dick before.
Embarrassed and not wanting to Lacer to know, he shoved Lacer’s hand away, and
the hazel eyes that met his grey were questioning, and the slightest bit
disappointed. “Still alright?”
“Fine,” he said again, a little more harshly this time, and picked up the pace
with his own palming of Lacer’s cock.  Lacer groaned and pressed forward, the
tip of his cock brushing Scorpius’s thigh.  Freed fingers found his dark blond
hair, gripping it and pulling back to bare his throat.  Lacer’s mouth found the
pulse point there, underneath tender skin, nipped along before finding just the
right spot to clamp down and suck.  A ragged moan escaped him, and his fingers
tightened involuntarily around the shaft in his hand.  Lacer inhaled a
strangled hiss, but it wasn’t an altogether displeased sound.
“Relax,” he urged, and Scorpius tried his best to comply, closing his eyes and
taking a deep breath.  The pad of his thumb skated over the tip of Lacer’s
cock, and his unoccupied fingers fisted in thick, dark hair.  Lacer growled
with restrained impatience and bit down on the curve of his neck. Scorpius
yelped.
Again, Lacer’s hand found Scorpius, this time moving with more purpose on the
sensitive flesh.  The noise that escaped the blond then was indescribable and
it made Lacer hesitate.
“Sure you’re alright?”
“I’m fucking fine,” he cursed impatiently.  “Just get on with it.”
Lacer chuckled, clearly pleased with this reaction.  “You asked for it,” he
said, amusement tickling his voice. “Turn over.”  Scorpius did so, alcohol and
the strain of an erection harder than the hammer of a troll god dulling his
inhibitions.
Lacer didn’t take his place right away.  A quick glance over his shoulder
showed Lacer, now dispensed of his shirt and completely naked, fishing through
another of Jared’s drawers. He returned with a plastic bottle of viscous fluid,
and Scorpius’s eyes narrowed on it, his heart beating hard in his throat. 
Numbly, he pulled his open shirt off his back, tossing it away.
He closed his eyes and turned his face away, feeling his skin flush with blood
and the cold fist of anxiety crush his windpipe.  He propped himself up on one
arm, one side of him still pressed into the rustled blankets on Jared Trice’s
bed.  Lacer settled in behind him, mouth at his ear, chest against his shoulder
blades, and knee nudging between his legs.
Lacer was murmuring something soothing to him, but Scorpius wasn’t really
listening, far too distracted by the way his mind was running wild in his head.
With a nudge, Lacer pushed his leg up until it was bent, providing more space,
and then something solid and cool pressed against him.  He thought for a moment
it was moving that quickly, and when Lacer entered him in one smooth motion, he
breathed a sigh of relief.  It wasn’t that bad.  It was-
Just a finger.  Of course.
Lacer stroked in and out of him, finger slicked with lube, and added another
digit when Scorpius began to wiggle under his touch, his ass pushing back
against the other boy.  His breathing was growing ragged, his cock impossibly
more stiff as it rubbed against the comforter. He wondered idly if it was
possible to get rug burn this way.
“Ahhhh,” he sighed.
The fingers were withdrawn and Scorpius’s hand curled around his erection,
completely of their own volition.  He could feel Lacer’s chin on his shoulder,
though his own eyes were closed tightly. He felt as much as heard the murmured,
“Fuck, that’s hot,” which was followed by a much more significant prodding at
his rear.
Instinctively, he ceased breathing, his eyes snapping open, and Lacer’s fingers
pressed into the fleshy part of his ass for a better grip.  “Just breathe,” he
instructed smoothly, like he’d said it a thousand times before.  “It’ll feel
odd at first, but it’ll get better.”  Then the pressure there intensified
steadily, increasing until he felt his skin stretch and strain, and he grimaced
even with the benefit of the lubrication that salved the friction. Scorpius
tried hard to remember to breathe, but it wasn’t as easy as it normally was,
and he wasn’t used to having to remind himself to do something so natural.
The pain, thankfully, was fleeting, and then Lacer was all the way inside him,
hissing expletives in his ear, and Scorpius exhaled a breath he hadn’t meant to
hold.  Once he got more comfortable with the motions of it, he began to stroke
himself, and he was surprised – floored, really – to find that once the odd
pressure in his lower back became more familiar, the strokes of Lacer’s cock in
and out of him were surprisingly pleasant.  Dirty, and wrong, but they still
made him turn his head and groan deeply into the pillow under him.
They found a mutual rhythm, Scorpius arching back into Lacer’s thrusts, his
back rolling with the movements, and Lacer’s hand gripped him tightly at the
hip bone. He could feel hazel eyes staring down at the increasingly frantic
movements of his hand, and when Scorpius came, he did it hard and fast, and
made quite a mess of poor Jared’s bedspread. The clenching of his body during
orgasm was too much for Lacer, and he followed swiftly thereafter, thrusting
quickly three more times into Scorpius before he buried himself to the hilt and
spurted his fluids deep into the other boy.
They separated and collapsed, breathless and sweaty.
  
===============================================================================
  
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Scorpius came-to, not having meant to pass out. He felt a
good deal more sober than he had before his little nap, although his head was
still a bit fuzzy. It took him a few moments of blankness to realize he was
naked, and then his stomach jumped into his throat. Dark grey eyes landed on
Lacer, who was out-cold next to him.  The blanket on Jared’s bed was bunched at
his waist, the curve of his spine swelling into his ass, and Scorpius jerked
his eyes away, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and shame.
As quickly and quietly as he could, he slipped out of the bed and dressed. He
must have neglected to check his reflection in the mirror, because within
thirty seconds of him reappearing in the party, Seb had popped up in front of
him, slinging an arm around his shoulders.
“Where’d you disappear to, eh?  You’ve been gone for nearly two -”  At the
questions, Scorpius felt his cheeks heat again, and Sebastian’s eyes widened.
“Holy shit, you got laid.”
“Seb, I –”
“Who is she?”  The excitement in his expression was undeniable.  Scorpius
frantically began pressing down his hair, to repress any cowlicks that might
have formed during the physicality earlier.  After a moment, he forced himself
to meet Seb’s eyes, and tried to smile.
“I don’t know… just some girl.”  The lie escaped his lips before he realized
he’d tell it.
Sebastian laughed.  “You son of a bitch.   Let’s get you a drink.”
“No, thanks,” Scorpius said fervently.  “I think I’ve had enough to last me at
least a year or two. Can – can we go now?”
“What? Oh.”  Seb’s blue eyes fixed on him in confusion, then looked him up and
down.  “Right. Best make yourself scarce before she comes-to. Get your coat,
we’ll meet you at the door.”
While Sebastian went to find Julian, Scorpius grabbed his worn leather jacket
off the living room coat racket, and shrugged it on.  He hovered in the
doorway, his hand on the knob, ready to bolt at any sign of Lacer Putus, but
he, Seb, and Julian, were long gone before Lacer even woke up.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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