Chapter Text
Sansa stood at the sideboard, guzzling water that had been sitting out for hours yet her throat was so parched, her tongue so thirsty, that it tasted as fresh as if she was lapping it up out of a stream at the base of a snow-covered mountain in springtime.
She had not realized growing up how humid the North was. She did not recall ever sweating through a nightdress when she was a girl, except perhaps when Arya or Bran came to her bed during a storm and pressed their forge-hot skin against hers. Though, as she poured herself a second cup, she supposed being born in spring and raised in summer meant that heat – at least, Winterfell’s version of heat – had been familiar and comfortable to her.
But after so many years of winter, she had lost her tolerance for it. Winterfell did not have nearly enough windows, and the springs that were piped within the keep’s walls ran hot in every season season.
Now that the Others had been defeated, everyone from maesters to woods witches to farmers agreed that winters would not be so cold or long as the one that had ended when Jon drove Longclaw through the Night King’s heart, nor the one that had ended when Jaime Lannister drew his sword across the Mad King’s neck. Everyone rejoiced at the news, knowing that the North would be less dependent on its southern neighbors for crops. Sansa rejoiced with them, but of late she hardly meant it. She’d been waking up too often drenched in sweat, and walking about the keep under the brutal sun in dresses designed for the North’s colder months (and more conservative values) was starting to feel like torture. How many nights had she stood like this, naked after peeling off her nightdress, guzzling stale water and wishing something resembling a breeze might creep in and down from the high window?
She knew if she opened a few doors, she might create a cross breeze, but she could not sleep with anything less than two barred doors between her and the main corridor. She trusted her guards, but… Well, she’d spent too many years fearing the same men who were supposed to protect her. Even if Jon was here, she’d bar the doors, so it was no criticism of Ghost’s ability to protect her, just a statement on her mind’s ability to torment her.
If Jon was here though, at least she’d be able to sleep nude and without blankets, reducing the chance of her waking up, sweaty and swollen and irritable, in the middle of the night. But it felt somehow forbidden to sleep naked without her husband by her side, their marital exertions to blame for her need to do so.
Forbidden, but not so forbidden that she felt any shame when peeling her perspiration-soaked shift off her clammy body in the middle of the night and standing in naught but her skin as she hydrated herself under the moonbeams.
Finally feeling sufficiently cooled, Sansa placed her cup down and was about to return to her damp sheets when she heard the clicking of Ghost’s nails against the flagstone, two feet then two more as he climbed down off the bed.
She turned and gave him a scolding frown, “It’s all your fault. You think when Jon’s not here you have the right to his spot in the bed.”
It had been nice in winter and the earlier days of spring but was becoming a nuisance. The man-sized wolf slept beside her whenever Jon was away, even going so far as to rest his enormous head on Jon’s pillow. Jon would give him a talking-to when he returned, but Ghost was unabashed.
And perhaps, so was Sansa.
She sighed, unable to pretend to be mad when Ghost’s quiet and steady presence was sometimes all that got her through any period during which her husband was away. Presently he was at the newly rebuilt settlement of Queenscrown, there to commend the men who’d labored for over a year to make the place inhabitable once more. She and Jon knew it was important that respect did not flow only one way between lord and subject, but that didn’t make being parted any better. After all they’d endured – separately and together – she felt a little panicked whenever he rode out, even if he was only visiting Lord Cerwyn and would be back the next day.
Thus, the reason Ghost stayed with her. Surely, he’d prefer the opportunity to run alongside Jon’s courser, but through Ghost’s eyes Jon could see that Sansa was well, and through Ghost’s calmness Sansa could tell that Jon was the same. It wasn’t a perfect system – if Jon’s party was attacked suddenly, he’d have to focus on defending himself, not entering his wolf’s mind to send a message to a wife too far away to help him – but it was better than nothing.
Ghost padded closer, and she was going to pour some water into the basin for him when she realized that wasn’t what he was after. There was a certain look in his red eyes, one that she recognized without being able to describe; one that signaled…
“Jon,” she said softly.
He came all the way up to her, lifting his snout to nuzzle at her chest. His breaths tickled, but she did not push him away. She knew that when Jon was in Ghost, he had his own thoughts but his wolf’s senses. If Ghost thought something smelled good or tasted good, so too would Jon – while in his wolf’s skin. Later he might be repulsed by the memory of the things he’d enjoyed, yet without remembering how they actually smelled or tasted.
But this was a smell that both wolf and man knew, so she let her husband breathe her in just as he would upon returning to Winterfell. He’d scoop her up and inhale so deeply it would sound almost painful, and not let the air out until his lungs were screaming for fresh stuff.
She giggled as the short whiskers on the front of Ghost’s muzzle twitched against her bare skin. “That tickles,” she said, though still she did not push him away. He sniffed her all over, Ghost’s body wiggling excitedly as it would if he’d just been reunited with Sansa after days apart. He stretched his neck out and up and licked her cheek while she squeezed her eyes shut, admonishing not the canine but the man. “Jo-onn!” she complained even as she giggled.
But the laughter became a sharp gasp when his smooth tongue swiped across her left nipple.
“Jon…” she said in a warning voice.
Another swipe.
“That isn’t funny,” she went to push him by his chest, where the fur was thickest, but he did not stop licking her breast, gathering the sweat that must’ve accumulated in the crevice where fat met rib.
A pulse of arousal shot down to her core but so too did a flare of nausea in her belly.
“Stop!” she said more insistently, since her pushing was not budging him an inch, only prompting him to find a different swath of skin to lick. Rather, she was being backed up. As much by his energy as his physical bulk, she kept backtracking, one step at a time. She could feel his excitement, but it was different from what he’d exhibit when Jon returned to the castle after more than a day away. This wasn’t an overflow of happiness, exuberant and unbridled and seemingly unavoidable. This was… intense. Focused. Determined.
Like Jon when they’d been parted for too long. At their first opportunity for privacy, he would take her with an eagerness that was ordinarily missing from their couplings, or had been since their coupling became something permissible and even expected as opposed to something clandestine and… wrong. Yet the eagerness would not make him clumsy, nor careless. Rather, it made him seem like a man on a mission that he refused to fail or even yield.
Now Ghost seemed to have the same determination Jon would have when they’d gone too long without being intimate. Eager movements. Excitement radiating off him. But not quite frantic or uncontrolled.
He knew precisely what he was doing.
The idea thrilled her body, but her mind (oft accused of thinking itself into knots) was not ready to agree to… whatever this was. Ghost – Jon – kept licking at her. The undersides of her breasts, her underarms, her belly, her chest, her sides, her neck. Her hands kept pushing, deflecting and redirecting so he never had unimpeded access to any one place for too long.
Then his head dropped. He nosed the hair at her apex and she gasped at the tickle of his inhale then exhale at that sensitive crevice.
Her reaction this time – pushing him away – was a heartbeat delayed. Or two. Maybe three. She had always loved it when Jon would tease her with feather-light touches or kisses to her lips down there, and this was not dissimilar. It was the sort of tickle that made her shiver. The sort that made her aware of the inside of her tunnel. How wet it was. How empty it was.
She finally pushed – a moment or a lifetime later she didn’t know – but at the same moment Ghost surged. He jumped up and put his front paws on her upper chest just long enough to knock her onto her back on the bed. Her hands immediately shot forward, but there was nothing to press them against; Ghost was not atop her but back on all fours, facing where she lied on the bed.
Her knees smacked together but he still managed to insinuate his long snout between her shins, and then…
He licked her. One imprecise swipe that caught more of her outer lip and inner thigh than the slick seam Jon sometimes played with for the better part of an hour.
Neither slow and drawn out nor quick as he might lap at water, he licked again, this time homing in on the part of her that must offer the strongest aroma.
A gasp was expelled from her throat as her body went rigid, every muscle tensed.
Wonderful.
Wrong.
Natural.
Abhorrent.
The swipes of his tongue continued, faster now but all over the place, as a dog might lick the floor where he’d just snatched up a piece of greasy meat dropped by a generous or clumsy hand, unwilling to let any of the savory flavor go to waste.
Her hips jerked and jolted every which way because it tickled, but Ghost – Jon! – was undaunted by her movements, by her hands’ weak pushes, by her continued admonishments, growled whispers of, “Jon, this isn’t funny!” and the like.
When his tongue passed over her entrance or her pearl she wanted to moan in ecstasy. When it passed over her inner thigh or the crevice between hip and leg she nearly burst out of her skin in giggles that came not from amusement but over-stimulation.
“Jon… Jon, enough!” she hissed, “You’ll be back soon enough!”
But Jon was a man – er, wolf – on a mission now. She tried to sit up but his paws immediately came to her, pushing her down and nearly knocking the wind out of other in the process. She tried to push his head away with her hands, but he was strong, and without being able to reach his scruff there was nothing for her fingers to find purchase in.
Realizing her arms would never be strong enough anyway, she bent her knees, bringing her feet up toward the bed so she might use them to push against his chest, maybe even kick him lightly on the nose to snap him out of this… this madness.
But the instant her knees were up, Ghost went to his hind legs, his two massive paws coming down to land just on the outside of Sansa’s hips, locked over the tops of her thighs with surprising strength.
It took but a moment for her to realize what he planned to do.
It took but a moment for him to do it.
His… thing… prodded wildly, jabbing against the hairy juncture at the top of her cunt, then at her pearl, then at the skin between her entrance and her arsehole, then just a hair to the left of her entrance – four unsuccessful thrusts that came faster than Jon had ever moved with his human body.
Followed instantly by a fifth…
The moment she felt it find her opening, she sucked in a gasp of fear so sharp it hurt her windpipe.
And then she felt it inside her.
“Jon!” she squealed, “Ghost!”
Her hands pushed desperately at his ribs. Her feet scrabbled, seeking the hip joint and finding it but slipping off due to the slick fur and his rapid movements. Beyond rapid. She’d seen dogs rutting in the yard with other dogs and had also seen them humping people and inanimate objects. She supposed she knew they moved their bodies incredibly quickly but feeling it made her realize just how fast it really was. Ghost could move his hips as fast as Jon could move his fingers, and despite her confusion, despite her shock and fear and revolt, it felt…
Incredible.
Realizing her protests had paused for a few seconds, she felt a rush of hot shame wash over her. “Jon, stop!” she said firmly.
But why didn’t it sound like she meant it?
She squeezed her thighs together, trying to edge him out.
It didn’t. It only made it seem like she was embracing this, as she might wrap her long legs around Jon’s hips.
So she let them fall open. Ghost’s body was too strong, too heavy, and even if Jon was in the wolf’s skin right now, that didn’t mean the wolf’s instincts weren’t largely in control. Resisting would be ineffective, but she would not enjoy it, and she would not engage. It would be like she was willingly laying with a beast, which she very much was not. The beast was laying with her. No, the beast was fucking her, and she was powerless to do anything but let it run its course.
Run its course...
The thought made her stomach curdle and her cunt swell. Ghost would… would take pleasure in her. Well, Jon would take pleasure in her, but through Ghost’s body. When he peaked, it would be Ghost’s seed shot into her womb. It would be Ghost’s seed running down her thighs when she rose. It would be Ghost’s seed she cleaned from her body.
It was so wrong, and why did that make her feel a flare of wet heat between her legs?
Unbidden, the memory of her first intimacy with Jon came back to her. Perched on the edge of her dining table, right foot on the nearest chair, left foot planted on the ground but pivoted somewhat to make just enough room for her half-brother’s face between her pale thighs. With her skirts bunched, she hadn’t had to look at his face, and she remembered thinking that was good, she could pretend he was any other man in the realm. Yet no other man’s visage could find purchase in her pleasure-addled mind. She closed her eyes and saw Jon, watching her from across the hall; ale cup held casually to his chest but rarely sipped from as he pretended to be amused by what some lord or another said to him.
Two of his fingers had slipped inside her as his tongue flicked against her nub. It was the first thing to be inside her since Harry’d died, and she whimpered.
Jon had been unexpectedly brutal considering how tender and considerate he normally was with her.
He’d been unexpectedly filthy. That’s right, peak for your bastard brother.
They never acknowledged that part of her allure, for him, was to see prim and proper Sansa, Catelyn’s little shadow, become wanton for him, the shunned one; the one without a name or title or a copper to his name.
They never acknowledged that part of his allure, for her, was to taste that forbidden fruit. To make up for eighteen years of doing the right thing and having nothing to show for it.
(And, maybe, it was penance. Maybe it was vengeance against her mother, who had never warned her that there were worse monsters in the world than bastard brothers.)
Her musings had been fleeting; they hadn’t taken her away from the present.
From the heavy fullness, the stretch felt every time Ghost’s burning-hot cock was on an inward thrust.
From her own panting.
Was it so wrong?
And if so, did she care?
“Jon…” this time his name was not said in scolding but in benediction.
She didn’t think even a minute had passed, but so many feelings and thoughts had flowed through her – some lingering, some passing – that it might’ve been an hour.
She was being fucked by a wolf. A direwolf.
That her human husband was the one holding the reins didn’t matter. It was Ghost’s hot, slick, thick member inside her. It was his impossibly powerful legs behind those thrusts. It was his fur rubbing against her bare skin. His dog-scent surrounding her.
If anyone saw this…
Another rush of warm, wet, want, even as the imagined shamed made her skin prickle.
She moaned, let her head drop back. It wasn’t that she wanted someone to witness it – gods, that would be disastrous – but that imagining it happening thrilled her.
Just as it had when Jon put his head under her skirts, got her off with two calloused fingers and one deft tongue.
Just as it had the first time – and every time – Jon took her in a pantry or alcove or unused passage, even her bedchamber, before they learned that he was her cousin, not her half-brother.
Just as it had whenever Jon took her the back way.
Well, the first time for that had just been painful. Very painful yet leading to two very intense climaxes (and two days of slightly painful but very easy bowel movements). Every time they did it after that there was less pain and the same level of pleasure. Now, by the time his oil-slickened cock was buried to the hilt in her bum, her cunt would be soaked and twitching, and a mere tap of Jon’s finger to her nub would hurtle her over the edge.
It had always terrified her to imagine someone happening upon their secret alcove, or somehow intuiting that Lady Sansa loved being buggered, yet the fear never overpowered the arousal, the pleasure. She would sometimes think she heard someone coming around the corner and peak instantly and unexpectedly, muffling her scream in Jon’s mantle.
But this? The idea of someone seeing this?
The idea of what they’d see…
Her slender, peach-skinned body sprawled naked beneath a great white wolf. Her legs spread wide around his haunches. Her breasts and thighs jiggling constantly from the never-ending onslaught of his rapid thrusts. Her lips, dry from panting like a dog herself.
Her eyes fluttering shut because the pleasure was overwhelming. Some part of Ghost’s anatomy was hitting her nub and, combined with the glorious stretch of her tunnel around his direwolf girth, it meant she was going to peak.
Peak on a wolf’s cock.
On a direwolf’s cock.
She moaned and abandoned the last of her dignity, bringing two fingers down with intent to pleasure herself but instead they explored. She found that what was tapping against her sensitive pearl was the part of Ghost’s cock that abruptly flared near the base. Knot was the word she’d heard to refer to it, though she wasn’t sure it applied to the swollen bulb of flesh her fingers were trying (and failing) to wrap around or if it only referred to the way two dogs would sometimes get stuck together, arse to arse, after mating. She supposed that if she was a female direwolf this thing would fit inside her, but despite Ghost’s earnest efforts, her human body would not accommodate it.
Perhaps after I go through childbirth.
The thought came out of nowhere: that she was disappointed she could not take all of Ghost’s cock. The spot just inside her tunnel that Jon could target with a hooked finger would be stimulated so perfectly, and she knew it wouldn’t hurt once it was lodged inside her, only while he was forcing it into her, and probably later, when he pulled it out.
Done with her fingers’ inspection of what her cunt was hungry for, she set about her original task, using her left hand’s fingers to gently spread her outer lips so her right hand’s fingers could more precisely stroke the very specific place where touch led her to climax.
With her cunt full, it didn’t take much.
She wanted to scream from the intensity of the pleasure, but while several rooms and thick doors stood between her and the nearest sentry, she would not take any chances. She settled for a quivering breath and already knew she would give herself another peak in about a minute, but hadn’t been taking into account her… mate’s… stamina. Without warning Ghost lowered himself down until his head was resting at the top of her chest, his snout extending past her shoulder.
His hips had stopped moving, but he hadn’t. She felt occasional pulses and twitches and she squeezed her muscles tight.
The moment she felt him start to shift she clamped her feet over his tailbone, crossing her ankles and pulling him as far into her as the knot allowed. Jon seemed to get the idea and didn’t try to leave again, but she did not know how long until Ghost forced him out, so she would not waste any time. She began tilting her pelvis up and down. Tentatively at first, testing the waters, so to speak, and then more quickly. It taxed her abdominal muscles but her second peak was never hard to come by. Between Ghost’s girth pleasuring her on the inside and his knot pleasuring her on the outside, she grunted out a second peak, exhaling her husband’s name as the warmth flowed through every vein.
After that first time he’d pleasured her with his mouth, she thought she’d never be able to look at him again.
As it turned out, the way he held her gaze and licked his lips during the council meeting an hour later had had her going to her rooms to freshen up before the evening meal only so she could give herself a quick climax.
(Somehow, Jon had known.)
After the first time they’d had intercourse, she’d expected the embarrassment would be unbearable. That she would blush whenever she was in the same room with Jon, thinking of how wanton she was that she’d let her brother put his bastard cock inside her, spill his bastard seed on her belly.
In actuality, she enjoyed looking at Jon after that, knowing that – impatient thing that he was – he was already counting down the minutes until he could sheathe himself in “the realm’s sweetest cunt” again.
And after he’d had her bum? Well, she would have bet an ungodly sum of gold on being so mortified she’d combust into flames the next time he looked her way.
And she had been mortified, wondering if there’d been any mess on Jon’s manhood, or if an unpleasant aroma had reached his nostrils and he’d not told her because he knew she’d have put a stop to it and never tried again. But after he rolled over the next morning and pressed his swollen member to her tailbone, pulling her tight against him and saying, “Can we try that again sometime, once you’re not sore anymore?” she had no qualms about looking him dead in the eye and telling him to take her arse instead, right when he’d been lining up to take her cunny.
So, while she felt certain that she’d be a blushing, stammering mess when Jon came home, she knew it wouldn’t be so bad as all that, in reality. Sure, she’d blush a bit. She might avert her eyes from his more than she normally would, but as soon as Jon had her alone and said something wicked and filthy – perhaps, “I’m a bit jealous of how much you enjoyed Ghost’s cock. I think tonight I’d better remind you who this cunt belongs to” – she overcome her embarrassment.
He’d be especially rough the next time they coupled, she knew, laying his claim to her body as he did whenever he was in a particularly feral mood. He’d leave bite marks on her breasts, suck crimson blotches into her thighs, leave fingerprint-shaped bruises on her calves from where he held her legs up and open and back so that no part of her was in position to partially absorb the violent collision that was his cock acting like a battering ram on her poor, aching woman’s place. It always hurt the end of her tunnel – the start of her womb – when he took her like that, but she had found that it was a pain she enjoyed. It didn’t make her peak, but it made her feel thoroughly debauched and yet thoroughly whole. Being taken so passionately, so forcefully… to belong to a man not just because he’d put his cloak over her shoulders but because she had given every part of her body to him… Well, she loved it. A woman like Arya would never understand. From what Sansa had pieced together, Arya couldn’t enjoy sex unless she was on top, and setting the pace, and doing it with someone who couldn’t beat her in the yard.
Finally, Sansa’s heart didn’t feel like it was going to beat right out of her chest. She ran her hands through Ghost’s fur, but it was her husband she was praising (and teasing) when she said, “Good boy.”
As she began to sit up, Jon took that as his queue. He backed up and twisted at the same time which made Ghost’s canid cock come free a bit too abruptly for Sansa’s taste, but she figured this had been as new to Jon as it was to her.
More startling, besides, was the absolute rush of liquid that came out of her at the same moment. It was so much that it actually made a splashing sound on the flagstone floor, and that was with a good portion of it soaking into the bedsheet beneath her bum.
She looked down at the puddle of clear liquid that seemed much less viscous than a man’s spend, but before she could ponder the consistency and quantity too much, Ghost was there, licking it up.
She swallowed a gag to think of Jon tasting that. She knew he couldn’t overrule all of Ghost’s instincts while in Ghost’s skin, but if there was one she had to imagine he’d want to avoid, it was that.
Swinging her left leg over Ghost she planted both feet on the floor and rose, making for the bureau where she’d find a cloth to press between her legs before more could seep out, but that proved pointless. The moment she was fully vertical another rush of hot liquid came out, feeling nothing like the slow trickle of Jon’s seed and more like it had when she was a child and one of her siblings tickled her so badly that a bit of urine escaped before she could gain control of her bladder.
Deciding to use a bit of soap and water instead of just a dry cloth, Sansa went to take her first step but had to push Ghost out of the way. Floor clean, he was ready to set upon the mess between her legs and, now that two peaks had satisfied her perverse arousal, the idea was enough to turn her stomach.
“Jon, stop it!”
It occurred to her that he might’ve slipped back into his own body sometime after his – er, his and Ghost’s – completion. She sincerely hoped it wasn’t too soon after and didn’t think it was – Ghost ought to have seemed confused or alarmed to come into his own body with his cock in a human woman’s body – but it was a possibility.
“Enough!” she hissed at a quiet volume but firm tone, “Bad boy! Go lay down!” she pointed to the blanket in the corner that was supposed to be his bed.
With head drooping, he trotted over to the place, but looked at her twice more as if to see whether she really meant it before finally settling with a loud exhale.
“Your master is going to be in big trouble when he gets back, I’ll have you know,” she spoke to the wolf while pouring water from the pitcher into the basin.
(She and Ghost both knew it was a lie, but a woman had her pride.)