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They’d tricked him. They’d pushed him into it or used some strange wildling game on him, Jon doesn’t know. Ygritte had mentioned it as if it was a normal conversation, like it was nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to be fussed about.
“I told Val of your Lord’s Kisses,” she’d said, looking unconcerned when Jon choked on only air. “You should show her.”
“You,” Jon had sputtered. “I should…but you…” The idea was unthinkable. Impossible. Incapacitatingly appealing. Jon couldn’t pretend he hadn’t noticed Val’s beauty, hadn’t been taken with her strength. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t thought about her. But this was…different.
“I told you he’d be strange about this,” Ygritte said to Val with a shrug, her tone so casual that Jon could find no words to say.
“Perhaps we should convince him,” had been Val’s answer, and that in itself was enough to rob him of words if he had any remaining, the idea that she was willing and in fact interested. Stunned, he’d stood immobile, staring from her to Ygritte and back, completely and utterly pole-axed. Jon didn’t know if they pushed him or if he just fell over in shock, but he’d ended up on the ground, lying on his back in Val’s tent on a pile of furs, the two of them looking down on him with amused faces.
“I don’t,” he starts now. “I can’t. This isn’t. We.” Ygritte smirks, her lips quirking up in a way that makes him want to kiss the smirk right off her face. Gods, he’s had her so many times and so many ways, how can he still want so badly and so desperately? When will his need abate?
“I told you he knows nothing,” she says to Val. Somehow Val’s foot has ended up on his chest. It rests with light pressure on his breastbone, but it might as well be a boulder for how it pins him to the ground. He wraps his fingers about her ankle, thinking to dislodge her and stand, but instead his fingers curl without his permission, they map the bones of her ankle and trace the arch of her foot. Val smiles at his touch, the smile of a cat with cream, of a woman with a secret.
“He might know some things,” she says.
“Ygritte,” Jon says. “I don’t… I don’t wish to be with Val instead of you.” His ears burn with the words, his face and neck flush hot with a strange embarrassment. Somehow it feels more vulnerable to say such things than it does to be bare with her. But Ygritte breaks into a grin, she laughs as bright as morning snowfall.
"Jon Snow," she says. "Who said anything about instead?" Then before he can even process her words, she’s unlacing her breeches, wriggling out of her smallclothes in a flash and throwing a leg across his face as if he’s a horse to be ridden. She leans forward to brace her hands on his ribs and holds herself over him, ready, expectant, her cunt only an inch from his mouth.
Well, there are far less tempting things in life that Jon has been unable to resist. This won’t prove to be an exception.
At first he’s all too aware of Val’s presence. But the taste of Ygritte on his tongue washes over everything, wears it away, until he stops caring how improper this is, he stops thinking that if breaking his vows with one woman is bad then breaking them with two is at least twice-so. He only thinks to get Ygritte closer, to wraps his arms over her hips and around her waist to pull her down so he can get at her better, burying his face in her cunt like to never leave it. When he feels Val’s foot rub over his cock through the placket of his breeches, he jerks in surprise, moans up into Ygritte, making her moan to match, making her wriggle down onto his tongue, throbbing wet and hot into his mouth. Jon thinks he could die at this very moment and not care. He moves his mouth over her in hot, sucking kisses, working his face from side to side the way he knows she likes until her response spills hot and wet over his mouth and chin, her hips stuttering against him as her pleasure takes her. A now-familiar sense of pride curls through him. Jon thinks he might never grow used to the idea that he can make her feel such things, that it’s his tongue that drives her to shake and whimper and cry out. It’s a strange feeling for the boy who’d spent so many years in Winterfell feeling powerless and unwanted. Strange and intoxicating.
Ygritte’s knees are quivering, she’s still shaking from her release. Val helps her up and steadies her with a hand at her waist while they both look down on him. Ygritte’s expression is curious, encouraging. Val’s is a challenge. Slowly, she catches her skirts in her fingertips, raises them inch by inch. Jon finds his eyes fixed on the hem, following its slow progress up her legs. He wants to curl his fingers around her calves, to taste the shape of her knee, to find out if the skin inside her thighs is as soft as Ygritte’s. Then her skirts are around her waist, and she’s bare and beautiful and open to him, pale where Ygritte is fiery but no less excruciatingly lovely, and it’s another temptation Jon could never resist. He’s rolled from the pallet of furs and is on his knees at Val’s feet before he can even blink.
She tastes different than Ygritte. Not so earthy. Sharper and lighter, but no less drugging. He licks over her in broad strokes, with the flat of his tongue, learning the whole of her before pushing deeper to find the places where she’s sweetest and wildest. Her fingers spear through his hair and tighten into a fist, pulling his face into her cunt, and he’s more than happy to be pulled. She could hold him there forever and he’d not complain. Val tastes so good – so intensely, overwhelmingly, bloody fucking good – that Jon thinks he could live here with her and Ygritte forever and never regret it for an instant. He never wants to be anywhere else.
A moan bubbles in his throat. He’d stopped trying to control the sounds he always made with Ygritte – needy moans and reverent sighs, eager sounds, pathetically so to Jon’s way of thinking – when he realized how they spurred on her own need. He’s no idea how Val will react. But then Ygritte kneels behind him, her small hands steal about his waist to free him from his breeches and move over him in slow, languorous strokes, and he can’t stop himself, he whimpers, needy and urgent and pleading, moans into Val’s sweet cunt. Her hips buck into his mouth in response, she inches her feet apart, and Jon thinks she mostly likely shares Ygritte’s feelings on the matter.
"Does she taste good, Jon Snow?" Ygritte whispers into his ear, biting the shell of it, and even as hard as he is, the words make him throb yet harder in her hand. "Tell me," she urges. "Tell me how she tastes to you."
"Like salted cream," he pants, keeping his face close as he says the words, so his lips brush against Val, making her jerk and quiver. "Like sex and snow and ocean air."
"Does she taste as good as me?" Ygritte asks, and Jon smiles, hearing the mischief in her voice.
"Almost," he says. "Almost."
"Tell me what you want to do to her."
I want to climb inside her cunt, Jon thinks, I want to lick every bit of her. I want to kiss you with the taste of her still on my tongue and then taste your cunt again so I can kiss her the same way. I want to feel the both of you heat and throb under my tongue, I want you wrung out and moaning my name. I want everything, I want to never give this up, I want all that you are. But he can speak no words, his tongue is too thick and desperate, and he can only moan and whimper and choke out, “Please,” until Ygritte thumbs at the head of his cock and Val pushes against his mouth and he falls into her again, gets his tongue up as deep as he can, his nose pressed against her to make the scent of her curl in his nostrils like a fishhook. Ygritte’s breasts are small and soft against his back. He moves his hips into her hands, amazed that a time in his life ever existed when he’d no idea how such things felt. He never wants to go back.
Val is trembling now; her knees shake and Jon works his hands between her thighs to grab at her arse and hold her up. It pushes her legs wider and he works his face in farther, wanting to be as close as anyone could be, sucks at her deep and insistent. When her release hits her, she quivers and dips, her legs bucking. He keeps licking at her, long and soft, getting as much of her taste as he can, until she pushes him away. Her knees tremble and he wraps a hand around one to steady her, the skin at the back of it thin and soft under his fingers. She rests one light hand on the top of his head as he presses open-mouthed kisses to her belly, her fingers moving in his curls and giving him a scratch that almost seems affectionate. It reminds him of the way he sets his hand atop Ghost’s head at times, a loose connection that nonetheless binds them together.
“Good, isn’t he?” Ygritte asks, and that of all things is what makes Jon blush, even as he has his cock in the hand of one woman and his tongue on the skin of another.
“Quite,” Val answers, breathing uneven. Jon can still smell her, he still wants his tongue on her, he wants to bury his face in her and not move for seven years. Val must feel him swaying towards her, because she laughs and pushes him away with a rough hand over his mouth, hard enough that he sits back on his heels. It leaves him just the right height for Ygritte, who’s much shorter than Val, and she’s not one to pass up an opportunity. Quicker than a blink, she’s standing against him, over him, so close that she’s practically straddling his face, and he’s moaning gladly and licking up into her, loving the taste of her so different from Val’s. His arms hook around her thighs to support her weight, which she gives to him with intimate familiarity and ease, her hands splayed on his shoulders. They’ve been here before, the two of them. Jon’s tongue is sore from reaching, his jaw burns, but still he wants her, can’t get enough of her on his tongue.
“Remarkable,” Val says. When Jon peeks up at Ygritte’s face, he can just barely see Val’s hand twining affectionately through the wild tangle of her hair where it streams over her shoulder. She’s stepped close enough behind Ygritte that Jon feels her feet against his knees, he feels the soft press of her against his arms where he holds Ygritte. Her other hand moves to tangle and fist in Jon’s own hair, her nails scraping over his scalp to make his skin tingle. “Does he never tire?”
“I told yo-oh-ooohh,” Ygritte shivers out, her voice breaking and skittering when he pushes his tongue inside her to curl and flutter. Jon would interrupt to tell them that he’s right there, he can hear them, but that would require taking his tongue out of Ygritte’s cunt and that won’t be happening any time soon.
They call for mercy before he does, after he’s gone from Ygritte back to Val and back to Ygritte for a third time. He still wants more, against all odds he wants more, but they push him away, crowding his face away with their knees and laughing at his still eager efforts. Grudgingly, he relents, crawling forward to lie between them, his face resting on his crossed forearms, the push of his still-hard cock against the furs giving a pleasant ache.
“Jon Snow,” Val says. “Your tongue could tame the whole of the North.” There’s such languid contentment in her voice that Jon glows with pride, even as he wonders at this person he’s become, this man who allows the touch of a woman to make him forget his vows so very completely. Well, two women. Maybe that’s not quite as terrible. Jon laughs and shakes his head. Ygritte is cuddled to his side, Val has one long leg tangled with his. Vows seem a cold comfort in the face of such pleasures. He sighs and surrenders.
“I think I’ve got enough of the North right here to keep my hands full for quite a while.”