Better Summary: Five years after Robert's Rebellion, Daenerys returned from Essos after the death of her brother Viserys, to be raised at Winterfell, per Ned's request. She and Jon find themselves drawn to each other in a way that tests his desire to join the Night's Watch. Set during the last feast thrown for King Robert and his entourage at Winterfell. Jon, banned from the festivities by Cat, and Dany ducking out by choice on account of the Usurper, together, do some innocent flirting past the walls of Winterfell after Jon boldly carries her there atop his shoulder. They lie in the grass, talking and pondering the meaning of the red comet streaking the night sky. Before the flirtation gets out of hand, Jon tries to retreat, but Dany has something else in mind, as she attempts to change his mind about joining the Night's Watch.

This story kicks in at the end of Chapter one of Collide by OnlyInAutumn on Ao3 - It's an AU of an AU! That's why it's a bit jarring. Collide is only 3 chapters and it's incredible, please give it a read! (One other random note: My setting was changed to outside the south gate of Winterfell rather than the godswood) Link found in my profile!

That being said, have at it, perverts! :D

Daenerys flaunted her sly smile as she lay in the grass beside him. Perhaps he'd have been more bothered by her smugness had she not been right. Jon had considered stowing her away with him when he left for Castle Black. He had no defense for the playful accusation. What other thoughts could she glean just from a look? After twelve years, he had no shortage of them, especially not where Daenerys Targaryen was concerned.

Like now, with her silver-gold hair splayed around her like a halo, her breasts, milky crescent moons rising from her neckline, he could feel more thoughts stirring. The longer he took in the sight of her, the more it felt like a clamp was tightening around his chest. He wanted nothing more than to kiss that smile right off of those full, pink lips. To climb on top of her, wondering what would happen if he pulled her skirts up... He shook the thought from his head before she could catch him staring again. Instead, he tucked it away, perhaps to revisit the next time he found himself alone, mind wandering.

Jon pulled himself up, shifting so that his back faced Daenerys. He exhaled, the sound carried away by the cool breeze that rattled the leaves above them. He muttered, before closing his eyes, "We should be getting back."

Daenerys was quick to pick up on his tone, the regret had weaved its way through each word as he spoke. She allowed a wordless moment to pass, giving Jon the opportunity to leave if that's what he wanted. Neither made any effort.

"Should we? I'm not tired. Are you?"

Back still turned to her, Jon shook his head.

"Good," she said, examining him. "The music hasn't died down. There's no one waiting for us. You can stay with me a few moments." She paused to muster a bit of courage, "And if you wouldn't mind, stay exactly as you are. Don't turn around, and don't dare leave. Not until I say."

Almost scared by her strange command, Jon felt his body tighten and tense as if expecting a physical blow. Jon didn't turn, but he did adjust. Lifting his knees to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them and dipped his head. He tried to sneak a peek of her, hoping to discern what she was up to. Dark, tangled curls foiled his attempt, falling over his eyes like a veil.

"Don't, I said," Dany reminded him. "Stay put."

Concentrating on controlling her breath now, Dany inhaled, as deeply as she could, before indulging in thoughts she never thought she'd vocalize or put words to. She held the air in her lungs a moment. She had to tell him now. Otherwise, Jon would leave for Castle Black without ever looking back, without ever knowing.

"Jon, I know I've been teasing you, but the truth is..." she stopped to sigh, before letting out a nervous chuckle. "I don't know where to start. We don't talk much. Certainly not as much as I'd like to."

Dany noticed Jon's curls swaying as he nodded his head in agreement.

"Since we first met, I had always found you every bit as princely as Robb. I harbored small, secret affinities for the both of you. Until about a year ago. I felt restless roaming the grounds with a cloak to cover my hair, hoping to go unnoticed. I came upon the both of you. This time you weren't just cute boys running about the castle. You had been sparring, as Theon looked on in his jealous way." Jon smirked, knowing exactly how she meant.

"It was a rare day where the summer heat found its way north," she breathed, rushing through the words faster than Jon had ever heard her speak before. He scanned his mind, hoping to pinpoint the day she spoke of, without any luck. "You both had your tunics strewn along the ground, your wild curls bounding, smiling as you showed off your skill. Robb became a blur as I focused on you. I saw that you were no longer the boy your frumpy clothes would have me believe."

Daenerys took a few quick breaths to recover from the still-vivid memory, struggling to break free the truth that had caught in her throat. With a mixture of anticipation and disbelief, Jon audibly gulped. He fought the urge to run away from all of this, staying loyal to her command not to move or turn.

After a moment, she carried on, "I slinked into the shadows so that I could keep watching you. Your muscles danced under your skin, the sunlight shone a halo in your dark hair," she paused to remember how soft it had been between her fingers only moments ago.

"My heart hammered in my chest then, as it does now." Jon felt his own heart hammer at the thought of Daenerys studying him in such detail.

"Finally, your match was done and Theon handed you a flask of water. You poured it over your head to cool off," her voice trembled a little as she continued. "You shook the water from your hair like a wolf. I watched it stream down your body as it carried your sweat away," Daenerys felt her lungs deflate as she grappled to coax the rest of the memory to her tongue. She took another moment to compose herself as best she could amongst this broken levee of secrets. Her lungs begged for extra room to expand. Though, no matter how deeply she inhaled, no allotment of air seemed enough to aid her endeavor.

Jon started to rock slowly, trying to extinguish the feelings of self-consciousness he felt bubbling to the surface. "I'm not finished," she playfully reminded him. Seeing him fidget this way gave her exactly the push she needed to keep going.

"I wanted to stay and spy for as long as I could manage but felt feverish. I ran to my chambers, clutching my stomach, all coiled up in knots. I collapsed onto my bed, fighting with the tightness of my gown so that I could breathe. I stripped naked as my name day. When I closed my eyes to relax, all I could see was you."

The music could still be heard from beyond the castle walls, which seemed muted beneath the exasperated breaths both Jon and Dany had been struggling with.

Dany tilted her head down, leaning into Jon, but careful not to touch him. He could feel the warmth emanating from her body, nearly tugging him toward her as if something in their blood drew them together like magnets. Dany lowered her voice, though there was no actual need. They were alone as they'd ever been. "Your face, your curls, your muscles... those pouty lips. Of course, I've been staring at your lips, Jon."

Jon brought one of his hands to the damp grass, steadying himself. Her breathless whisper just barely whisked his curls, sending gooseflesh along his arms and neck. The faint scent of her perfumed tresses had him wrangling with the urge to turn around and face her. He felt his own insides coil as she recounted the details, feeling trapped beneath his tightening trousers as his arousal grew.

"Stay put. I'm not finished," she commanded, breathless still. What more could there be? He wondered, intrigued.

"So what you're a bastard, I thought. But I realize now that it's not about dismissing it or ignoring it. It's exactly what I like about you. Every bit of skill or confidence you have, you earned. Your identity is all your own, not wrapped up in the honor of someone else's name or legacy. In a way, you're free to have your own legacy, Jon Snow, and I envy that. I long to treat the wounds the dagger of 'bastard' has opened up in you. I wonder if anyone has ever held you the way I ache to, and I curse myself for not having the courage to have ever done so, myself."

Jon felt hot tears well in his eyes. This loving confession only amplified his arousal following all the candid visuals she had painted in his mind. Undeniably, he longed for Dany's body, but also for her affections and a chance to really love her.

"Every night for supper, I sit amongst your sisters, utterly jealous as I watch you laughing with the other boys," disdain, clear in her voice as she explained, "Don't get me wrong, I love your sisters to bits. But that smile of yours across the room is like a poison to me. My womb begs me to just lay with you, already!"

Jon gasped in disbelief. Everything she had said had pointed to this conclusion, but the bluntness with which she said it cranked tighter the clamp around his chest. She continued in a low whisper, "Ever notice how often I excuse myself early from supper?"

Jon tilted his head toward her again, though this time she barked no commands or discipline. He had noticed and had always wondered. Through his dark veil, he could see her eyes were downcast. He caught a glimpse of her cleavage as her rapid breaths fought with her tight gowns. Quickly, he adjusted his gaze back to the dark ground beneath him before he got caught. Now he really wondered what would happen if he climbed on top of her. But he stayed put, behaving, as had been instructed.

Mustering a more provocative tone, Dany whispered, "Each night I collapse onto my bed, my hands wandering around my body, my mind struggling to convince itself they're actually your hands. Try as I might, my hands are too soft and small to pass for yours. Alone I am denied the weight of your body on top of mine, your thickness sheathed inside me. Everything about your absence drives me mad."

Jon shifted uncomfortably, this time it was his skin that felt too tight to contain his blood. He had never been more aware of it as it coursed through him, he could see his pale wrists jump at the veins with each thud of his heart. The sound of his rustling caught her attention, and she mistook his intent.

"You're almost free to go," Dany whimpered, watching him squirm. She gave herself a moment to catch her breath once more before wrapping up. She leaned in closer to him, dropping her voice to a mere whisper, hardly able to bear saying the words she must for her final confession.

"I wonder, Jon Snow, if ever you looked at me and felt a similar ache tight in your groin. Tugging at your cock desperately, imagining what my hands would feel like wrapped around it, or perhaps my mouth... or..." she gulped, "swallowed up in my cunt," her emphasis on such a crude word had him reeling. He clenched his eyes shut, his blood whirred in his ears. Jon was desperate to get a grip on himself, the ground, anything.

"I also wonder if it's hard right now, and how it'd feel through your trousers. I wonder what would happen if I were bold enough to reach for it," she breathed, with a starved, seductive intonation. Jon's collar, like fingers around his throat, left him struggling for air. He felt wild, untamed. His cock rebelled against the restraint of his trousers, imagining her reaching for him. Then be bold, he ironically wished he could command her, or perhaps even beg.

Instead, he ignored her warning and turned to face her. He looked every bit as ravenous as he felt. Daenerys met his eyes almost with fright. He was a Wolf in that moment, heaving hard with a furrowed brow. A snarl played at the corner of his trembling lips, fangs bared, in what might otherwise be described as a smile.

"If this is some cruel joke..." he warned her, shaking his head as his gaze shifted from her eyes to the small, soft hand reaching for his chest. Feeling his heart thud against his rib cage, she worked to temper him. Her voice had returned to normal, "I wish we could've slowly built to this moment. But considering we kept polite all year, it is only now in my desperation that I must confess all of this, else you leave for Castle Black, vowing to the Gods to never lay a hand on me."

Tears glistened in her eyes, now, she clutched his leather doublet hard in her fist. Her face contorted with passion, anger, emotion—Jon couldn't tell exactly what. The conviction of her words stronger than any she had spoken before, "I'd sooner welcome death than face a future without knowing your touch, Jon Sn-"

And so the Wolf tackled the Dragon—his prey, his own name, which died on her lips as his tongue sparred with hers. For a moment Jon felt guilt for thrusting his weight against hers, until he remembered she felt as if it were something she had been denied. Who was he, a bastard, to ever deny Daenerys Targaryen?

With that, he pressed himself even further into her body, nudging her face away so he could bury himself in her neck as she caught her breath. He nipped his way up to her earlobe, trying his damnedest to tame his instincts. Dany fumbled with her dress on either side, pulling her skirts up so she could wrap her legs around him. "Jon," she whimpered, almost inaudibly, had her mouth not been nestled against his ear.

Jon felt hard as stone as they lay groin to groin, she cursed all the fabric between them. That she might yet feel the full swell of his cock inside her sent a soft moan to her lips, which turned to a hum as Jon pressed his mouth to hers once more. She wriggled herself from under his force, begging him, "Wait..."

With her sudden reservation, Jon snapped out of his primal state long enough to lighten himself above her so she could make any adjustment she needed. Dany smirked up at him as she slid her hand from his chest downward. His eyes followed her hand until he realized where it was headed, "Dany..." he gasped, as his gaze shifted from her hand back to her eyes. She wondered where the Wolf had gone. Jon's dark, watering eyes were nervous, regressing to that of a mere pup.

"I told you I wanted to feel you through your trousers," she lustfully teased. Jon's eyes darted around, desperate to drop anchor but unsure where to land, as her hand had finally found him. He clenched his eyes shut as she gently squeezed him, studying his reactions to each touch. With eyelids clasped tightly, he willed himself not to wake from this dream. It must be a dream, he thought, trying his best to stifle his whimpers.

His arms shook as they struggled to hold his weight. His blood betrayed him, too, all of it rushing to gather beneath Dany's focused touch. Too suddenly, the warmth of her hand was gone, and he unclenched his eyes to look at her, to see where she had gone. Her eyes were cast downward as she fumbled with the lacing on his trousers. He gasped again, in shock, as cool air broke through the barrier.

Jon looked every bit the terrified pup once more. Dany could see his body falter above her, "It's alright," she cooed, bringing her hand up to tuck his curls behind his ear. She then placed her hand on his shoulder, guiding him to the ground beside her, giving his quivering muscles a break. Jon watched her with wet eyes as she climbed atop, straddling him. She lifted his tunic, placing a hand on his lower abdomen. Jon preferred this vantage point, surveying her lustful expression, all the while keeping a close watch on that hand of hers. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she felt the firmness of his muscles against her palm. She closed her eyes. It was clear in her expression that finally getting her hands on his abdomen was some form of triumph for her. She began moving her hand down once more, but with one clear distinction. This time, it was skin on skin.

Though inevitable, Jon gasped as the warmth of her hand had finally found him. His skin felt tight again, blood pulsing in desperation to keep up with the heavy demands of his thudding heart. A deafening hissing sound whirred inside his ears.

Nothing had ever felt so warm against him as her hand had in that moment. Dany's fingers grew slick as she swirled them 'round the tip. Be it the new sensations she felt or had been causing, Dany's own muscles began to quake. After a few soft strokes of his length, she exhaled deeply before withdrawing her hand. She searched Jon's expression, finding a mixture of agony and relief. Jon looked down to investigate her hand's retreat, not quite upset that she had stopped, but more confused at the suddenness of her departure.

Dany straightened atop him, lifting her skirts while rolling them neatly toward her, exposing her breeches to him. "Hold these," she commanded of Jon. He was happy to oblige, grasping the folded skirts, pressing them to her waist so he had an excuse to put his hands on her. As Dany masterfully loosened her laces, Jon's eyes wandered down to inspect the darkened patch of fabric nestled against her groin. It's wet, he realized, and it clung to her mound like a second skin, in a way that sent a jolt right through him. Dany gasped as she felt his cock twitch beneath her, the sudden jerk causing the fabric to fall from her grasp enough so that silver-blonde curls peeked out from atop the laces. The mere exposure made Jon feel faint, his hand slipped away from her skirts, seeking refuge on his forehead.

Dany grabbed his escaped hand and guided it back to her stomach, and slowly downward, mirroring her exploration of him only moments ago. "Your turn," she explained as she shifted her weight backward, still straddling as she thrust her groin toward him. An open invitation. Jon tucked the folds of her skirt underneath her bottom, exposing her curls to him once more. He shuddered at the sight of the thin, wispy hairs. Please don't wake up, please don't wake up, he chanted internally, still half-convinced it must be a dream. Another jolt rippled through him. Dany stifled a small giggle at his second involuntary salute.

By now, his eyes had adjusted to the moonlight and Daenerys was stark white against the darkness. Jon, being a man, and thus, a visual creature, found his curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had to see her. He brought both hands down to the front of her breeches, pulling them as far down as they'd go. Her wetness clung to the fabric in strands as he pulled it away from her skin. A surge of saliva came rushing to his mouth. Even his tongue trembled.

Dany let out a gasp as the cool air found her. Jon carefully placed his fingers against the small pink swell that presented itself beneath soft curls. It was throbbing, just as he had been. He ran his fingers in slow, gentle circles over her wetness. Dany convulsed at the slightest hint of his touch, which only piqued his curiosity. As he slid his fingers further down to explore, she made a series of chaotic, desperate panting noises he never dreamed of having the privilege to hear. Dreams, he thought. Feeling bold, himself, he removed his hand from her prematurely. With the same mixed look of agony and relief, Dany unclenched her eyes to meet his.

"My turn," he considered, his voice gruff, "It's only fair that I confess something to you." Dany looked down at him with an expression of both pain and intrigue.

"I did my share of dreaming, too. It was always your skin. I imagined it would taste like milk," his accent heavy as his gaze drifted from her eyes to his fingers, webbed with her wetness. "Creamy and a little bitter. But, you're salty, too."

Even in the moonlight, Jon could see Dany's face flushing further, "There's been one part of you I've been dyin' to taste. My imagination can only get me so far." A soft whimper escaped her lips without her consent, merely at the insinuation of his mouth anywhere near her tenderest parts. Did men actually do that? she wondered.

Jon lifted his still-wet fingers to his lips, coating his pout in her taste. As he licked his lips, his dark gaze became molten with intensity. His irises looked like eclipsing moons, a corona of flame licking the edges of the dark spheres. It must be the moonlight, she thought. Though, in that moment, she couldn't help but think of dragons.

Feeling helpless, unsure exactly what to make of it, she shifted her focus to Jon's mouth as he massaged his fingers into his lips, inhaling her scent deeply. Somewhere beyond the ragged sound of her breaths, she swore she heard a low growl in his chest. The Wolf had returned.

"I will have a proper taste of you," he threatened, lifting himself up onto his elbows. Their open lips met again as she melted into him, though she could feel his teeth clamped together against her wandering tongue. With one swift motion, he pulled down her breeches, exposing her backside to the darkness before flipping her on her back. He pressed his groin into her skin. The fabric of his trousers quickly became entrenched, the heat between her legs already unbearable.

No matter how many fabrics were permeated, Dany's arousal seemed to know no bounds. There were traces everywhere, from Jon's face to Dany's as they kissed, his hands, now his trousers... and, as he dropped his head to survey the full extent of the damage, he saw that even her thighs were coated in her slickness. He could smell it, infusing the air around them, suffocating him, drawing his nose and mouth in. He didn't fight it. He followed the scent eagerly, taking small tastes from her thighs as he inched his way to the source. His breath, like fire, hot against her wet cunt, mere inches away. Dany shook, doing her best to brace herself for the impact of his tongue...

"Jon? Dany?" Robb called in the distance, "Where have you two gone?"

"Seven hells," Dany cursed, quivering, emphasis pulling awkwardly at each syllable.

Jon let loose a quiet growl, feeling mocked by the gods in that moment. Though it had been quite dark, Jon took one last look at the treasure he had finally unearthed, leaving its true discovery for another time. He clambered to his feet in one swift motion, his hand outstretched to help Dany to hers. He steadied her as she wobbled to find footing. She pulled her breeches up from her knees, tying the laces tight as he grimaced, throbbing with pain. So close, he thought. She reached for his laces, tying them tightly for him. They didn't have long, now.

Even so, his blood pulsed slow like lava, burning him from the inside, commanding him to continue what he had started. He tried his best to conceal the little monster and gain enough composure to face his brother, whose footsteps were fast approaching, squishing in the dewy grass beyond the gates.

"Jon? Is that you?" Robb was closer, now. Jon assumed his brother had seen the pair awkwardly fumbling in the darkness. He had no idea how to explain himself, all alone with Daenerys Targaryen.

"We're here, Robb," he answered meekly, searching his mind for an explanation that wouldn't come. All he was capable of in this moment, was filling in the blanks of his fantasies with all the correct features, textures, tastes, as images of Daenerys flashed in his mind's eye.

"Is everything alright?" Robb asked, his voice snapping Jon out of his reverie, pulling him against his will, back to reality. His brother kept his distance, almost as if he knew he had caught them at something.

Dany's voice quivered as she called to him, "I'm okay."

Robb approached them, still keeping a safe distance. Jon prayed he couldn't smell her lingering scent, too. He licked his lips thoroughly and discreetly behind a bent hand, thinking that might do the trick. It hadn't. Dany wobbled a little bit more, and Jon steadied her again.

"What happened? Are you okay, Daenerys?" Robb asked, worried from the sight of the staggering girl, with a fresh sheen of sweat coating her flushed face. He looked to Jon, suspicion slowly warping his expression.

"Something disagreed with me, I'm afraid. Jon chased after me past the gates as I spilled my supper at his feet... The sickness is finally winding down after a few unsightly performances, thankfully. I'm glad you weren't here to see it," Dany stroked her stomach, and Jon's face had become visibly worried. She's good, he thought.

"You should get back to your room, get some rest. I'll escort you, myself," Robb offered, never doubting for a moment that her disheveled, flushed appearance had been nothing but illness. Chivalrous prince that he was, he continued, "I can fetch Maester Luwin once you're tucked in."

"Nonsense, Robb," Daenerys stuttered, "Jon will walk me to my room. He's already here, after all, and not welcome in the dining hall, in any case. Look at him, he's bored to tears," Dany gestured toward her prospective lover. Jon gulped nervously as he nodded along.

"Besides, I wouldn't dare deny you the opportunity to show off your many charms to the royal visitors on their last night here," she weakly exclaimed, this time, nodding toward the dining hall. Though, to Jon, it sounded like flirtation. In response, he furrowed his brow with jealousy, eyes scrunched.

"All I need is some rest," she smiled with kind eyes, squinting assurances to Robb, whose worry was visibly melting away.

"Alright," Robb relented before turning to Jon, who had returned to full brood by this point, dismissing any suspicion from his mind. "Jon, since you don't have to worry about entertaining any of our guests tonight, just... stay with her a while? At least until she falls asleep. Call for Maester Luwin if the sickness returns."

Jon's glare at Robb relented as soon as he realized he was not only given permission to sit bedside to Daenerys, alone in her chambers overnight—but more or less ordered to. Jon struggled to look disappointed or inconvenienced, somehow. Dany, noticing the absurd range of emotions dancing across his face, pursed her lips so as not to laugh. His efforts to play along mostly went unnoticed as Robb had already turned to Dany. Placing a brotherly hand on her shoulder, he continued, "Get your rest, I trust my brother will take good care of you tonight."

"Thank you, Robb," she gleamed, her plan unfolding perfectly.

"I'll let them know I found you, and that Jon will be lookin' after you so they needn't worry."

"Please do. I mean to cause no alarm on such an important night. I don't wish to take any more of your time. Go, enjoy yourself!"

"I will," he assured her, flashing his regal smile at the pair before scampering away, back to the royal festivities.

The pair exhaled in relief. Jon rubbed his head, "I'm not sure how you managed that."

She wobbled again, placing a hand to her forehead to wipe away the sweat. Jon looked down at her, worried and confused, "Are you really feeling unwell?"

"In a way," she laughed. "I ache from head to toe. My flesh feels as though it's burning me alive."

He nodded in agreement, politely clasping his hand around her waist as if to guide her back to her room. Daenerys barely budged. Stopping in her tracks, she breathed his name, "Jon..."

"What?" Jon asked, his thick northern accent rounded the word before slicing it a bit short with his tongue.

"You must ache, too. Show me. Once that door closes behind us, I command you to bring that Wolf back out. It drives me mad when you look at me as if you'd eat me."

Jon's brow twitched at the sound of her raspy voice. They continued walking together in synch. A Wolf, he considered. With each careful stride, Jon did his best to quash his default setting of shyness and reservation. It was his instinct to fade into the background, to go unnoticed. But Daenerys Targaryen, of all people, had spilled her darkest desires to him. Despite his best efforts to blend in, she had picked him. Not Robb, or Theon, someone with a proper last name, or even some faceless lord who had yet to seek out her hand in marriage. But him. The least he could do was tuck away his instinct to hesitate or second-guess himself. He'd draw from her boldness. She wants me, he reminded himself. Seemingly the exact same way he wanted her, in fact. Hopelessly.

He vowed to thank the lady by showing her, as she commanded, the ravenous and desperate way in which he'd dreamed of taking her every night his head hit the pillow. They had almost reached her door, now. With seconds to spare, Jon coached himself through. It doesn't have to be perfect, he thought. Be a Wolf.