Jon bit his lip as they snuck through the door. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that the large chamber was completely empty. "I can't believe we're going to do this. We could be hung." Even with the danger, he didn't stop, though surely this was more dangerous than spending a night north of the Wall. But Samwell could not help but feel liberated in feeling a little braver than his friend who was normally so level-headed and courageous. Though, his stirring libido and the direwolf at the door probably helped quell most of the fear, truth be told.
"Ghost will let us know if anyone approaches," he said softly, his brown eyes soft and dark on Jon's. A little smile grew on his face. "You can't tell me it isn't terribly exciting."
At that, the dark haired man gave a sheepish grin. "I wouldn't have agreed if I didn't want it." They finally stood in front of the giant Iron Throne, the awe-inspiring aura in full effect. Jon glanced to his companion, and gestured to it. "Well? It's now or never."
Sam shuffled forward and then paused, turning toward Jon sheepishly. "How, erm..." Soft cheeks took on a ruddy hue and he cleared his throat, gesturing toward the throne. "How d'you suppose..."
"It's only a chair, when you take away its grand title. Just sit on it." While the thrill of what they were going to do excited him, Jon also didn't want to hang around longer than they must, and had already begun to undo his belt.
Shuffling hastily to comply ("Right, right, of course!"), Samwell hesitated only for a second to seat himself on the Iron Throne, his eyes great wide on Jon once he was there. "Oh," he muttered meekly. "This is a rather terrible idea, isn't it?"
"No one's using it right now," Jon reasoned, trying to make his friend feel a bit better. He pushed his pants down to the knees, not wanting to take them off completely, just in case. But one look at his friend showed that he would need a little help with this, his nerves making it difficult for him to get excited. So, the bastard of the Night's Watch went on his knees before the throne.
"Jon!" Sam whispered urgently, gripping the sides of the throne before jumping and relocating them to Jon's shoulders as the man made quick work of his belt. "W-what are you doing? We don't have time for-!"
"Well we won't be able to do anything if your cock's all soft, will we?" But luckily, Jon knew exactly how to fix that. He pulled it out, and wet his lips, before taking the head into his mouth and sucking the foreskin over the tip.
Sam's fingers and toes curled and he felt a sudden rush of air pass through his lips, politely accompanied by Jon's name and a short plea. "It won't take too long," he whispered, and when Jon glanced up to meet his eyes, Sam did his best to control the giggles fluttering nervously in his throat.
Jon quickly sucked him down as far as he could, and already the blood was filling it up, the appendage growing in his mouth. A few more sucks and he pulled off, maintaining the erection with a few quick strokes of his hand. "See? That's better."
"I'd be worried if it wasn't," Sam murmured. He leaned forward slightly, and seemed to forget, if just for a moment, where he was sitting and how much of a risk they were taking for the sheer sake of risk-taking itself as he drew a thumb over Jon's red mouth. "You're a bit perfect, so it'd mean there was something wrong with me." Then he smiled and pulled Jon up.
The bastard rolled his eyes, but went up easily. "I'm far from perfect and you know that very well." Jon pushed his underclothes down as well, and then his arse was bare to the large cold room. He turned around, first just sitting on Sam's thighs, leaning back against the hard piece of flesh between himself and Sam's belly. "Ready?"
Adjusting him so that Jon was placed in such a way that Sam had both access to Jon's cock and his neck, he nodded. "Yeah, yes... Here, let me... oh. Oh, that's it. Jon..." He drew in a sharp breath and gripped tightly at one toned, muscled thigh, pressing himself deeply inside his familiar old friend.
Jon groaned at the burning feeling. They had prepared him before they came to the throne room, but it had been at least half an hour since then. He slowly sank down, hands gripping tightly to the arms of the throne so he would not slip. "Mmnm, touch me Sam. I'm so hard it hurts."
He could hear and feel the soft groan Sam had muffled into Jon's shoulder, and the attentive young man scrambled to please. He was quick at first, his strokes swift and clinical in their speed, but after a moment, once he'd pushed himself up and up inside of Jon, the movements of his hand slowed. He touched Jon softly, cradling his prick like a precious thing, tracing veins and slipping Jon's foreskin over the sensitive crown of his cock.
"Uhh, oh, just like... Sam, that's good..." Jon moved himself up and down, his arms almost shaking with the effort. But beneath him, Sam would thrust up, just so, and it was amazing. Not their best fuck, but given the location, it would definitely be one to remember.
A warm mouth pressed against the side of his neck once, twice, and then two rows of teeth bit softly just under his mop of curls. Sam was still too shy to leave a proper mark, but Jon could not fault him for it. His skin and body were soft, but there were still powerful muscles beneath, Jon knew, and when Sam lifted him easily by the thighs to drop him and sent harsh shocks of pleasure through them both, he felt almost smug to prove it.
Jon gave a moan at a particularly hard thrust, and fell back against his lover, feeling the soft skin behind him. Since Sam was using his hands to lift him up, Jon took his cock into his own hand, stroking it slowly so he wouldn't finish too soon. "Imagine, if you were k-king, instead of these idiots. You could fuck me here any -Ah!- time you pleased."
"D'you think if that were true, I could make you my queen?" Sam giggled as though he'd said something particularly sly. "Besides, since this proves we do it already, why would I need to be king?"
Jon's laugh was cut off with a gasp as Sam's cock hit his nerves straight on, his own prick twitching in his hand. "Oh gods, hurry up, I don't think I will last much longer."
As always, Sam was quick to comply. He spread Jon's legs only a bit further and set up a quicker pace, grunting quietly in response to Jon's sharp gasps. He moved his short, blunt nails over the sensitive flesh of Jon's inner thigh until he'd raised goosebumps.
Jon knew that his friend was getting close from the harsh breaths he heard behind him. With his own hand, he set a quick stroking pace, feeling his orgasm just a few thrusts away, so he clenched his inner muscles, hearing a stutter in Sam's breath.
They were young, and Sam would carry that excuse forever if he could to account for how quickly Jon could make him come undone. He pressed one hand against Jon's hard stomach and buried his face in the lean young man's shoulder, chanting his name and various mutterings (so rarely did Sam ever curse when he was inside Jon - had once likened the feeling to a blessing, and so curses just would not do) until finally, he clutched his friend closer and whispered urgently to him, "Are you close?"
"Y-yeah..." Jon stuttered, his voice almost a whisper. One sweet thing about Sam was that he always tried his best to wait until Jon was finished. The dark haired man tightened his hold on his cock as he started to feel his orgasm begin to unfurl in his loins, and he closed his eyes, trying not to shout and give them away.
Sam's breath was hot on his neck, and once his hand moved to cover Jon's, that was it. It hit Jon like a wave, and he lifted one hand to bite his wrist, muffling the noises that escaped. Sam was done for the minute Jon collapsed back and turned to press his nose into the other's jaw, tightening once more and lazily rolling his hips as the bastard continued to spill into his own hand.
After a moment of panting and sighing and soft presses of lips here and there, Jon lifted off and clenched his muscles so that the fluids wouldn't leak out. He stood and grinned down at his spent, sated friend. "We should get dressed and out of here..." He had only begun pulling up his pants when Ghost let out a loud bay. His blood ran cold. He and Sam shared a very brief look of panic before scrambling to grab their clothes while simultaneously moving as far from the Iron Throne as possible. Jon cursed as pearly white fluid trickled down his inner thigh, struggling to hike his trousers back on.
They got their belts done up, and tried to get to the door right when it opened. A head popped into view far lower than either of them had expected. The imp peered up.
"Well, if it isn't the Stark's bastard. And a fat boy. What are you doing in the throne room?"
"Ah, well, obviously-" Sam began, eyeing Jon desperately.
"We were going to consult with the king." He could just hope beyond hope that the observant Lanister wouldn't notice the flush on Sam's (and likely his own) cheeks and neck, or their rumpled clothes, or the dark little mark just beneath Snow's curls shaped oddly like teeth and affection.
"Yeah! Right! And he wasn't here. Shame, that. Suppose we'll be off then."
Tyrion lifted an eyebrow, looking between the two men. "Bad luck, I suppose." He gave a smirk as they started towards the door, and when Jon passed him, he stopped him with a hand on his hip. "Perhaps next time you are 'looking for the king', you had best do it where people can't just walk in."
Sam burst into nervous laughter, ignoring Ghost as the wolf nudged his side. "What a silly thing to say, eh, Jon?" he said, clapping one hand over Jon's shoulder.
"Ha, yeah, silly. Well, goodbye!" Jon pushed Sam out of the room as quickly as he could, breathing hard. It was a good thing, he decided, that Tyrion was discrete and adept at keeping secrets.
Written with whitetyger123.