Archive of Our Own

The first time Daenerys messages him, Jon is sure it’s a joke. Or the setup for some ridiculous catfishing scam, at the very least.

Hey, I know this is gonna sound weird, but I think you might be my nephew, her Facebook message reads. Confused, Jon studies her name, sipping his coffee while standing barefoot on his back patio. (They could really use some chairs out here, he thinks fleetingly. Ygritte wants to buy some from a big-box store, but Jon is determined to build them himself.)

Daenerys Targaryen. A Valyrian bot, most likely. But when he clicks on her profile, she seems as legitimate as anyone. She’s young, no older than he is. Silver hair, violet eyes. Pretty. Valyrian, for sure, but perhaps not a bot after all.

Excuse me? he responds, not entirely sure why he doesn’t just delete and block. A reply isn’t immediately forthcoming, so he goes about his morning routine as usual—going for a run, showering, then heading into the garage to begin his work for the day.

He almost forgets about the unusual message until he checks his phone again when he stops for lunch. He has one notification.

My brother, Rhaegar. He was your father, right? And your mum is Lyanna?

Jon’s heart stops when he reads that. Suddenly, it makes sense.

Yes, my mum was with him before I was born, he answers, adding, I don’t really know anything about him though, sorry.

His father left his mum not long after knocking her up. Turned out, he already had a family and didn’t really want a bastard.

This time, her reply comes within seconds. Yeah, I know...I just thought you might want to know that he passed away.

Jon stares at his phone, unmoving. He isn’t sure how the news makes him feel. Nothing really, he guesses. Numbly, he types out, Sorry to hear that. Thinking better of it, he quickly sends a follow-up, I’m sorry for your loss.

Thank you, she says. Truthfully, we weren’t super close in recent years. He was quite a bit older than me by the time I was born.

Ah. That explains why she looks so young.

Guess that’s something we have in common, comes her next message, catching him off guard. Almost immediately, she says, Sorry, gods, that was crass wasn’t it?

He huffs, a bit mystified by this person already. A bit. Lucky I appreciate brutal honesty.

She sends back a smiley face.

He stares at the emoji. She doesn’t say anything after that, and their conversation stalls. Jon pockets his phone, finishes his lunch, and heads back to the garage, but a moment later he pulls his phone back out and brings up their chat again. Then he navigates back to her profile, this time taking the time to scroll through it. There isn’t much he can see, since it’s set to private. But he can look through her profile photos, at least. Most of them are of her solo, taken by her own hand and smiling at the camera or snapped by someone else, laughing or unaware. A few are obviously cropped, with friends or maybe even a boyfriend removed. If she looks like his father, Jon has no idea.

Did he think her merely pretty a moment ago? She’s gorgeous, actually. Acknowledging the fact makes him feel a little guilty, but it’s just an objective truth.

Still, he sends her a friend request before he can overthink it and shoves his phone away. By the time he’s got his safety goggles and gloves back on, she’s accepted his request.

“Apparently, my father passed away,” Jon tells Ygritte over dinner that night. His wife looks at him with a mix of shock and puzzlement.

“What? I thought you didn’t have any contact with him.”

“I don’t. Didn’t.” He sips his water, hesitating, and wonders how to tell her. “My...aunt told me.” It’s weird calling her that; a thorough perusal of her profile earlier revealed she’s indeed his age, younger by only a few months.

“Catelyn?” Ygritte asks, confused. She shovels the last of her pasta into her mouth.

He shakes his head. “No. My father’s sister. She found me on Facebook.”

“I didn’t know he had a sister,” she says, her mouth full.

Jon shrugs. “Me neither.”

Ygritte eyes him warily. “Well. How do you feel about it? Your father’s death, I mean.”

“I don’t know.” He isn’t sad, he doesn’t think. He’s not really sure how he feels. “I don’t feel anything, I guess. I didn’t know him.”

She seems relieved by this answer. Ygritte has never been good with expressions of sentiment. “Well, good riddance, I say. He’s an arsehole for abandoning his own flesh and blood the way he did.” With that, she grabs her empty plate and gets up from the table, taking it to the kitchen.

“So, what do you want to watch tonight?” she calls back to him, the uncomfortable discussion apparently over.

Jon lets her decide their movie watching plans for the night. His mind is elsewhere, anyway.

When he tells his mother the next day, she takes it better than he expects.

“Oh. I...I had no idea,” she says over the phone, then she’s quiet for a while.

“Are you OK?” he asks. He knows she was in love with the man once, so much so she was willing to give up everything for a married man. Too bad he wasn’t willing to do the same.

She sighs. “I’m fine, darling. It’s just—a shock. How do you feel?”

He tells her exactly what he told Ygritte. Then he asks, “Did you know he has a sister?”

“He does?” Lyanna says in surprise. He tells her about Daenerys, more than he told Ygritte. (He would have told her more if she asked.) “Well, that all would have happened after he left, I suppose. Is she nice?”

“Aye. I mean, I guess so. We only talked briefly.”

Lyanna’s quiet again. “Do you know how he died?”

“I didn’t think to ask,” Jon admits. “I can find out.”

“Oh, no. Don’t trouble yourself on my account. Unless you want to know yourself.”

He does, which surprises him. But he supposes he’s more curious than he realized. He can probably find an obituary online that might tell him, but he messages Daenerys later while Ygritte is in the bathroom, getting ready for bed. She responds within minutes.

Car accident, drunk driver. Other guy, not him, she replies.

Oh wow, he sends, then regrets the tactlessness of his response. Shit. That’s awful.

Yeah. It was pretty devastating for his kids.

Jon doesn’t say anything right away, which she picks up on immediately. Oh gods, sorry. His other kids, obviously.

Then, That sounds even worse. I’m just going to stop talking.

He smiles at his phone. A grimace, really. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s hard on them.

I haven’t talked to them much, honestly. I saw them at the funeral a couple weeks ago. It was in Dragonstone.

A funeral. And no one thought to invite him. Maybe it’s not surprising his widow wouldn’t want the physical proof of his infidelity at a memorial for her dead husband. Still, Jon can feel the slight, even if he knows he wouldn’t have gone, anyway.

The bedroom fills with light when Ygritte opens the bathroom door then is pitched back into darkness again when she flips the bathroom light off. Jon can barely make out her silhouette as she crosses to the bed, guided by the light of his phone screen. She crawls in beside him and slips under the covers.

“You going to sleep?” she asks.

“In a minute. Just looking at something,” he says. It seems like too much effort to explain.

She leans over and kisses him on the lips. “‘Don’t be too long. I’ve got that meeting first thing with the parks director.”

“OK,” he murmurs as she lies down on her side, facing away from him. He turns back to his phone.

Is that where you live, Dragonstone?

No, I live in King’s Landing. Well, for the moment anyway. I only have my apartment through the end of the month and then I gotta find somewhere else to live. It’s just too bloody expensive here.

Jon scratches his bare chest, debating how to respond. That’s what I’ve heard from my cousin. She moved down there after uni but ended up moving to Highgarden because it was more affordable.

The job market is insanely competitive here too, Daenerys says.

What do you do?

Currently? I wait tables in Flea Bottom. The nonprofit I worked for shut down a few months ago unfortunately.

That sucks, I’m sorry, he replies, and he genuinely means it.

Thanks. It’s OK. I’d stay with some friends, but it would only be a temporary fix since all they can afford is one-bedroom apartments anyway lol

Can your family help? Jon asks curiously.

There’s a brief pause before she responds. Well my parents are dead. And you know about Rhaegar. I don’t really want to impose on his wife and kids right now, they’ve got enough on their plate.

Seven hells. And he’s moping because the father he never even knew died? Jon shakes his head at himself.

I’m sorry, he says lamely.

Thanks. Gods, sorry to dump all this on you. You just wanted to know about Rhae.

It’s fine, he assures her. He has a passing thought in that moment: Technically, he’s family. And he could help her…

What kind of nonprofit did you work in? he asks.

I did community outreach for a foundation that helped underprivileged kids.

He’s impressed. That’s really cool.

I absolutely loved it. I hope I can find something in that line of work again.
Sorry, I haven’t even asked about you. Where do you live? Daenerys asks.

In the North. Winterfell.

Ohh I’ve never been. Is it nice?

I love it, he says honestly. It’s beautiful most of the year. You do get sick of the snow after a while though.

No way, I’ve always wanted to see snow. I don’t think I could ever get sick of it.

He smiles to himself. You would, trust me. After the third day in a row of shoveling your car out from underneath the bloody stuff.

Ygritte turns over next to him, huffing loudly and pulling the covers up over her face to make a point about the brightness of his screen. With a wince, he shoots off a quick message, I’ve gotta go, got an early start tomorrow. Worried that sounds a bit dickish, he adds, Talk to you later?

Oh sure. Goodnight!

Shutting off his screen, Jon puts his phone down on the nightstand and lies back down. He stares at the ceiling for a moment before rolling over and pressing a kiss to his wife’s forehead.

“Goodnight,” he whispers, and she grunts in response, her eyes still shut.

How’s the apartment search going? he asks Daenerys the next day.

No luck D: Even the dirt-cheap places in Flea Bottom have been snatched up. Might be time to say goodbye to this shithole once and for all. How’s Highgarden this time of year? Hah.

I can ask my cousin for you. His thumbs waver over his phone screen before he types out haltingly. Actually, I have a friend who works for this place in town. It’s not the exact same line of work, but it’s an organization that helps abuse survivors get back on their feet. I can talk to him, see if he knows of any open positions, if you’d like.

He can tell she’s typing in stops and starts, so he quickly adds, If you’re cool traveling this far north, I mean. I know it’s quite a trek from King’s Landing.

I used to live in Essos, she finally says. Catching a train north would be nothing. Wow, if you could put in a good word for me, I would be eternally grateful, thank you! Though I guess I’d still have to find somewhere to live...

He scratches his beard, debating with himself. Just say it, he tells himself. It’s not weird.

You can stay with me and my wife. We have a guest room that’s not being used at the moment.

He makes a point of mentioning Ygritte. He hasn’t brought her up before, but surely Daenerys realizes he’s married. His profile says so.

Again, she types in stops and starts. Jon holds his breath, waiting, before her response finally appears.

Are you sure that would be OK? I don’t want to impose, I’m sure I could find something of my own up there if I look.

He probably should have run it by Ygritte first. But...Daenerys is family. And he’s curious to know more about his father’s side of the family, even if he will never know the man himself now.

Not a problem at all, he insists, and hopes it’s true.

A few days later, he hands Ygritte a beer as he sits down on the couch beside her. “You remember how I told you about my dad passing?”

She gives him a funny look while sipping from the bottle. “Aye, kinda hard to forget.”

“I was talking to my, ah, aunt—the one who told me about him—and she’s in a bit of a bind.”

“Oh?” Ygritte looks bemused. “I didn’t know you were still talking to her.”

He swigs his beer, his face feeling hot. “My mom wanted to know more. About what happened with my father. Anyway, she’s nice. But she’s not really close with her brother’s family either, and her parents—gods, my grandparents, I guess—are dead, too. She’s looking for a job and might have something lined up here. She does nonprofit work, so I put her in touch with Sam to see if he had any leads. Turns out, there’s an open position where he works, for a program coordinator. She’s already done a phone interview, and now they want to meet her in person, so it’s very likely she’ll get the job.”

Ygritte still looks confused. “Well, that’s nice for her. Why are you telling me this?”

He clears his throat. “The thing is, she needs a place to stay, so I thought we could offer our spare bedroom to her. Just until she finds a place of her own.”

“Really?” Ygritte scrunches her nose. “We don’t even know her. You really want a stranger living with us?”

He shrugs. “She seems cool. I think you’ll get on. It would only be temporary, anyway. I don’t know. I just thought it might be nice to help her.”

His wife makes a face to herself as she thinks it over. Finally, she lifts a shoulder dismissively. “Aye, sure, I guess that should be fine.”

Exhaling a breath, Jon smiles and wraps an arm around her shoulder. She snuggles into his side, and he kisses her temple. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles good-naturedly. “You owe me.”

Daenerys shows up on his doorstep in Winterfell a few weeks later. She looks as nervous as he feels, but she smiles widely at him, a genuine smile. “Hi,” she says, a bit shyly.

She’s dressed in jeans and a simple top, her silver hair in a loose side braid. While he’s used to the climate, he can already tell she underestimated just how cold it would feel. All she has on her is a bag and a suitcase; everything else she put in storage before flying up north.

“Hey.” He’s not sure if he should hug her, and he can tell she’s wondering the same. Instead, he steps aside and waves her inside. “Come on in. You must be cold.”

She laughs a little before stepping past him. Despite spending eight hours in the air, with a layover in Riverrun, she smells fresh, the balmy climate of the South still clinging to her. “Thanks. Yeah, um, stupidly didn’t think to check the weather before I left.”

“Hopefully you packed some sweaters. Summer’s not for a few more weeks,” he says, then reaches for her suitcase after he shuts the door. “Let me get that for you.”

She blushes, which makes her violet eyes deepen. He’s never seen anyone with that eye color before, not in person. “I’m probably going to have to do some shopping. Once I get my first paycheck, I mean. Fingers crossed. And after I pay you rent, of course.”

He waves off her suggestion. “Don’t worry about it.”

He hears Ygritte coming down the stairs. “Did I hear the front door?” she calls, then freezes on the bottom step when she spots them standing in the living room. Jon hurries to introduce them, moving in between them.

“Ygritte, this is Daenerys. Daenerys, this is my wife.”

Daenerys smiles at her, holding out a hand. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

Stunned, Ygritte just stares at her a beat or two longer. Jon can suddenly feel his pulse in his neck. Finally, she reacts, stepping off the bottom step. “Aye, it’s...nice to meet you, too,” she says slowly, shaking Daenerys’ hand.

“I just want to thank you both,” Daenerys says. “I really appreciate you welcoming me into your home. Hopefully I won’t be a bother.”

Ygritte takes her time replying, offering a grudging “Aye” after a tense moment. Jon releases his breath when he realizes he’s holding it. Then he clears his throat to break the awkwardness.

“Ah, let me show you to your room,” he offers, and Daenerys agrees, following him up the stairs. He shows her to the spare bedroom, sparsely decorated, with just a bed and a dresser. On the bed Ygritte has placed a couple of fresh towels and a clean set of sheets. Jon sets her suitcase down on the bed next to the linens. “The bathroom is across the hall,” he tells Daenerys, turning to face her. She looks around the room, taking it in. “Sorry, it’s a bit small.”

She widens her eyes at him. “Oh, no, are you kidding me? This is practically bigger than my entire flat back in King’s Landing.”

He chuffs, and she smiles at him. They linger in silence for a moment until he coughs slightly. “Well, I’ll leave you to get settled. Just let me know if you need anything, Daenerys.”

“Dany.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Hm?”

Her smile widens. “I know we just met, really, but my friends and family all call me Dany.”

He nods. “OK...Dany.” He flashes her a brief smile then leaves her room, shutting the door behind him to give her some privacy. Ygritte is waiting for him in the hallway, her arms folded over her chest. He stops, noticing the hard expression on her face. “What?”

Shaking her head, she says nothing and points to their bedroom. He follows her down the hall, where she shuts their door, a little forcefully. Then she whirls around to face. “Are you serious right now?”

He draws back in surprise. “What?”

She jabs an accusatory finger at the door. “That’s your aunt?” At his confirmation, she lets out a strangled laugh. “You’ve got to be shitting me, Jon.”

“What’s the problem?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

She widens her eyes at him, matching his hushed tones. “You didn’t tell me she was our age!”

He frowns. “You didn’t ask. What does it matter?”

“It matters because I didn’t know she looked like that!”

He figures, perhaps naively, that it’s best to just play dumb. “I don’t understand, what’s the big deal?”

She just glares at him before shaking her head and swinging the door open, stomping back down the hall. “Ygritte,” he calls after her quietly, not wanting Daenerys to overhear, but she ignores him. With a sigh, Jon hangs back a moment longer before leaving their bedroom.

Things are awkward the rest of the day, with Ygritte giving him the cold shoulder. Daenerys hides mostly in the guestroom—now her room—as if she can sense the tension in the house. Jon knows when Ygritte is in one of her moods, it’s best to just leave her alone, so he retreats to the attached garage that doubles as his workshop to work on a bookshelf he’s been promising her he’ll make but keeps putting off.

Eventually, she comes to let him know dinner is ready, her face softening minutely when she sees him sanding one of the shelves.

“Salmon and asparagus,” she tells him once he’s washed his hands and shuffled into the kitchen. There are only two plates on the table. He grimaces internally, knowing he’s about to obliterate any goodwill he’s earned with the bookshelf.

“What about Daenerys?”

As expected, Ygritte’s expression changes, and once again she’s glaring at him. “So now I’m expected to cook for her?”

“She’s a guest—” He stops when he sees the way her jaw tightens and shifts gears. “You know what, it’s fine. She can have my plate. I’ll just make myself a sandwich later or something.”

His wife’s face turns red, and she huffs, snatching her plate off the counter and taking it with her to the office to eat alone. Sighing, Jon rubs his face then heads up the stairs to retrieve Daenerys. She answers his knock after a moment, a smile on her face, though he can see the reservation in her eyes. “There’s dinner for you, if you like.”

Downstairs, she sees the one plate of food and frowns. “We already ate,” he lies, poorly, and she falters before turning to him.

“Jon, if me being here is going to be a problem,” she begins, but he cuts her off.

“You’re fine. Really. Don’t worry about it.”

He can tell she’s not really convinced, but she only nods before sitting down to eat. “I’m going to go shower,” he tells her, just so he’s not hovering around her awkwardly.

Later, when Ygritte still refuses to talk to him while they’re getting ready for bed, he confronts her. “Ygritte, if you won’t tell me why you’re angry exactly, I can’t fix this,” he says. His words have the desired effect; she twists around in bed, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“You cannot be this obtuse!”

“Pretend I am,” he snaps, his patience wearing thin. “Spell it out for me.”

She scowls at him. “Jon, you just invited a pretty, young woman to live with us! Someone I don’t even know! And you’re wondering why I’m pissed?”

“She’s family,” he insists.

“Family you didn’t even know about until a few weeks ago!” Ygritte explodes. “So what’s with the sudden charity? What the hell is going on?”

Shaking his head angrily, Jon grabs his phone. He doesn’t want to capitulate to her jealousy or suspicions, but he knows it’s the only way to resolve this. “Here,” he grits out, unlocking his phone and bringing up his Facebook chat with Daenerys. He scrolls all the way to the beginning before handing it over to her. “You can read our messages for yourself. I have nothing to hide, Ygritte.”

She regards him skeptically but turns her gaze to his phone, eagerly scrolling through their chat. He waits, watching her reaction, which remains mostly unchanged. Eventually, she reaches the end and hands his phone back to him without a word.

“Do you see? I only want to help her, that’s it. There’s nothing nefarious going on,” he says. “OK?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment before sighing. “OK,” she says reluctantly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think to tell you what she looks like. It didn’t even cross my mind,” he says. It’s mostly true; he doesn’t think his wife needs to know every time he has a passing thought about another woman’s beauty. “And you don’t have to cook for her. I can make dinner every night so it’s not an issue. Or I can just tell her she will have to fend for herself while she’s here.”

Ygritte heaves a sigh. “No. It’s fine. I’ll make extra next time.” She gives him a look. “But I refuse to do her laundry. That’s where I draw the line.”

“Of course not,” he agrees, cracking a smile. “You hardly do your own.”

She shoves him playfully, but there’s a smile on her face now. He grabs her hand and pulls her in for a kiss that quickly turns heated. They make love that night because he knows she needs the reassurance, and frankly he does, too.

He doesn’t think it’s his imagination that she’s much louder than usual.

Daenerys doesn’t have a car, so Jon offers to drive her to her second interview at Sam’s place of work. When he tells Ygritte his plans, she doesn’t remark on this, just raises her eyebrows. Then she kisses him and heads for the front door, a travel mug of coffee in her hand. She works with the Winterfell Parks Department and usually has to be at work bright and early.

“Be good,” she says. It’s something she’s always said to him, but now there’s a funny lilt to her voice as if she’s attempting, but failing, to be lighthearted. He rolls his eyes, but only once she shuts the door on her way out. Scarfing down a quick breakfast, he goes upstairs to shower off the sweat from his morning run. Passing Daenerys’ room, he can hear the hairdryer running and knows she’s getting ready.

It only takes him fifteen minutes to shower and dress, and then he bounds back downstairs to wait for her, entertaining himself on his phone while he does. When she appears, she’s dressed in a pencil skirt and a loose blazer, her hair pinned back in a casual updo. He stands and shoves his phone into his pocket.

“You look nice,” he tells her, then wonders if he shouldn’t have said anything at all.

But she seems grateful for the compliment. “Thank you.”

He glances at his watch. “Ready?”

She nods and follows him out the front door. The ride is quiet until she breaks the silence. “Thank you, by the way. For driving me. I hope I’m not keeping you from work.”

“I don’t think the boss will be too mad.” He gives her a small smile. “I’m self-employed. I make my own hours.”

She looks curious. “Oh, what do you do exactly?”

“I have a woodworking business. I use our garage as my shop. Much to Ygritte’s annoyance,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh. She hates having to always park in the driveway.

Daenerys smiles. “That’s really cool, though.” With the way she keeps drumming her fingers on the door handle, he can tell she’s nervous.

“You’ll be fine,” he reassures her.

At her questioning look, he glances at her hand, and she laughs lightly, as if just noticing the tic. She pulls her hands into her lap, instead twisting a ring around her finger. “Sorry. Gods. It feels like forever since I’ve been in a professional setting. I almost don’t know what to expect. It will be nice to get out of the service industry, though.”

He cracks a smile. “What, you don’t love waiting hand and foot on drunk, belligerent customers?”

She snorts. “Highlight of my life. At least, they tipped well. For the most part.” She sighs wistfully. “I will definitely miss that extra income.”

Concerned, he glances between her and the road. “Does the job here not pay well?”

She hesitates. “It pays fine. It’s just...if I get it, it’ll be a bit of a pay cut from my last job. Cost of living up here is lower than King’s Landing, at least, but…” Now she looks embarrassed. “I just have quite a bit of debt, so a lot of my paycheck goes to that every month.”

He doesn’t ask her to elaborate, but she does anyway. “I went to a pretty prestigious university when I lived in Essos. I loved it, but I’ll definitely be paying for it for the rest of my life,” she says with a bitter laugh.

Jon frowns. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what the financial situation would be like.”

She waves him off. “No, please—I’m so grateful for the job and your help! Honestly, I just feel bad—I’m not sure how long it will take me to save up enough money to find my own place.”

“You don’t have to feel bad. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

She looks doubtful. “Are you sure? I feel like I might be creating some problems…” she trails off, and he feels his face going hot, realizing she’s definitely picked up on the hostility coming from Ygritte.

“Not at all,” he lies, and at her dubious look, he relents. “Ygritte’s just not—she’s always been a bit prickly. It’s part of her charm, I guess. It’s nothing to do with you. She’s just not used to, ah, a crowded house.”

Daenerys makes a sound, not completely convinced, but she lets it slide. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Was it just you and your mum, growing up?”

He lets out an unexpected laugh. “No. I grew up in a house with five cousins, so sharing space isn’t an issue for me.”

Her eyes widen. “Bloody hell, five cousins?”

He nods. “Aye. Plus my mum, my aunt and uncle, and a family friend they also took in.”

Shaking her head in wonder, she laughs suddenly. “Aye,” she mimics. He furrows his brow, glancing at her askance.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just like your accent.”

“What accent?”

“Wot accent?” she says, teasing, and he huffs.

“I don’t sound like that.”

She grins. “Yes, you do.”

“Maybe you just sound really Southern,” he retorts.

“Do I?”

He scowls. “Not really,” he admits, and she laughs. He can’t help but smile.

“I mean it,” she says. “I really do like your accent.”

“Don’t see why,” he deflects with a shrug. “It’s nothing special.”

“Oh, I bet the ladies would disagree.”

His face warms again. “Ah, I don’t know about that.”

“Ygritte’s never commented on it?” she asks, and this time he chuckles.

“She’s got a thicker accent than I do.”

Daenerys smiles. “Fair point. I’m sure there have been other women, though.”

Now he’s sure his blush is obvious. He taps his thumb on the steering wheel while they wait at a stoplight. “Ah, no. She’s been the only one.”

She seems to understand his point, her surprise evident. “Oh.” After a moment, she looks out the window. “Huh.”

He doesn’t ask her what that huh means, pressing down the gas pedal when the light turns green. Soon he’s pulling up in front of the building where Sam works, so there’s no more time for conversing, anyway.

Jon’s in the garage, the door open to let in fresh air, when Daenerys returns from a run. She pulls an earbud out of her ear as she approaches him, still winded. He glances up from his work bench with a brief smile in greeting and does an embarrassing double take when he sees her outfit, just a sports bra and leggings, her toned stomach left bare.

“What are you working on?” she asks, breathing hard as she eyes the pieces of wood before him. If she notices his gawking, she doesn’t comment on it, thank the gods. Averting his gaze, he straightens from his stooped position.

“Ah. Just a couple of outdoor lounge chairs.”

“For clients?” She moves next to him for a closer look.

“For the backyard, actually. How was your run?” he asks. Her breasts rise and fall with her labored breaths, and this time, when he looks at her, his gaze inadvertently drops to her cleavage. Fucking hell.

She shrugs, looking around at some of his other unfinished projects stacked around the garage. “It was fine. You’re really good at this woodworking, huh?”

He makes himself look away again before she can catch him checking her out. Checking her out? Alarmed, he gives himself a mental shake. She is undeniably gorgeous; it’s hard to ignore, that’s all. Any man would look. Married or not. Related or not.

“I get the job done,” he says gruffly, embarrassed by his own reaction to her. With a piece of wood in hand, he moves over to the circular saw, turning it on to make repeated notches in one of the chair legs. He does the same with a second piece. Once he’s done, he realizes Daenerys is still there, watching him work intently.

At his glance, she smiles hopefully. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” he lies, not wanting to be an arsehole. Normally, he doesn’t mind an audience, but she’s distracting. And being distracted around a saw is a recipe for disaster. Afraid of losing a finger or five, he switches to chiseling out the notches and filing them smooth. Next he uses the drill to screw the stretcher piece to the two chair legs he’s created, attaching them together. All the while, he works in silence, and Daenerys leans against the workbench, observing quietly.

“Rhaegar was the same,” she finally says when there’s a lull. Surprised, Jon looks up from his project. “He liked to build stuff like this, too. He would spend hours in his shed out back. I used to love to watch him when I was younger,” she confesses. Then her expression turns sheepish, and she bites her lip. “I’m sorry. Is it weird telling you this?”

He takes a moment to answer. “No,” he says eventually, surprised he means it. He didn’t have much respect for the man, not after he abandoned him and his mum, but he has to admit he’s curious. Maybe now that his father is dead, learning more about him no longer feels like a betrayal to his mother.

“What was he like?” he asks.

She considers his question. “Well. He was very handy. He loved creating things in general. But I think he just liked doing things with his hands. He was good at music. He could play guitar, and he had a really nice singing voice.” She looks at him expectantly. “What about you?”

Jon chuffs, shaking his head. “Never tried to play the guitar. Guess I might have an OK singing voice, though.”

Daenerys grins. “Well, now you have to sing for me.”

His smile slips into a scowl. “Hell no.”

She laughs. “Why not? Are you shy?”

“I just don’t like to sing in front of people,” he says stubbornly, turning his attention back to the chair.

“Rhae did,” she says, pulling her ponytail over her shoulder. It’s pulled high up on her head and braided into a rope. “I used to stay with them a lot when I was a kid. My mum had passed, and my dad was never really a hands-on parent.” Once again, Jon stops his project to look at her. She continues, “Not publicly, I mean, he just played the guitar around the house a lot. His kids would join in. He always seemed happy then.” She turns pensive. “Other times...he could be very melancholy. Sometimes, he would get into these moods, and he couldn’t seem to shake them. I didn’t really understand it.”

Jon makes a sound, inexplicably irritated. “Well. Maybe he was remembering he had a whole other son out there that he never acknowledged,” he says, a resentful edge to his voice.

Instead of taking offense, Daenerys looks at him with compassion. “It’s not that he never mentioned you. He did. That’s how I knew to look you up.” She sighs. “Anyway. I’m not going to make excuses for him. I think what he did was wrong. If I’d been older, I would have told him so. As it was, we weren’t really talking much before he died.”

Jon shakes his head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you feel bad. Thanks. For telling me about him.”

She smiles, pulling on her ponytail again. “You remind me of him. Just a little.”

He cringes. “No offense, but, gods, I hope not.” What he knows of the man, very little of it is flattering. Especially what he did to his mum.

Pulling a face, Daenerys presses her hands to her cheeks. “No, not that—” She laughs nervously. “I just meant the handiness. And a little bit of the melancholy, too, I guess.”

Jon frowns. “What? I’m not melancholy.”

Daenerys makes another face, perhaps realizing she misstepped. “No, no—you’re just...broody. That’s all I meant.”

“Broody,” he repeats, offended. This time she laughs.

“Come on. I think even you can admit that. I bet your wife would agree.” At his expression, she knows she’s right. She laughs again.

Just then, the door to the house opens, and Ygritte pokes her head out. “Jon—” She stops suddenly when she spots them together. Going stiff, he begins stacking some of the wood pieces together, just to give his hands something to do. Daenerys automatically straightens, pushing off the workbench.

Ygritte’s face darkens slightly. “Dinner is ready,” she says then adds grudgingly, “There’s enough for you too, Daenerys.”

“Ah—great. Thanks. I’m just finishing up out here,” Jon explains hurriedly, gesturing to his workbench. Daenerys is already walking inside.

“Thank you,” she says to Ygritte, smiling as she squeezes by her. “I’m just going to take a quick shower. I’ll eat afterward. Don’t feel like you have to wait for me or anything.”

“I don’t plan to,” Ygritte says, an eyebrow arched. Once Daenerys is gone, she turns back to Jon.

“That was kind of rude, don’t you think?” he says before he can think better of it. She gawks at him.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

He grits his teeth. “I just think you could be a little nicer. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

She throws her hands up. “I made her dinner! Do you want me to spoon feed it to her, too?”

“Of course not,” he says, exasperated. Then he shakes his head, pulling off his safety glasses. “Never mind, forget I said anything. I’ll be inside in a minute.”

“Hurry up, it’s getting cold,” she snaps before slamming the door shut. Jon lets out a breath then quickly cleans up his workbench. He could really use a shower first, too, but he knows when not to push his luck.

Beside him, Ygritte yawns then looks at the time on her phone. “Ugh. OK. I’m falling asleep. I’m going to bed.” Jon hits pause on the show they’re watching as she stands up from the couch and looks at him expectantly. “You coming?”

He isn’t tired at all. “I’m going to finish this beer. I’ll be up in a bit.”

“Don’t be up too late,” she tells him, leaning down to kiss him before heading upstairs. Once he hears their bedroom door shut, Jon kicks his feet up on the coffee table and drops his head back on the couch to get comfortable. She hates when he puts his feet on the table.

Just as he starts the show up again, he hears keys in the front door. Confused, he watches the door swing open. Daenerys. She seems just as surprised to see him.

“Oh. Hey,” she says, shutting the door behind her and crossing toward the couch where he sits. She’s dressed in a black mini dress that hugs her breasts and hips, a leather jacket over top.

“Hey. I didn’t realize you were out.”

She looks slightly embarrassed. “Yeah. I had a date, actually.”

His eyebrows jump. “Oh. Wow. Already?”

She laughs. “What, is that weird? Didn’t think I could pull a date up here in the North?”

Chagrined by his reaction, he scratches his beard. “No. Of course. I guess—I didn’t even realize you’ve been here long enough to meet someone.”

Still smiling, she shrugs out of her jacket and folds it over her arm. “I realize you’ve probably been out of the game for a while now, but there are these things called dating apps.”

“Right.” He can’t stop staring at her. She always looks nice, of course, but tonight is the first time he’s seen her like this—dressed to grab a man’s attention.

It’s working.

Thank the gods, she’s turned her attention to the TV. “What are you watching?” she asks, but before he can answer, she gasps. “Oh! I love this show.”

That surprises him, jarring him out of his stupor. “You do?” Ygritte finds it rather boring, which is probably why she was falling asleep during it, but he loves it.

Nodding, she drops her jacket and purse on the coffee table and sits down on the couch beside him, her attention fixed on the screen. “Is this a new episode?”

“Season two just came out.”

“I didn’t realize. I binged the whole first season when I was in King’s Landing, but I’ve been so preoccupied lately.”

They watch in silence for a few minutes. Jon can smell her perfume, something sweet yet spicy. He rubs his nose and swigs his beer. “How was your date?” he hears himself ask and hates himself for it.

She makes a face, which makes him laugh. “That bad?”

“I don’t think he asked me a single question about myself. All he wanted to talk about was this tech startup he invested in and something called Boltcoin.”

Jon narrows his eyes. “Wait. His name’s not Ramsay, is it?”

She glances at him in disbelief. “Oh, gods, do you know him?”

“I used to work with him before I opened up my shop. He’s a complete twat.”

She groans, dropping her head back. “He seemed nice enough in his profile!”

“Are you planning to see him again?”

“Gods, no. He kept trying to get me to go back to his place, and I finally had to hide in the bathroom just to call an Uber.” She sighs, pulling her hair over her shoulder. His eyes followed the bare curve of her neck to her shoulder. “You’re so lucky.”

He blinks, dragging his gaze back to her face. “How so?”

“That you already found someone.” She smiles wryly. “It’s bleak out there for the rest of us.”

He grimaces, his mouth curving into a faint smile. “Right.”

She twists her body toward him. “When did you and Ygritte meet?”

“First year of uni.”

“Oh, wow. And you’ve been together ever since?”

He reaches for his beer. “Sorta. We were off and on throughout uni. When we graduated, we had a talk about what we wanted. To finally get serious or go our separate ways.” He shrugs. “Shit or get off the pot, basically.”

Her mouth parts in shock. “That’s...romantic.”

He chuckles. “Ygritte is anything but. That was her proposal, actually.”

“She proposed to you?”

“Aye. I suggested we move in together, but she didn’t want to do that unless we were also heading toward an engagement.”

“Well.” Daenerys bites her lip. “Guess you gotta appreciate a woman who knows what she wants, right?”

“She’s never shied away from expressing herself. In college, I was kind of reserved, so I appreciated her boldness.”

Nodding, Daenerys turns back to the TV. They watch together for a moment before Jon offers, “Do you want me to start over from the beginning?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” she says. “I can catch up later.”

“I don’t mind,” he insists.

She looks doubtful. “You sure?”

In answer, he grabs the controller to navigate to the first episode. Daenerys grins and stands. “I’m going to grab a beer. Is that OK?”

He smiles at her. “Knock yourself out.” He waits as she hurries into the kitchen then returns with a bottle of her own, settling down on the couch beside him. She hastily pulls her hair back into a ponytail then looks at him.

“OK, I’m ready.”

“Jon.”

He opens his eyes, turning his head toward the sound of his name. Daenerys is watching him, the blue light of the TV throwing shadows across her face in the dark. He must have fallen asleep.

“Sorry,” he says, his voice scratchy with sleep. “Is it over?”

She just shakes her head, her gaze fixed on him. She’s closer than he remembers her being. He can feel her damp breath on his face. She’s not wearing the dress from before; instead, she’s dressed in the pajama set he’s seen her wear to bed sometimes, with the tight tank top and the short shorts.

“Dany?” he murmurs. She leans in then, closing the distance. He holds still as her plush mouth molds against his, but when her tongue touches his, he stirs, lifting a hand to palm the back of her head. She moans softly and deepens the kiss. Then her hand is in his lap, working his stiffening cock beneath his sweatpants. He can feel the blood pulsing through him, throbbing, rushing in his ears. He groans when she slips her fingers underneath his waistband, grasping him, pulling him out. Then she breaks away, leaning down to take his stiff cock in her mouth. He gasps, arching into her mouth.

His eyes open, fluttering a moment in confusion. He isn’t in the living room on the couch; he’s in his bedroom, the morning light slicing through the slats of the closed blinds. Disoriented, he rolls over, the covers tented over his groin. He sits up quickly, his stomach sinking at the vivid realization. He was dreaming.

About Daenerys.

Sucking his dick.

“Shit.” He scrubs a hand down his face, digging his thumb and finger into his bleary eyes, as if he can gauge the images from his brain.

“What’s wrong?” Ygritte mumbles, half-asleep beside him. He nearly jumps at the sound of her voice.

“Nothing,” he replies, twisting away from her and standing up from the bed before she can notice his erection. “Just gotta take a piss.” Thankfully, she’s already asleep again, her red hair spread wildly across her pillow.

In the bathroom, he takes a long, cold shower until he feels safe returning to their bed.

“Let’s go out,” he suggests. Ygritte looks at him in the mirror, her toothbrush sticking out of her mouth.

“What?”

“We haven’t gone out together in a while, have we?”

She spits into the sink. “You mean like a date?”

“Aye. Let’s do something.” He moves behind her, pressing against her back. He pushes her damp hair aside and kisses her neck. Fresh out of the shower, she smells just like him. She likes to use his shampoo and soap, says it’s just easier—and cheaper—that way. She likes smelling like him, but he kind of wishes she’d use something different. Something more enticing, maybe. The thought is fleeting: sweet and spicy.

Ygritte snorts, turning on the faucet. “OK.” Cupping some water in her hand, she swishes it around in her mouth before spitting it out. “What do you want to do?”

Unbidden, he thinks of Daenerys’ neck, his mouth behind her ear, and he pulls away abruptly. Ygritte gives him a funny look in the mirror. “Nothing.” He shakes his head, his heartbeat accelerating. “I mean, let’s go to dinner. Somewhere nice.”

She shrugs. “Fine. You pick, then.”

He finds a new-to him YiTish place. The food is good, if a bit overpriced. Ygritte isn’t very impressed, but then again, she’s always preferred comfort and simplicity over extravagance. Normally, he’s in agreement with her, but just this time, he wishes she would make an effort to enjoy herself.

Afterward, she suggests they get a drink at their usual haunt, Castle Black. “Tormund and Brienne are there, they want us to join them,” she says, her phone in hand. Jon stifles a groan. He can’t stand her coworker, Tormund. But he agrees.

When they show up to the bar, it’s obvious the couple has been there for a while; Tormund is already pretty shitfaced. He hugs Ygritte and then slaps Jon on the back, making his teeth rattle.

“Crow!” he bellows in greeting, and Jon resists the urge to roll his eyes. The first time he met Tormund, he was wearing his favorite band t-shirt with a crow silhouette on the front. For some reason--probably because he was drunk, as he always is—Tormund thought it was hilarious and has been calling him Crow ever since.

They join the couple in their booth and order a couple beers for themselves. As he usually does, Tormund dominates the conversation, his voice carrying over everyone else’s, but Ygritte and Brienne laugh at his preposterous, obviously embellished stories. Jon pretends to listen, nodding along, but eventually he pulls out his phone to give himself something more interesting to do. When he opens Instagram, he scrolls idly through his feed until he stops on a picture Daenerys posted.

It’s a selfie of her biting her finger, her lips painted crimson, her nails a matching color. The caption reads: Red lips + red tips. He can’t tell what she’s wearing, but she looks ready for a night out. He checks the time stamp. Posted a couple hours ago. He wonders if she has another date. Probably. Most definitely.

Don’t think about the dream, he tells himself, which, of course, only makes him think of the dream. Impulsively, he taps the heart on the photo then starts to scroll again when a text message pops up on his screen. From Daenerys. His heart jumps, and he clicks on it.

Aren’t you at dinner right now? Get off your phone! :P

He glances up, but Ygritte is still enthralled by whatever tale Tormund is regaling his captive audience with now. Turning his attention back to his phone, he responds: This dinner date has turned into a double date from hell.

Daenerys [10:10 p.m.]: Uhh what?

Jon [10:11 p.m.]: Y’s coworker and wife. She’s nice, but he’s a bloody tool. Can barely hear myself think when he’s talking.

Daenerys [10:11 p.m.]: Oooh

Daenerys [10:11 p.m.]: Well I think I might have you beat on the date from hell front

Jon [10:11 p.m.]: How’s that?

Daenerys [10:13 p.m.]: This guy I’m out with right now might be even worse than Ramsay, believe it or not. He’s referenced his sexual prowess at least six times now. We haven’t even finished our first drink yet.

Jon [10:14 p.m.]: Wow. How do you keep picking such winners?

Daenerys [10:14 p.m.]: Omg fuck you! I told you it’s hard out here :’(

He smiles. Sorry, these men sound insane. You deserve way better.

Daenerys [10:15 p.m.]: Why didn’t you warn me it was such slim pickings up here?

Jon [10:15 p.m.]: Would that have stopped you from coming?

Daenerys [10:16 p.m.]: Maybe, not gonna lie

Daenerys [10:17 p.m.]: Ok I just told him my cat is sick and I need to get home to take care of him immediately. I think he bought it.

Daenerys [10:18 p.m.]: Btw how do you feel about cats? Thinking of deleting all dating apps from my phone and just focusing all my love and affection on a pet instead, like a sane person would

Jon [10:18 p.m.]: Allergic. Sorry.

Daenerys [10:19 p.m.]: Really?

Jon [10:19 p.m.]: No. I just hate cats.

Daenerys [10:19 p.m.]: RUDE!

Daenerys [10:20 p.m.]: Don’t you want me to be loved??

Jon [10:20 p.m.]: In that case, you’d be better off getting a dog.

Daenerys [10:21 p.m.]: Good point...will take this into consideration and revise my contingency plan accordingly.

“What are you smiling about?”

Startled, Jon looks up from his phone. Ygritte is watching him suspiciously. His face flushes guiltily, and Jon closes out of his texts. “Nothing. Just a stupid meme on Twitter.” He puts his phone away and grabs his almost empty beer. “You want another one?” he asks her. She nods, and he drains his pint before getting up to order them another round. Tormund’s belly-shaking laughter follows him to the bar.

Jon is applying the last coat of varnish to his outdoor lounge chairs when Daenerys calls to him. He turns toward the kitchen door and smiles at her, setting his brush down. “Hey.”

“Dinner’s ready,” she says, walking up to him to admire his work. She lightly touches his arm before pulling her hand back. “Wow. These look great.”

Her compliment strokes his pride. “Thanks. The real test is if they’re comfortable to sit in though.” It’s taken him weeks to finish the chairs for their patio. With all the work orders he’s been filling lately, he can only work on his own house projects in chunks. He hammers the lid back onto the can of varnish. “I didn’t hear the delivery car pull up.”

“Oh. It didn’t.”

Confused, Jon looks at her. “I thought Ygritte was ordering Ghiscari.”

Daenerys grins. “She was, but when she told me that, I suggested I just make it.”

He blinks. “You made dinner?”

She shrugs. “I told you, I used to live in Essos. I know the food pretty well. I can cook Ghiscari, Valyrian, Meereenese, you name it.”

He’s intrigued but cautious. “Is it any good?” he asks, following her into the house. She snorts, throwing him an arch look.

“Try it and find out.”

He’s surprised to find the dinner table already set, Ygritte sitting in her usual spot, waiting. Daenerys gestures for him to sit, and he does, exchanging a wary look with his wife.

“Smells good,” he remarks.

Daenerys sits down in one of the extra seats. She’s only actually joined them for dinner a handful of times, usually preferring to eat after they’re done.

Ygritte grudgingly agrees. “Thanks for this.”

Daenerys flashes her a nervous smile. “It’s the least I can do. If you like it, I’m happy to cook more.”

“Maybe,” Ygritte relents. Jon knows she’s just being stubborn. She doesn’t exactly enjoy cooking dinner when it’s her turn, which is why they often get takeout.

Daenerys glances between them expectantly. “Well?”

Picking up his fork, Jon spears a chunk of whatever food is on his plate and brings it to his mouth. Ygritte follows suit. He chews, swallows—and is pleasantly surprised. “It’s good. Really good, actually.” He eagerly takes another bite.

She beams, her cheeks pink. “Yeah?”

Ygritte is less effusive with her praise. “Aye, not bad.”

“Thank you. This is my first time making this particular dish, actually. I’m relieved.”

“What is it?” Jon asks, shoveling more into his mouth.

“Horse.”

Ygritte gags. His fork freezes halfway to his mouth as he chokes slightly, wide eyes darting to her. “What?”

She bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding! It’s just goat.” She takes a bite from her own plate. “There is a version of this dish that calls for horse, but they don’t exactly sell that here in the shops.”

Relaxing, Jon sits back in his chair with a chuckle. “Seven hells, Dany.”

“Hilarious,” Ygritte mutters, not quite as amused, and resumes eating her dish. Jon and Daenerys lock eyes when she is no longer looking and share a grin before turning back to their plates.

At the start of summer, Jon and Ygritte hold a cookout in their backyard for their friends and family. He grills the meat while Ygritte makes the sides. Daenerys offers to help, too, whipping up a sweet Meereenese delicacy for dessert. Jon test-tastes it while she prepares it the night before; he isn’t normally a sweets person, but it’s probably the best dessert he’s ever tasted.

Their backyard is full, their guests broken off in clusters and scattered around the patio and on the grass. As he mans the grill, Jon sips his beer and chats with his cousin, Robb, and his friend Theon. Across the patio, Ygritte is talking to some of her coworkers, including Tormund. Of course, Jon can hear almost everything the man is saying. Not really knowing anyone, Daenerys flits through the crowd, helping where she can: offering appetizers and drink refills. Jon finds himself seeking her out occasionally, his eyes following her red sundress as she weaves through the crowd.

Eventually, she approaches him with a plate of freshly made hamburger patties. Taking the plate, Jon thanks her and sets it down next to the grill.

“And who is this?” Theon asks when he sees her, his eyes sweeping over her appreciatively.

Jon doesn’t like the leer on his face. Feeling protective, he rests his hand on her lower back. “This is Dany,” he introduces, then hesitates, wondering how much more he should say. Ultimately, he says nothing.

Daenerys gives him a fleeting glance but smiles at Theon and Robb, holding her hand out to them to shake. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you both.”

“That’s Theon. And the other bloke is Robb. My cousin,” Jon explains.

Her face brightens. “The one you grew up with?”

Robb’s grin widens. “Both of us, actually,” he says, nodding to Theon. “My father was running a community home, apparently.”

Jon snorts. “Just letting in anyone off the street, apparently.”

“Ah, sod off, mate,” Theon rejoins, but he’s smirking at her still. “So, I’ve never seen you around before. You new?”

Jon’s hand flexes against the soft material of her sundress, his palm molding to the curve of her spine, and she shifts closer to him, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Sorta. I’ve been here for a couple months now. Jon and Ygritte have been gracious enough to let me stay here.”

Both Theon and Robb’s eyebrows shoot up. “You live here?” Robb asks curiously.

She folds her arms across her stomach, glancing again at Jon in question. Her smile is strained. “Yes. I lived in King’s Landing previously but lost my job. They’ve just been helping me get settled here.” She turns to Jon, and his hand slides to her hip. With a thoughtless squeeze, he lets his hand drop. “I’m going to grab something to drink. You need anything?”

“Ah, no. Thank you, though.”

After offering Robb and Theon a quick goodbye, she leaves, wending back through the crush of people for the door to the kitchen. “So—how did you two meet, exactly?” Robb asks, bemused.

Jon swigs his beer before answering. “She works with Sam. She’s, ah—she’s from my father’s side of the family, actually. He passed away recently. She tracked me down on Facebook to tell me.”

Robb lets out a low whistle. “Bloody hell. That’s intense.”

Theon shakes his head, craning his neck around to spot her in the crowd. “Well, I see all the good looks in the family went to her.”

“Aye, fuck you,” Jon says, feeling snappish.

“So, is she single?” Theon asks, a hopeful grin stretching across his face.

Jon’s fist reflexively tightens around his bottle. “No.”

“Yes, she is.” Ygritte appears suddenly, having overheard their conversation. Jon flushes guiltily as she gives him a funny look. “Why would you say that?”

He tries to play it off. “I just meant she’s been on a few dates lately.” He opens the grill lid to flip the patties so he doesn’t have to look at her. “I guess it could just be casual.”

Theon smirks. “I can do casual.”

Jon wants to punch him.

“Jon,” Ygritte says suddenly. He can hear an edge to her voice. “Can you help me in the kitchen for a moment?”

“Sure.” He shoves the grill spatula into Robb’s hand. “Take these burgers off in a couple minutes if I’m not back, will you?”

He follows his wife into the house. The kitchen is currently empty, and once he shuts the sliding glass door behind them, she spins around on him. “What the hell is going on?” she demands.

Taken aback, he stares at her. “What?”

She gestures wildly toward the door. “What you just said to Theon!”

He opens and closes his mouth. “I—you mean about Dany? I just didn’t think she was single, that’s all.”

She shakes her head, her neck turning splotchy like it does when she’s angry. “It’s not just that, Jon! You’ve been so—friendly with her. You had your hand on her back just now!”

His stomach drops. “That—come on, Ygritte. What’s that got to do with anything?”

Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “You don’t just touch another woman like that, Jon! Not when you’re married!”

His heart is racing now. “Just what the hell are you saying, exactly?”

“I don’t know!” She rakes a hand through her hair and blows out a breath. “I don’t know. I just—” She stops, before blurting out, “Are you having an affair with her?”

His heart stops, his mouth going dry. Images flash through his mind then—Daenerys watching him in the garage, her hand on his arm, her sitting next to him on the couch while they watch TV, their texts to each other even when they’re in the same house—all shadowed by that still vivid memory of his dream that’s only escalated in recent nights: her lips wrapped around his cock before he pushes her down, burying himself between her legs, pumping, thrusting, pounding into her until he spills inside her.

He panics, immediately jumping on the defensive. “Am I having an—are you fucking serious right now? Fucking hell, Ygritte! She’s my family!” he yells.

Doubt flashes across her face, but she doesn’t back down. “I know that! You think I don’t know that? But you act so—gods, it’s just like how you used to be when we were dating—like—like you want to fuck her or something—”

“Enough!” he barks angrily. His body is shaking. He feels sick, his stomach in knots. “No, I’m not fucking her. She’s my dead father’s sister, for fuck’s sake!”

Finally, Ygritte looks properly chastened. She folds her arms over her chest, her jaw set stubbornly. “I know that. It’s just—”

The back door slides open suddenly, and they fall quiet, looking toward the door. Daenerys steps inside, an oblivious smile on her face. Jon’s stomach lurches, and he wants to yell at her to get out. “Got sidetracked for a moment—” She stops, seeming to sense the tension in the room. Her face blanches. “I’ll just—I’ll get a drink later.” Quickly, she slips back outside and shuts the door behind her.

Mortified, Jon scrubs his hands down his face. “Gods. Fucking great.” Dropping his hands, he glares at Ygritte. “I can’t believe you would accuse me of—of that. After everything you know about my father.”

Her mouth turns down unhappily. “I’m sorry,” she says after a moment. “You two just…”

“We just what?” he demands lowly, and she throws her hands up.

“I don’t know! Forget it, forget I said anything.”

Jon shakes his head. “I gotta get back to the grill.”

She doesn’t say anything else as he stalks back outside, shutting the glass door just a little too forcefully. When a few people look his way, he forces an easy smile onto his face so no one will know he and Ygritte have been fighting.

Guilt sits heavy in his stomach the rest of the party.

After everyone’s gone home, Jon stays up to clean. Ygritte has already retreated to their bedroom, not speaking to him. Because she’s embarrassed or because she wants to punish him, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want to talk to her, either.

As he’s washing the dishes, Daenerys appears, uncertain. He’s barely been able to look at her since his argument with Ygritte, afraid she’ll be able to see the reason for their fight all over his face.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she offers. He shakes his head.

“No, I’ve got it,” he says gruffly.

She doesn’t listen to him, instead grabbing a sponge. He moves out of the way so she can wet it in the sink of soapy water. Then she picks up a dish and begins scrubbing it. For a moment, he stands at the sink while she cleans, their arms nearly touching.

He should leave, go upstairs. To his wife. Tell her he’s sorry for fighting with her.

Instead, he grabs another dish and starts washing it.

“You know, I thought this is why they made dishwashers,” Daenerys teases, flashing him a smile.

His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t look at her, staring intently at the plate he’s scrubbing. “I like cleaning the dishes.”

She nods. “Right. Because you like doing stuff with your hands. I get it.”

Is that why? He hasn’t considered it before. He just shrugs. “It’s soothing.”

Daenerys doesn’t say anything for a moment as she rinses off the plate then stacks it on the drying rack. “Is everything OK?” she finally asks.

“Of course,” he lies, stacking his dish and starting on the next one. She doesn’t say anything after that, and they clean in silence, until finally:

“Your friend, Theon.” He stiffens in surprise, but she scrunches her nose. “He’s a bit of a wanker, isn’t he?”

At that, Jon chuckles. He should be ashamed at the sense of relief that courses through him then. “Aye.”

It’s another couple days before he and Ygritte are really talking again.

Jon tosses and turns, unable to fall asleep. He can tell he’s annoying Ygritte by the sighs and huffs she makes every time he changes positions.

“Jon,” she finally snaps.

“Sorry.” He holds himself still on his back, staring at the ceiling. He closes his eyes, but after a few futile minutes, he gives up. As carefully as he can, he throws back the covers and climbs out of bed. Maybe a snack will help.

“Where are you going?” she asks him.

“Just gonna get something to eat. Go back to sleep,” he tells her in a whisper. She doesn’t say anything else, so he creeps out of the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t turn on any lights as he shuffles down the hallway, but when he passes Daenerys’ door, he pauses, surprised to find it wide open. Inside the room is pitch dark. Empty.

She’s gone out somewhere. At one in the morning.

He tries not to dwell on it, continuing down the stairs to the kitchen. He moves in the dark, opening the fridge to peer inside. But now he’s distracted, his mind elsewhere. Nothing seems appetizing. With a sigh, he shuts the fridge door and turns. Movement through the glass sliding door catches his eye, and he freezes.

Moonlight shimmers on silver hair. After a moment, he inches closer.

Daenerys is on the back patio. Reclining in one of the completed outdoor lounge chairs, wrapped in a thin blanket. No phone, no book, nothing.

Curious, Jon reaches for the door and slides it open. As expected, she jumps at the sound, twisting in the chair toward him. He holds up his hands as he steps outside.

“It’s just me,” he whispers, shutting the door behind him. She visibly relaxes and lets out an embarrassed laugh.

“You scared me. What are you doing up?” She clutches the blanket around her shoulders and casts a surreptitious glance at his chest. Only then does he think about the fact that he’s shirtless.

Well, it’s too late to put a shirt on now. He sits down in the chair next to hers. “Same thing as you, I suppose. Can’t sleep?”

“Apparently not.” She draws her bare legs up to her chest, bringing them into the blanket. He wonders if she even has shorts on, then kicks himself for even entertaining the thought.

He swallows thickly. “Do you come out here often?”

She looks away. “Lately, yes.”

He frowns. “Is something wrong?”

Her answer is slow in coming. “No. Nothing really.” She gives him a small smile. “I just...like sitting out here. It’s very peaceful this time of night.”

He nods. After a moment, he asks, a bit self-consciously, “How do you like the chair?”

She leans her head back. “I love it. You did an incredible job on them.” Releasing her grip on the blanket, she lays her hands on the arms, rubbing her fingertips over the sealed wood. “It must be so rewarding, making something with your hands like this.”

“Aye,” he agrees. The blanket has fallen open around her legs, confirming she’s not wearing any shorts under her sleep shirt. “But it makes me happier making something that people enjoy.”

When she smiles at him, he forces his eyes away from her thighs. “Honestly, this might be my favorite spot in the house now.”

He manages a grin. “Technically, it’s outside the house.” He likes that, though: seeing her in something made by his hands. Thinking of her out here, night after night, her small, soft body curled up in his chair.

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.” They lapse into silence again until she asks, “What is it?”

He’s been staring at her, he realizes. His face goes hot. Shaking his head, he says, “Nothing. You just—” He stops abruptly, bewildered by the words that are on the tip of his tongue. But she’s watching him, patiently waiting, and maybe something about the covertness of the moment, just the two of them, alone, cloaked in darkness, gives him the courage to actually say it.

“You just look beautiful.”

She isn’t expecting that, that much is obvious. Her face goes slack in shock. Embarrassed, he clears his throat and stands, hoping to push past the awkwardness. “I should get back to bed. Goodnight, Dany.”

But as he starts to walk away, she grabs his wrist. “Wait.” At her touch, he goes rigid, surprised by the jolt that surges through him. She seems shocked, too. He drops his gaze, their eyes meeting briefly before she looks down at her grip on his arm.

“What?” he finally gets out, seized by a sense of desperation. The word is rough, like gravel turning over in his throat.

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she absently rubs her thumb over his wrist, then along the fleshy part of his palm. His heart jumps into his throat, sweat breaking out along his exposed skin. She slides her hand down until her palm is pressed against his; her fingers curl around his, her skin soft. His fingers flex around hers, just once, before she lets him go, her fingers slipping through his.

She lifts her face to his then, her eyes open and raw. “Goodnight, Jon,” she murmurs.

He lets out a breath, much louder than he expects. In a daze, he leaves her there, retreating to his bedroom where his wife sleeps. Oblivious.

He spends the rest of the night replaying that moment in his head over and over.

Ygritte packs her suitcase while Jon watches her from the bathroom, perched against the doorjamb. She has never been a meticulous packer, always waiting until the last minute to simply shove things into a bag. When they first began dating, it was endearing, her spontaneity, but after eight years together, her procrastination, especially before trips, has become more annoying than anything. They missed the flight for their honeymoon because she forgot her passport in her haste to get out the door.

At least, this time he isn’t affected by her failure to plan.

“Fucking hell, where’s my swimsuit?” she curses, shoving clothes aside in her drawer in her frantic search. Knowing he’ll have to be the one to straighten those clothes after she leaves, Jon goes to the closet where he last saw her swimsuit, on top of a pile of clean laundry she’s yet to put away. When he hands it to her, she kisses him gratefully.

“Do you even need that in Sunspear?” he jokes, and she rolls her eyes, but she’s too harried to respond.

“When will you be back?” he asks for probably the third time. She’s leaving for a girls’ trip with some of her friends from back home. He knows it’s only for a few days, but a part of him dreads her absence.

“Sunday,” she confirms, hastily zipping her suitcase shut.

“Got your passport?”

At his joke, she gives him an exasperated look. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you? It’s just Sunspear.” Her phone pings, and she looks at it, swearing loudly. “My ride's here, I gotta go.” She gives him another hurried kiss.

“Have fun.”

At the door, she turns, an indecipherable look in her eyes. “Be good while I’m gone,” she says playfully, like she always does. But ever since the cookout, Jon understands the implicit worry that girds the request, even if she won’t say it.

“You’re the one who’s going to be on a nude beach,” he reminds her with a tight smile. He shoves his hands into his front pants pockets, feeling antsy. “I’m just going to be hanging out with Sam. Hardly wild company.”

She looks conflicted but eventually nods. “Right. I’ll text you.”

Jon doesn’t follow her downstairs, lingering behind in their bedroom long after he hears the front door shut.

Of course, his plans with Sam fall through.

“I’m sorry to have to bail,” his friend says regretfully over the phone. “But Little Sam has been sick, and now Gilly is, too. I don’t want to expose you to whatever it is.”

“Of course, I understand,” Jon assures him, despite the sinking sensation in his stomach. “I hope they both feel better.” After hanging up, he stares at his phone. Now, what is he supposed to do?

When Daenerys comes downstairs later, he’s in the living room, watching TV. She’s wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a t-shirt that barely covers her stomach. At the sight of him on the couch, she stops. He isn’t sure what to say. Since that night on the back patio, they’ve been a bit skittish around each other, only speaking briefly in passing.

After a moment, she steps off the bottom stair and crosses the living room. She tucks her hair behind her ear. “I thought you were going to be out?”

“Plans fell through. Sam’s sick.” His knee bounces. “I can make myself scarce, though. If my being here is a problem.”

Hesitating, she eventually offers a smile. “No. Don’t be silly. It’s your house. I was just going to watch TV.”

“No hot date?” he can’t help but ask.

She rolls her eyes, sitting down beside him. On the far opposite end of the couch. “I told you I deleted all dating apps from my phone.”

“I didn’t think you were serious.”

She sighs. “It was a waste of my time. I have more fun doing this, anyway. Hanging out here.”

He cracks a smile. “Damning with faint praise.”

She laughs. “What do you plan to do now?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

“You’re looking at it, I guess.”

She turns pensive. “What would you have done otherwise?”

He shrugs. “Sam and I were probably just going to go to a bar. Shoot some pool, play darts.” Hardly an exciting evening, but it would have been a welcome distraction from thinking about her.

“Well…” She chews on her lip. “Why don’t you and I go out instead?”

His knee ceases its bouncing. “You and me?”

She smiles. “Yeah. Why not?”

He swallows the lump in his throat. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, knows intuitively they are playing a dangerous game.

Later, when he’s looking back on the order of events that led to inevitable disaster, he will pinpoint this as the moment of no return.

Still, he hears himself say, “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

She chews on her lip in thought before a faint grin spreads across her lips. “Well...there’s one thing I’ve just been dying to do with you.”

“Karaoke?” Jon asks incredulously, stopping just inside the bar Daenerys has taken him to. There’s a person on a stage in the corner, belting out a terrible rendition of a popular song.

Daenerys laughs. “You said you have a nice singing voice!”

Scowling, he shakes his head. “I believe what I said was I have an OK singing voice.”

“So, show me,” she practically begs.

“Absolutely not,” he says stubbornly.

“Come on. I’ll do it with you!”

Another adamant shake of his head. “I’m not getting up on stage to sing in front of a bunch of bloody strangers!”

“What if it’s just me?” she suggests, her purple eyes wide and pleading. He wavers, wanting to say no. But when she looks at him like that…

He groans, knowing full well he will regret this. “Fine.”

Gleefully, she grabs his hand and drags him over to the host, who sits behind a booth. “Do you have any private rooms available?”

Without a word, the man taps something into his computer. “Room 8,” he says, sounding bored. Daenerys eagerly pays the requisite two-hour fee, then they follow the man to the back of the bar, past the stage and the crowd of unimpressed patrons, all waiting for their turn on the stage. They pass other rooms, laughter and off-key singing bleeding through the closed doors.

“A server will be around to take your drink order,” the host says after setting up the room for them. Then he turns off the overhead light, and strobe lights dance in colorful patterns around the room. Jon looks around helplessly as Daenerys grabs one of the wireless microphones and holds it out for him. “OK, big shot, show me what you got.”

He looks at it, then at her, appalled. “I don’t even know what to sing.”

Exasperated, she takes the mic back. “I’ll go first then,” she says, flipping through a big book of songs. Finding what she wants, she punches the number for the song into a remote and waits for it to come up on the giant screen. As the opening notes begin playing through the speakers, she shoves the book at him. “Pick something,” she yells over the music.

He makes a half-hearted attempt to look through the extensive selection of songs, but the moment Daenerys opens her mouth to sing along to the Faceless Men’s pop-synth anthem “Not Today,” he’s mesmerized.

She mostly sings to the front of the room, following along with the lyrics as they roll across the screen, but on the chorus she turns to him to belt out the words with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Once it’s over, Jon is nearly stunned speechless. “Bloody hell,” he says, then he starts laughing. “You’re terrible.”

She gasps, clutching the mic to her chest. “Oh my gods! Jon! You can’t just tell someone they’re terrible!”

He’s still laughing. “You can when they’re as bad as you.”

She kicks at his leg. “It’s karaoke. That’s the whole point!”

“Then why am I here?”

Rolling her eyes, she cocks her hip to the side and holds out the microphone again. “Fine. If you’re that good, prove it.”

Resigned to his fate, Jon racks his brain for a song then flips to the appropriate page. Punching in the number, he shoves the book out of his way to stand up from the couch and takes the mic from her. With a pleased smile, she takes the spot he vacated to watch. As the familiar music starts up, the mic in his grip grows damp from his sweat. Gods, this is already excruciating.

The lyrics begin to flash across the screen, and he has no choice but to sing. He doesn’t really need the words; it’s a song by his favorite band, The Night’s Watch, “No Crown, No Glory.” But he needs something to look at. He doesn’t sing in front of people. He hates attention.

As long as he doesn’t look at her, though, it’s mostly fine; by the bridge, he’s feeling less self-conscious. Once the song is over, he finally risks a glance at Daenerys. She looks gobsmacked.

“Oh my gods,” she says, and he winces.

“Terrible?”

She shakes her head. “Not at all. You’re actually—you’re really good. You weren’t lying.”

He flushes, shrugging off the compliment. “It’s nothing.”

She laughs as he sits down next to her. “Just take the bloody compliment. At least, I didn’t insult you.”

“You’re not that bad,” he says, even though she is. She huffs, opening the song book to flip through it again.

“Don’t try to butter me up now. It’s fine. I know my talents lie elsewhere.”

“Really? I’d love to see any of them some day,” he deadpans, and with a gasp of feigned outrage, she shoves him, making him laugh.

“You’re an arsehole. Come on, let’s pick something to sing together,” she says excitedly.

As promised, a server eventually appears to take their drink order, returning with a beer for him and a gin and tonic for her. By that time, they’ve already gone through three more songs (one together, and two solo ones for her), so they order two more rounds so they won’t have to wait forever. After his second beer, Jon is feeling comfortable enough to sing a second song by himself.

When he’s done, Daenerys cheers wildly. Clearly, the gin and tonic has her feeling a little more than at ease. Her reaction is ridiculous and a bit over the top, but it pleases him as much as it embarrasses him.

They take turns after that, occasionally singing together on popular songs they both know. He admires her confidence, that she doesn’t care if she sounds bad or that he’s watching. She’s just having fun. It’s impossible to look away.

This time, once she finishes her song—an impressively bad rendition of “Red Woman” by Melisandre—he whistles his appreciation, clapping loudly. She flops down beside him, but when she offers him the mic, he shakes his head; he’s karaoke’d out. She turns the mic off and sets it down, lifting her hair up to fan the back of her neck.

“Who knew singing hit songs for hours straight could be such hard work,” she jokes, kicking her feet up on the coffee table and crossing them at the ankles. Before leaving the house, she changed into denim shorts, a white crop tank top and black slip-on sneakers.

He makes himself look away from her legs, dropping his head back on the leather couch. “Guess that’s why pop stars are paid the big bucks.”

She gives him a look. “You could give them a run for their money, you know.”

He groans-laughs. “Fuck off.”

“I’m serious!” She sits up, tucking her legs underneath her, and twists to face him. “You should start a YouTube channel, just singing covers. With that voice, and that face—and those abs—” She kisses her finger tips, and all the blood rushes to his cheeks. “You’d never have to work again.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to her compliment, so he deflects. “I like what I do currently.”

She hums in agreement. “You are good at it, too. Gods, you’re so annoyingly good at everything. It makes me sick.” She gives him a small smile to show she’s only kidding. “But honestly. You’re just so—” Suddenly, she looks embarrassed and laughs. “Ugh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She won’t look at him now, focusing on her shoe as she picks at the sole. “You’re just so...I don’t know.” She doesn’t say anything for a moment. Her voice is quieter when she finally says, “I just can’t believe you were out there this whole time, and we’re only just meeting now.”

He swallows thickly. “I know,” he agrees, and she lifts her eyes to his. For some reason, she’s blushing.

“Do you—” She stops, then starts over. “I just...I wish we’d met sooner, you know?”

His breathing has grown shallower, his heart racing. He can hear the erratic thump in his ears even over the background bass coming from the other private rooms. “Me too,” he murmurs, knowing he’s admitting to far more than he can say out loud.

They lock eyes, neither talking now. There’s a pull between them, a pulsing heat. His mind goes fuzzy, his skin flushed and prickly, like he can feel the rush of blood just beneath the surface. Her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks, and his own grow heavy and lidded. Her breath skims his lips, hot and damp.

He doesn’t know who leans in first—maybe they both do—

The next thing he knows, they’re kissing. It’s not the hesitation of a first kiss, either—sweet and uncertain—but the wild desperation of two people who’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Their tongues come together—first in her mouth, then in his, their lips mashed together, teeth clacking clumsily, their breaths growing fast and loud. Inhaling sharply through his nose, Jon cups her face and pulls her into him. Frantically, greedily, he sucks on her tongue, her lips, whatever he can get his mouth on. He’s ravenous, mindless, his brain thick and useless with lust. Daenerys moans—

And he jerks back with a gasp, yanking his hand away from her face like it’s been scalded. Reflexively, he screws his eyes shut tight, afraid to look at her right then. “Shit.” He sits forward on the couch and covers his face. “Fuck.” Head swimming, he digs his thumb and finger into his eyes. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Daenerys doesn’t speak, though he can hear her shaky breaths, can feel her next to him, the heat and gravity of her there. He swallows an agonized groan, and his head spins faster. Only once the roar in his head subsides does he find the courage to speak. “That...that shouldn’t have happened,” he rasps. His voice is tremulous and unsteady. His hands are, too. He drops them into his lap, finally bringing himself to look at her.

She looks stunned, her lips red and swollen. He stares at them, the realization a punch to the gut: He did that to her. “We can’t—that can’t happen again,” he tells her, dazed.

She shakes her head slowly, moving to touch her mouth before she forces her hand back down. “No,” she agrees, her voice faint.

“We’re...you’re my—” Fuck, he can’t say it.

Jarred out of her stupor, she grimaces. “And you’re married.”

His eyes slam shut again, a tidal wave of guilt crashing over him. Ygritte. Twisting away from Daenerys, he doubles over his knees, like he might throw up. “Fuck!” What is wrong with him that his own fucking wife wasn’t even his first thought in that moment?

“I won’t...I won’t tell her,” Daenerys says urgently. “Jon…” He feels her hand on his shoulder and flinches. She pulls her hand back. “Sorry.”

Immediately, he feels awful. “No—it’s not your fault—I shouldn’t have…” He never should have come out here with her. He knew the dangers, didn’t he? The antsy feeling that lingered ever since Ygritte left—it was a warning, he knew. His conscience ringing the alarm. He was tempting fate, putting himself in such close quarters with Daenerys, alone like this.

Some demented part of him wanted this, though, desperately. Had been dreaming of ways to maneuver the two of them into a moment just like this.

Gods, he’s a sick fucking bastard. There’s something seriously wrong with him.

“I’m sorry,” he finishes lamely, not sure what else to say at this point. He can still feel her lips on his—taste the pine of the gin and the tart lime from her tongue.

She turns away from him. “It’s...it’s fine, Jon. We both just had way too much to drink. That’s all.”

Blaming the alcohol is a copout, he knows, but he takes it, gladly. He nods listlessly. “Aye. We should...we should go.”

Neither says another word as they get up from the couch and leave the room. Jon pays for their drinks and gets their IDs back from the host, who thanks them as they walk out the door. He doesn’t look back, and neither does Daenerys.

In the Uber back to his house, the silence hangs thick as a wall between them.

The next day, Jon goes for a run, hoping to avoid Daenerys for as long as possible. As he’s leaving his house, however, he realizes she’s already gone, her bedroom empty. He doesn’t find her anywhere else in the house.

She probably had the same idea about avoiding him, too.

Putting in his earbuds, he jogs down the cul-de-sac of their neighborhood and turns down the street to follow his usual route. He turns his music up loud in an attempt to drown out the thoughts that have been raging in his head all night, but it’s impossible.

What the hell is he going to tell Ygritte? He hasn’t talked to her since she texted him to let him know her plane landed safely in Sunspear. He dreads their next conversation. Should he even tell Ygritte? The kiss—it was a mistake, obviously. Surely nothing worth ruining their marriage over.

And Daenerys, how is he ever going to face her again? How is he going to be able to look at her, now that he knows exactly what she tastes like, how plush her lips are? Try as he might, he’s not been able to keep the thoughts at bay since the night before. The memory, all his waking thoughts, have blended deliriously with his dreams—of her and him, their bodies tangled, writhing, skin sticky and slick with sweat and arousal—

Gods, what is wrong with him? He wonders if this is how it was for his father, torn between two women. Agonizing over just one night, just one regrettable lapse in judgment? All those years, Jon hated the man for his sins, and now here he is, making the exact same mistakes.

No. No. He rejects the premise outright. This is not the same. He is nothing like his father.

Jon pushes himself harder, running faster and longer than he usually does. An hour passes, and then another, and by the time he makes his way back to his house, he’s dripping in sweat. His hair is wet and pulled back off his face, tied in a knot at his neck. Struggling to catch his breath, he toes off his shoes just inside the front door. Belatedly, he stops to listen; the house is quiet.

He trudges up the stairs but pulls up short in the hallway. The bathroom door is open, the shower running. Daenerys is home.

He stares at the door. Through the sizable gap, he can see directly into the mirror where her reflection beckons to him. The shower glass door is frosted, obscuring her naked form from his gaze. But not nearly enough.

Why would she leave the door wide open while she’s showering?

He stands there for a moment longer, just watching her—until all thinking, all rationale, cease.

Then, he crosses the few steps to the bathroom and slips inside, shutting the door behind him. When he opens the shower door, Daenerys jumps, spinning toward him, and her eyes go wide. “Jon!”

In that split second, she makes no effort to shield herself from his gaze, and he takes her in—water and suds sluicing down the soft curves and hard planes of her naked body. Somehow, it’s better than everything he’s imagined, shamefully, and often, with his cock in hand, and sometimes even when moving inside his wife. It’s a relief, almost, to finally admit it to himself, just how much he’s thought about her. How badly he wants her.

He joins her in the shower, unbothered by the stream of water that hits him in the face. As he crowds her against the tiled wall, she opens her mouth, and he kisses her, swallowing her gasp. But she welcomes his tongue eagerly, her arms coming up around his shoulders, and she arches against him, her slippery body molding to his through his sopping clothes. The water pounds his back as he plunders her mouth, his hands dragging down her sides to her arse, where he squeezes and separates the plump flesh of her cheeks, desperately pressing their groins together. They both groan into the kiss when he grinds her against his erection.

Daenerys begins tugging at his wet shirt, frantically peeling it off his chest. Saturated with water, the garment suddenly feels like it weighs a ton, so he helps her, grabbing the back of the collar to jerk his shirt over his head. It lands unceremoniously on the shower floor with a wet splat, then he’s kissing her again, sucking on her tongue, biting at her lips. Her hands find his waistband next, pushing and tugging his running shorts down over his arse, down his thighs. He clumsily steps out of them, kicking them aside, and his cock bobs free. When she grasps it in her hand, he hisses.

“Shit,” he gasps shakily. She strokes him firmly, furiously, and he buries his head against her neck, panting.

“Jon,” she says, a mere whisper he only hears over the shower spray because her mouth is right at his ear. When she cups his arse cheek with her free hand, he flexes beneath her palm, thrusting forward. Blindly, he mouths at her neck, kissing a wet trail down to her breasts where he sucks the tip of one into his mouth. She moans as his teeth catch on her rosy nipple, tongue circling and kneading it into a tight, furled bud. He does the same to her other breast, still fucking into her hand as she hurriedly jerks him off. The slick slap of his skin in her tight grip echoes off the walls of the tiny shower.

He’s going to come, he realizes, if he doesn’t stop her.

He slips his hand between her legs, finding her cunt dripping and swollen with arousal. They both groan as he moves his fingers through her slit, dipping inside her hot, silky heat for a few pumps before he retracts his fingers, dragging them over her fleshy clitoris. Daenerys gasps and begins rolling her hips in tandem with the movement of his hand between her thighs. Soon he feels her tremble, whimpering as she comes, and her concentration shatters, her hand loosening around his cock. He hooks his fingers inside her, feeling her cunt quiver around him; he beckons, pressing on that spongy spot he grazes on the front of her vaginal wall. “Oh, gods,” she cries, and just like that, she’s coming again, her legs shaking violently. He pulls his fingers back, his already wet hand soaked with her now.

Pressing her against the wall for leverage, Jon grabs her arse and lifts her into his arms. She clings to him, inhaling sharply when he unceremoniously impales her on his cock. Her cunt opens around him, so soft and hot and tight; he feels a ripple go through her, her walls contracting around him. She throws her head back and moans, coming a third time.

“Fuck,” he gasps, amazed, as he strokes himself inside her, riding the wave of her climax. The mild contractions of her cunt draw him in until he’s rooted deeply, and he takes a moment to luxuriate in the revelation of finally being inside her.

Then he’s moving, fucking her—slowly at first, then faster—as he holds her up, her arse resting on his thighs.

“Oh, fuck—Dany—” he grunts, breathing hard. She grabs his head and brings his mouth back to hers. She kisses him hungrily, her tongue grazing his in between gasps.

“Gods, yes, Jon,” she moans, her cunt squeezing him when she wraps her legs around his waist. With a groan, he thrusts harder, so hard his tip touches the back of her. She braces against him, her body taut and rigid as she lets out a guttural cry with every punch of his hips forward, the sound belly-deep.

He’s going to come—too soon, gods, it still feels too soon, but he can’t stop it this time.

Miraculously, he manages to pull out before he does. “Fuck!” he gasps, his head bowing between them as he shoots his cum all over her belly, his cock jumping with each spurt until it’s just a dribble from the tip. His breathing ragged, Jon slumps against her, pinning her to the wall. Her face is buried against his neck; her thighs quiver, still banded around his waist.

Slowly, the heavy fog of lust dissipates, leaving him a bit numb. He lowers her until she’s forced to drop her legs and stand on her own again. They stare at each other for a moment, neither speaking. Mutely, he grabs a washcloth hanging from the shower bar and hands it to her so she can wash the mess from her stomach, then he half-stumbles out of the shower. Dripping wet, he nearly slips in the puddle of water he leaves on the floor. He grabs a towel and makes a half-hearted effort to dry off before wrapping the towel around his waist.

Unsure what to do, he leans against the vanity. Suddenly, he feels weak, his body drained. He sinks down until he’s huddled on the floor, his elbows braced on his bent knees. He drops his head back against the vanity cabinet door, and waits. For what, he’s not entirely sure—for the shame or disgust to finally catch up to his actions, he supposes.

After a moment, the shower cuts off. When the door opens, he’s almost afraid to look at her, but he does. Daenerys grabs a towel and wraps it around her. Only then does she meet his gaze. Hovering over him, she finally closes the toilet lid and sits down on it, across from him. The tense silence stretches between them until he draws in a tremulous breath.

“Dany, I—”

“Don’t.”

He’s surprised. She averts her gaze from his. “Please, don’t—if you’re going to apologize, I’d rather you don’t.”

He doesn’t understand. “What—”

“I don’t need or deserve an apology for...for what we just did. Not when I—” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I know we can’t—or shouldn’t—it’s just...I’ve wanted you for so long. I know it’s wrong. And I know I should feel bad. For a number of reasons. But...I don’t. I will eventually, I’m sure, but just for this moment...I don’t want your regret, not just yet. Please.”

She looks upset, and he’s on his knees in an instant. He can’t bear her pain or being the cause of it.

“Dany.” He touches her face, and she finally looks at him. He swipes at a water droplet clinging to her eyebrow. She sucks in a tremulous breath, and he runs his thumb over her brow again, tracing it lightly. “Why did you leave the door open?” he asks, his voice low.

She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth but doesn’t shy away from his gaze. Her pupils are large, like deep, black wells of want. “I wanted you to see me. To watch me,” she confesses.

He kisses her then. Because he doesn’t know what else to do. And because she’s right. The regret can come later.

Her lips part, trembling against his, but soon he’s kissing her desperately, and she matches his urgency, their tongues sliding together. When he tugs her towel open, it falls away, exposing her breasts. Her pink nipples pebble in the tepid air, and he cups her tits in his hands, giving them a rough, possessive squeeze, dragging his thumbs over the rigid tips before taking one in his mouth. She shivers and moans, grabbing both sides of his head.

“Jon,” she gasps when he sucks her other breast into his mouth, teasing her nipple with his teeth and tongue. Parting her knees with his hands, he jerks her to the edge of the lid before kissing his way down her belly. Her stomach contracts beneath his lips as she sucks in a sharp breath, letting it out in a moan when he nuzzles between her thighs. Her hand shoots out to brace herself against the wall, her other fisting in his wet hair. “Oh, gods.”

He presses an open-mouth kiss to her cunt, inhaling the musk of her arousal. She smells clean and tastes like soap, mixed with the tang of her cum. He licks her over, parting her lips, stuck together with her juices, with a swipe of his tongue. Groaning, he opens his mouth wider so he can bury his tongue inside her, pulsing it in her tight channel. Her cunt grows even slicker, her juices soaking into his beard.

Her thighs quiver around his head, pressing so firmly they muffle his ears, but he can still hear her plea: “Jon.”

The way she says his name makes him feel feral, and for a moment he doesn’t care, not about anything but her, about this. Hooking her legs over his shoulders, he sucks her clit into his mouth. Her body stiffens in surprise, and she cries out when he hollows his cheeks and flicks his tongue over her clitoris.

Her fingers twist painfully in his hair. “I’m coming,” she moans, and he feels the tremors of her orgasm surge through her before she even finishes the word, her hips rocking against his face. He doubles down, sucking and thrashing her clit with his tongue until she pushes him away from her with a tortured sound. “Stop—I can’t—”

He concedes, climbing to his feet. He grabs her limp hands and tugs her up with him, gathering her in his arms. She holds onto his shoulders as he seizes her mouth with his, their tongues tangling as they stumble out of the bathroom, across the hall to her bedroom where he pushes her down on the bed and collapses on top of her. He’s hard again already, and he barely gets his towel out of the way before pushing inside her again. She’s so wet and supple now, he sinks into her easily, her cunt giving way with a single thrust of his cock. He stills, even though it feels like the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

“Do you have condoms?” he asks, breathing hard. She arches underneath him, and he can’t hold himself back any longer. He begins to move inside her.

“Yes,” she gasps, but she doesn’t stop to reach for any. Neither does he, too lost in the steady pace he sets, rutting away between her thighs.

“Jon,” she moans, writhing in time with him, and he echoes her, sitting up slightly to hike her leg over his shoulder and open her even wider.

“Dany,” he grunts, digging his knees into the mattress, bottoming out inside her with every thrust now. Their skin slapping together sets a rhythmic beat, her cunt squelching wetly around his cock. It’s hypnotic, lulling him into a trance. His release builds steadily, and he fucks her faster, like he’s trying to outrun it.

Her cries grow louder, and her fingers claw at his arse, pulling him into her. “Yes—gods—don’t stop, don’t stop,” she begs. He presses his face against the side of hers, mouthing at her cheek, licking her jaw.

“Gonna come,” he manages to rasp out.

She moans in encouragement. “Yes.”

“Gonne come inside you,” he repeats, this time a warning. She doesn’t object, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts.

“Gods, yes, give it to me,” she demands breathlessly. With a growl, he rises up, his weight braced on his hands as he drives into her relentlessly. She yelps every time his hips slap against her arse, shoving his cock into her until he falters abruptly, his climax gripping him.

He gasps wordlessly, nearly falling over from the force of his orgasm. He catches himself on his forearms before he can crush her, still pumping away inside her, filling her up. Even though he came not too long ago, there seems to be a lot, and he groans when she clenches around his cock, milking it all from him.

“Jon,” she pants. He’s practically wheezing himself, and as his orgasm fades, he lowers himself on top of her, letting her leg slide off his shoulder. She drops it to the bed, keeping the other wrapped around his waist. He rests his head on her chest, bringing his hand up to her breast to cup it gently, thumbing the stiff nipple. It takes a moment for his vision to come into focus again.

When it does, he realizes he’s staring at his wedding ring, the gold band stark against her flushed, pale skin.

He swallows, hard—and moves his hand so he can no longer see it.

Once he recovers his breathing, he lifts his head to kiss her. And then they start all over again.

Finally back from her trip, Ygritte calls to him from the bathroom. “Did you have fun while I was gone?”

Jon winces, glad she can’t see his face in that moment. Licking his dry lips, he braces himself. “It was—fine.”

She appears in the doorway then, rubbing moisturizer into her face. “What did you end up doing?”

Perched on the edge of the bed, he bends over to peel off his shoes and socks so he doesn’t have to look directly at her. “Not much. Finally started that sideboard Robb’s been asking for.” Which is true, barely. He’d started it right after Ygritte left but hasn’t touched it since.

“Did you hang out with Sam?”

He stands up to take off his pants. “No, Little Sam and Gilly were sick.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t say anything for a moment as he finishes undressing for bed. “So, you just hung out at home all weekend?”

His palms feel clammy, and he pulls the comforter back to climb into bed. “Basically, aye.”

She nods before frowning slightly. “You alright?”

He hums in automatic agreement as she climbs into bed beside him. Then he grows paranoid. “Why do you ask?”

She shakes her head, sliding under the comforter. “I don’t know. You’ve just seemed...distracted since I got back.”

Because he has been, consumed with thoughts of Daenerys and what they did. In some ways, it’s almost possible to convince himself the weekend has been just some feverish dream, except he can’t stop reliving it in his head. When he closes his eyes, he can still feel the soft expanse of her belly under his palm, the silken strands of her hair wrapped around his fingers.

Guilt ties his stomach up in knots, and he’s sure Ygritte can see the truth of his betrayal all over his face every time she looks at him.

But if she did, she would say something.

He lets himself look at her now: her brow is furrowed in concern. Or suspicion. Tell her, he thinks. Tell her, and let that be the end of it.

Instead, he gives her a forced smile. “Sorry, I think I just ate something for lunch that didn’t agree with me.”

“Oh.” She relaxes slightly, but her relief quickly turns to disappointment. When her hand strokes up his arm, it takes everything in him not to recoil. “So, you probably don’t want to have sex tonight, do you?”

His stomach knots up even more, thoughts of his body tangled with Daenerys’ flashing through his mind. He shakes his head. “Better not. Sorry.”

Ygritte settles for a kiss, and he rolls away from her, pretending to sleep.

He wonders if Daenerys is doing the same just down the hall.

Being in the same house together, it’s hard to avoid Daenerys. Jon isn’t entirely sure he even wants or means to. Whenever they cross paths, however, she acts perfectly normal. Even in front of Ygritte. Jon, on the other hand, is excessively anxious and evasive. At one point, he actually jumps when Ygritte puts her hand on his waist while he’s in the kitchen cooking dinner, knocking over a pot of sauce. It’s a miracle she doesn’t immediately suspect anything between him and Daenerys.

At first, he’s grateful. Relieved, even. But very quickly Daenerys’ nonchalance starts to wear on him. How is she able to pretend like nothing happened so easily, when he can’t even sleep at night?

It’s during one of those sleepless nights that he cracks. After he’s sure Ygritte is asleep, he texts Daenerys. You ok?

He doesn’t really expect an answer, but he hopes for one. When she replies a moment later, his relief is short-lived. Perfect.

He frowns. What does that mean? He just needs to talk to her, face to face. You outside? he asks hopefully, already sitting up.

No. Then, I’ve got an early morning. Goodnight Jon.

His stomach sinks. He perches on the edge of the bed, staring at his phone screen. Finally, he sets his phone back on the nightstand and glances at Ygritte guiltily, before lying back down beside her.

He’s sitting on the couch, watching TV with Ygritte, when he catches Daenerys on her way out the door. “Where are you going?”

She stops to answer, though her eyes don’t quite meet his. “I was just going to run to the store for a few things.”

He jumps at the opportunity to talk to her alone. “I can drive you.”

Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly as they slide between him and Ygritte. “Oh—I was just going to walk,” she says with a nervous smile.

“That’s too far to walk. And I need to grab a few things, anyway.” He stands up, snatching his keys off the coffee table, and glances at Ygritte. “You need anything?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “No. What do you need from the store?”

Heart racing, he improvises. “I got a sudden craving for that pasta dish you really like. Figured I’d make it for dinner tonight.”

“Oh. OK,” she says. He’s not convinced he’s imagining the skepticism in her voice.

“We’ll be right back,” he says, waving Daenerys out the door.

In his car, they don’t speak right away. Jon keeps glancing at her as he drives. She’s sitting rigidly in the passenger seat, staring out the window as she fidgets with her purse strap. As he approaches a stop light, he thinks quickly, making an impromptu left turn. Daenerys frowns and looks at him. Finally.

“Where are we going?”

He shakes his head. “I need to talk to you.” She falls quiet again, and he drives them to the only place he can think of that’s relatively secluded: the parking lot of a nearby greenway he runs on sometimes. He parks in a spot as far away from the greenway entrance as he can and shuts off his car. They sit in silence for a moment as he stares out the windshield. She does the same.

Finally, he blows out a ragged breath, squeezing the steering wheel tightly. “So, are we just—not going to talk? Ever again?”

She looks at him, her brow furrowed. “What?”

Agitated, he gestures wildly between them. “What is this? You barely even acknowledge me! You avoid me at home!”

Her eyes go large. “I thought that’s what you wanted!”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because your wife is home now, Jon!” she yells, and he flinches. “I mean, how do you want me to act, exactly? Like we’ve been fucking each other’s brains out all weekend?”

Another grimace. “Of course not,” he retorts angrily, then rakes his hands through his curls. “Fuck. I don’t know! I’m sorry. I clearly—this wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t have some master plan in place. I don’t know what to do.”

She sighs, deflating. “I know. I figured you’d want to just...pretend nothing happened. So, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

It’s what he thought he wanted, too. “Is that what you want?” he asks quietly. “To pretend it never happened? That you and I never happened?”

She looks hurt. “That’s not what I want at all, Jon,” she says sadly, turning her face away from him. “But I can’t have what I want.”

Despite everything, he feels an odd spark of hope. After a beat, he reaches for her chin, making her look at him. “What do you want, Dany?”

The look she gives him cuts deep, flaying him open. “You already know what I want.” Her throat constricts with a swallow. “The question is: What do you want?”

What does he want? It’s something he’s been asking himself all week. What he wants is impossible. To go back to that Saturday morning and make himself keep walking right past the bathroom. To never have opened that first message from her. To somehow convince himself that he’s happy the way things are.

But, the truth is, if he’s being completely honest with himself, what he wants—what he really wants is this woman who is not his wife.

He absently drags his thumb over her bottom lip. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until she grabs his hand to stop him. His breath catches, and they stare at each other for one, long, torturous moment. Then, she parts her lips and slowly sucks his thumb into her mouth, closing her lips around it. She curls her tongue around his knuckle, slicking his thumb with her saliva. He chokes on a groan, his cock throbbing instantly, then he leans across the console to kiss her, popping his thumb out of her mouth and filling it with his tongue instead.

His hand drops to her thighs, wriggling between them to rub her through the denim crotch of her shorts. With a whimper, she squeezes her thighs together, trapping his hand there. Reaching over, she quickly unzips his pants to return the favor. As she pulls his cock out, he breaks the kiss. Breathing hard, he stares at her. She watches him, waiting. “We should use condoms,” he says. “Going forward. Just—to be safe. Right?”

She doesn’t say anything right away, and he’s sure he’s fucked everything up again. But finally she nods. “OK.” Then, pulling her hair over her shoulder, she sits up on her knees to lean over the console and takes his cock into her mouth.

“Gods. Dany.” He risks a glance through the car windows to ensure they’re still alone, before he closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting himself enjoy her efforts.

Ygritte stirs as he’s tying his sneakers at the foot of their bed. “Where are you going?” she asks sleepily, confused. It’s not even six a.m. yet on a Saturday.

His heart climbs into his throat. “Just knocking my run out early. Might take a while,” he tells her. “Go back to sleep.”

With a disgruntled sigh, she does as he suggests, and before he even closes the bedroom door, she’s snoring again.

He finds Daenerys at the front door, waiting. She’s dressed in her typical running attire, too: leggings and a sports bra. They stare at each other for a beat. Are they really going to do this? She seems to wait for him to decide, letting him be the one to make the call. He doesn’t debate long, leading her out the door without a word exchanged between them. The sun is only just beginning to rise.

They drive to the greenway and park. Jon’s disappointed to see that there’s one other car already in the parking lot. He and Daenerys look at each other, uncertain. “Do you want to leave?” she asks, her voice hushed as if someone could possibly overhear her.

He stares at her, finally shaking his head. “We’re here for a run.” She watches him reach into the glove compartment, fumbling through the car manual where he stashed a few condoms. Then she follows his lead, getting out of his car and crossing to the entrance, where they take a moment to stretch and warm up in silence. When he looks at her, she tightens her ponytail then sets off into a jog. He sets off after her, easily falling in stride with her.

They run for a while. Jon is about to stop her, suggest they should just turn back, when up ahead, he sees a figure approaching them from the opposite direction. A man. When they cross paths, Jon moves out of his way, exchanging a friendly nod. He and Daenerys keep running, until, after a few minutes, she finally slows to a stop. He stops, too, and they both turn around. The other runner is nowhere in sight. They wait, just to make sure no one else appears.

Slightly winded from their run, Jon looks at Daenerys. She meets his gaze, her chest heaving from her labored breaths. She licks her lips.

He can’t wait anymore. He reaches for her and crushes her against his chest, cupping her chin as he lifts her face to his. She meets his mouth eagerly, lips parted wide as he sweeps his tongue inside. She tastes like spearmint toothpaste.

Her hands fist in his shirt, and he grabs her arse, giving it a squeeze through the clingy material of her leggings. No underwear; he groans deeply. They stumble off the trail into the wooded area, tripping over roots and bumping into trees. Leaves rustle and crunch under their sneakers. Releasing her mouth, Jon glances over his shoulder to gauge their visibility from the trail. Though they’re nearing the end of summer, there’s still enough foliage to give them cover. He guides her to a tree with a thick trunk a good distance into the woods, then he kisses her again, leaning her against it. She rubs his straining erection through his shorts, and he kneads her tits through her sports bra.

With a whimper, she hikes a leg around his waist, pulling his groin against hers. He thrusts against her, but it isn’t enough. Wriggling his hand under the waistband of her leggings, he rakes his fingers through her pubic hair until he grazes her plump clit. She moans as he strokes her. The leggings are too constricting, so he shoves her leg down and then yanks the pants down her thighs, peeling them over her arse.

Then he spins her around, yanking her hips out until she’s standing at an angle, bent over with her arse sticking out. Daenerys grips the tree trunk as he pulls out his cock, fishing the single condom out of his pocket. He rips it open and rolls the rubber down over his shaft. Licking his fingers, he slicks his hand over her cunt from behind; she’s plenty wet already. She arches backward, breathing hard.

“Hurry,” she pleads, fingers digging into the bark as he plays with her clitoris. He glances once more toward the trail, then takes his cock in hand and positions it at her entrance. With one thrust, he parts her folds, teasing her channel with his tip, and with a second thrust, he sinks inside her fully. They both groan. Seizing her hips to hold her still, he starts pounding into her fast and hard.

“Fuck!” she gasps, bracing her arms against the tree. She pushes back against him to meet his thrusts. He’s fucking her so hard, the slapping of his pelvis on her arse echoes through the woods. His balls tighten, a sense of urgency washing over him, but it feels so good, her wet cunt drawing him in, the lewd sounds they’re making, in such a public place, as they both race toward their climaxes. He begins grunting, deep and animalistic. A bead of sweat rolls down his back, slipping between his clenched arse cheeks. Her moans turn to cries, growing louder. If anyone happens by on the trail right now, they will certainly hear them.

“Dany,” he says—he means to warn her, but he can’t bring himself to finish it. Instead, he braces his arm on the tree over her head, their bodies pressed together as he burrows into her. With his other hand, he reaches around to rub her clit, in quick, furious circles. She’s so wet, he can hear the way his fingers slick against her skin. He can feel her thighs shaking, and soon she’s coming, her cunt tightening around his cock.

Immediately, he grabs both her hips again, pounding against her arse, chasing after his own release. Sweat breaks out on his forehead. “Fuck, fuck!” he gasps, eyes rolling back as he finishes with little warning. Daenerys stumbles into the tree from the force of his thrusts, and he catches them before they can pitch forward. He strokes into her, his cock pulsing as he fills the condom. She rocks her arse backward into his groin, encouraging him to go deeper, and he grips her cheek hard enough to leave white indentations, holding her still. After a few more strokes inside her, he pulls out of her swollen cunt, holding the condom by the base.

“You OK?” he asks, panting, and she nods, standing up straight to pull her leggings back up. He peels the condom off, emptying the contents on the forest floor. He hates to litter, so he starts to wad it up to shove back in his pocket, but Daenerys takes it and the wrapper from him. With a grimace, he watches her slide the trash into a pocket on her leggings.

“Thanks,” he breathes out as he puts himself to rights, knowing why she’s taking it instead of him. She gives him a wan smile. Her eyes are bright, however, her cheeks flushed. He knows they weren’t that pink before they started.

He doesn’t know why that’s what does it, but the sight of her then has his chest feeling heavy, his sternum aching. For once, it’s not from anxiety or dread.

Taking her face in his hands then, he sweeps his thumbs over her cheeks as he stares into her eyes. She doesn’t shy away from his gaze, and he lowers his mouth to hers, kissing her softly. After, he rests his forehead against hers, just for a moment.

When they make their way back to the trail to head home, Jon reaches for her hand, threading their fingers together.

“Oh, gods.”

His car is muggy and damp with sex as Daenerys rides his cock in the cramped driver’s seat. Even though he’s pushed the seat as far back as it can go, one of her knees is still jammed up against the door.

She doesn’t seem to care. Her head is thrown back, her dress bunched around her waist, her tits bouncing free of her bodice (courtesy of his hands), nipples red and ravaged by his mouth. She moans, sliding up and down his cock as she rocks back and forth in his lap. The leather seat creaks beneath them.

Breathing roughly, Jon drops his chin forward and shoves her dress up as high as he can. His hands move to the spread apex of her cunt; one thumb pulls aside the soaked crotch of her knickers, exposing her puffy lips, glossy with her arousal. He swipes his other thumb over her swollen clitoris, rubbing quick, tight circles over the little bud. Her hips jerk and falter as she gasps, bowing backward over the steering wheel. Her cunt clenches around him and he groans, rubbing her faster. She thrusts down on him with renewed vigor, the backs of her thighs slapping against the denim covering his own.

“Jon,” she whimpers.

“That feel good?” he demands.

“Yes!” She’s wild now, nearly bumping her head on the roof as she rides him.

He grits his teeth, nostrils flaring. “Gonna come,” he warns her. Her hand pulls up his shirt, palm dragging up his abs to his chest. Her other hand is splayed on the fogged-up window.

“Me too,” she gasps. “Don’t stop!”

Thumb circling over her clit, Jon digs his heels in for leverage and thrusts up into her, her tits jiggling from the repeated impact. “Come for me, Dany,” he growls, begging. They have to be back to the house soon.

Suddenly, her face screws up in pleasure as her cunt cinches tight around his cock, rippling with contractions. “Fuck!” he grunts, pumping into her as he comes, too. She gasps and goes rigid on top of him, losing the rhythm of her thrusts, so he pulls her down around him, bouncing her on his cock to wring out the last of his orgasm.

“Oh, gods, Jon,” she moans, and he slows, the urgency fading as pleasure and relief spread through him, suffusing his limbs with warmth. With a groan, he sinks back into the seat, rocking her on top of him. She’s still panting hard, pleased whimpers wheezing through her lips as her orgasm abates. He gives her clit another languid stroke, and she shudders, sagging against him. Her head rolls forward to rest on his shoulder, her body loose and relaxed. She put her hair up in a bun when they first parked; now it lists to the side, strands working their way loose and sticking to her face with sweat.

Releasing the crotch of her panties, he slides his hands up her thighs, gripping the creases of her hips. He’s still inside her, still catching his breath. Her cunt is warm and wet around his softening cock. From past experience, he knows he could easily go again, work through some minor discomfort until he’s hard once more.

But now that the pressing need to be inside her has subsided, he kicks himself. In their haste, he forgot to put a condom on before she climbed into his lap, wanting to finish before another car could drive up.

“You’re on birth control, right?” he husks out. She goes stiff against him, and he regrets the question immediately.

She tugs her dress up over her breasts and shifts in his lap, sliding his cock out of her. With it, some of his cum seeps out, too. “Probably should have asked that before you came inside me, don’t you think?” she retorts, a hard edge to her voice.

As she moves off of him, awkwardly climbing over the console to plop down in the passenger seat, he closes his eyes and sighs.

His car isn’t the ideal place to have sex, but it’s one of the only places they can. The house is too risky, and a charge for a hotel room on his credit card statement would definitely raise some alarms. So over the past few weeks, they have found opportunities where they can. They’ve been careful before now. And that first time, he supposes.

Opening his eyes, he turns to face her. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs as she arches in the seat to smooth her dress down under her arse, reaching between her legs to adjust her underwear. He follows her lead, tucking himself back into his pants. “I wasn’t thinking.”

She won’t look at him, her gaze fixed out the window. Finally, she says, “It’s fine. I’m on birth control.”

His shoulders sag. He hates to say he’s relieved, but...it’s one less thing to worry about, at least. “Dany…” he starts, though he doesn’t know what he wants to say, exactly.

She shakes her head, meeting his gaze. “Jon. I can’t—I don’t think I can keep doing this.” It doesn’t immediately sink in what she’s saying. “You need to tell her.”

His heart lurches into his throat, and all he can do is gape at her, speechless. He turns back to the windshield, gripping the steering wheel just to have something to hold on to. His fingers flex around it.

Finally, he takes a breath, croaking out, “Dany, I—” What does she want him to say? “You know I can’t just—tell her—”

“Why not?” she demands.

A disbelieving laugh slips through his teeth, surprising them both. “What do you mean, why not? What, you want me to tell my wife that I’m fucking my aunt?” She flinches, but he keeps going, “And then—what, exactly? You and I can just—we can just be together? It’s as simple as that, is that it?”

Pressing her lips together, she looks away again, glaring angrily out the window. “Of course not! I’m not a bloody idiot, Jon.”

“Then, what? What do you want me to do?”

She rubs her forehead. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she repeats, frustrated. A sense of desperation surges up inside him.

“Dany.” He reaches for her, pulling her hand away from her face. She looks at him then, her eyes watery. The sight is a knife to his heart. He cups her face, pushing back her hair, now crusty from the salt of her sweat. “I would if I could, you know I would.” He’s almost certain he would, even if the thought fills him with dread. “I…”

I want you. I want to be with you, only you.

He wants to say the words, but it feels cruel, knowing he can’t promise her that. “I just...I don’t know how to get us out of this,” he answers honestly.

She grabs his hand on her cheek. “Let’s just go then,” she begs tearfully. “Somewhere else. We can start over where no one knows who we are or what we are to each other.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. It’s tempting, if he’s honest. He wants nothing more than what she is offering him, but...everything just feels so impossible.

In the end, he doesn’t have to say anything; she sees the answer in his face. Her lips twist in a humorless smile, and she pushes his hand away, dropping it between them. “No, that won’t work either, will it?” She sighs.

“Dany,” he tries, but she doesn’t let him finish.

“I want you to drop me off at my friend’s place.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I think it’s best that I stay with a friend tonight. And then tomorrow, I think I should start looking for a place of my own. It’s time, right?”

Her words fill him with alarm. “What do you mean, it’s time? Time for what?”

“I told you I can’t keep doing this with you. I never wanted to be...this. The other woman.” Her bottom lip quivers, and she buries her face in her hands. “Gods, I shouldn’t have—I never should have come here. Never should have agreed to any of this in the first place. It was a mistake to contact you.”

He stares at her, hurt. “You can’t mean—”

She drops her hands. “Let’s just go,” she says wetly, an edge of impatience and desperation to her voice. “Before Ygritte gets suspicious.”

He flinches, the name like a bucket of ice water.

“Dany,” he tries again, but she refuses to respond or even look at him now. Gritting his teeth, hands shaking, Jon starts the car and pulls out of their parking spot at the greenway. They drive away in silence.

Jon stops her before she can get out of the car, his hand on her arm. This time, she looks at him. He feels numb, like he’s moving in a dream. He doesn’t know what he can say at this point; he just knows he doesn’t want her to go.

“Are you going to be OK?” is the best he can do.

Her smile is flat. “I’ll be fine, Jon. We both know this had to end sometime. Right?”

Did they? “Right.” His voice lacks conviction, however. He’s not being fair, he knows. He sighs. “I’m sorry, Dany. I really am.”

She gives him a sad look. “I think we’re both sorry, Jon.”

With that she shuts the door. Beyond her, he sees a door open, and a lithe figure appears in the doorway. A woman he doesn’t recognize pulls Daenerys into a hug, which she accepts eagerly, before letting herself be drawn inside.

Jon doesn’t know how long he spends idling at the curb, staring at the closed door, before he finally makes himself drive away.

Daenerys moves out a few days later and into her friend Missandei’s spare bedroom. She doesn’t have much to move, most of her things still in storage, and she does it in the middle of the night when Jon and Ygritte are asleep: Packs a couple suitcases full of all her clothes and a few other odds and ends she accumulated over the months, and then she’s gone.

He doesn’t even find out until the next morning when they discover the note left for them on the kitchen counter.

Jon and Ygritte,

I found a place of my own to stay. I just want to thank you for your hospitality these last few months. I truly appreciate it, more than you can know.

x Dany

Ygritte huffs, “Well, that’s a little weird, isn’t it? To move out like that, without so much as a goodbye.”

Jon stares at the note, at her neat signature. “Aye. Weird,” he mutters, mostly for his wife’s benefit.

“And after all we did to help her.”

He looks up. “I figured you’d be happy to have her gone.”

She shrugs. “I am. I just expected more of a fuss or something.” With a scoff, she heads for the kitchen. “Good riddance, I guess. It’ll be nice to have the house to ourselves again, right?”

“Right,” he says, his voice hollow. He crumples the note in his fist, his knuckles turning white.

He tries to return to normal, he really does. Daenerys has given him a chance to cut ties cleanly, to move on with his life with Ygritte, like he knows he should.

But he can’t stop thinking about her. Several times a day, he goes to text her before thinking better of it. She doesn’t reach out to him, and she’s gone dark on social media, too. It drives him crazy, not knowing what’s going on in her life. He knows where she lives, at least. Once, he even drives by her friend’s flat, the one where he dropped her off the last time he saw her, not sure if he means to stop and talk to her or if he’s just hoping for a glimpse of her. Ultimately, he drives off without stopping, realizing how crazy he must look.

He even thinks about her while making love to Ygritte. It’s impossible not to, when the act no longer feels the same, not when Daenerys showed him how it could be. How it’s supposed to be. After that one time, he finds any excuse he can to put Ygritte off whenever she makes an overture toward him.

He wonders if this is how it will be from now on. He doesn’t know how he can live like this.

Is this how it was for his father? Did he think about his mother the way Jon thinks about Daenerys?

Eventually, Ygritte grows frustrated, sensing the change in him, the shift in their relationship. “What’s going on with you?” she interrogates over dinner one night, fed up with his listless attempt at conversation.

“Nothing,” he starts to tell her, an instinctive reflex, but something stops him. Guilt, maybe. Or maybe he finally realizes she deserves better than this.

Maybe he’s just tired of lying to her, and to himself. Brutal honesty, he reminds himself.

With a resigned sigh, he steels himself before meeting her gaze. “I need to tell you something.”

She screams at him. She cries. She throws things. “You lying bastard,” she yells. “You aunt-fucker! You made me think I was crazy!” It’s all true, of course; Jon offers nothing in his defense. He deserves her scorn, and more. When she slaps him, he figures he deserves that, too, but he stops her from hitting him a second time.

Still, nothing stings worse than when she sneers, “Like father, like son.” She must know it, too.

She goes on for hours, and he takes it all, until she’s finally hoarse and defeated. “I can’t look at you anymore. I never want to see you again. Get out of my house,” she demands, her face red and streaked with dried tears.

He hastily packs a few things, some toiletries and clothes. Then he leaves to find a hotel to stay at for a few days, until he knows what his next step is. The irony of his accommodations isn’t lost on him.

Later, as he’s trying, and failing, to fall asleep, it hits him that he didn’t even apologize to her. Maybe he’s not sorry. Or, rather, he is—for hurting her, truly, he never wanted to do that to her.

He’s just not sure he’ll ever really regret what he had with Daenerys.

Jon waits a few days before reaching out to Daenerys. He goes back and forth on whether he should, but in the end his desire to speak to her wins out. His heart is racing as he hits send on his text: Can we talk?

Her reply comes a couple minutes later. You told her.

He’s only somewhat surprised she already knows. Yes. How did you know?

She messaged me on Facebook. Had some choice words for me.

Jon closes his eyes. “Shit.” Forgoing the texting, he calls her instead. She answers on the first ring.

“Hi.” Her voice is subdued, wary. He swallows, the sound a temporary balm despite everything.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She sighs on the other end. “Don’t I? I don’t blame her, honestly.”

“I deserve the heat, not you.”

They don’t speak for a moment, her quiet breaths echoing back to him. Staring at the carpet between his bare feet, Jon braces his forearms on his knees. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed in his hotel room. He wonders what he should say next when she finally speaks again. “Why did you tell her?”

He takes a deep breath, and a handful of reasons come to mind:

I couldn’t lie to her anymore.

I’m not happy. I haven’t been happy in a while.

I want you.

And mostly: I love you.

But even though that’s all true, even though his marriage is over, it doesn’t change the immutable fact that Daenerys is his aunt. And he has no idea what they’re supposed to do about that.

“It just wasn’t right. Going on like nothing had happened,” he finally says.

“Ah.” He doesn’t think he imagines the disappointment in her voice.

“Dany,” he starts, but anything else he says will only make this harder on them both. So, he says nothing.

“Where are you?” she asks after a moment.

He looks around his sparse room. “A hotel. I’ve been looking for a place of my own.”

“Oh. So—you two—?”

“Aye.” He looks out the window. “It’s over.” It’s the first time he’s said the words out loud. He hasn’t even told his mum yet. He has no idea how he’s going to tell her what happened. Hey, mum. Remember when I told you about my dead father’s sister? Well...

“I’m so sorry, Jon—”

He lets out a ragged breath. “Don’t be. Like I said, this is my fault. It was my marriage, my wedding vows. Maybe I was looking for a way out. I don’t know.” She doesn’t say anything for a while, though he can hear her breathing on the other end, so he knows she’s still there. He should tell her; she deserves that. He wants to tell her, even if they can’t be together. He braces himself. “Dany—”

“I need to tell you something,” she interrupts suddenly, and he frowns.

“OK. What is it?”

She’s silent so long, he’s just about to say her name again when she blurts out, “I’m pregnant.”

His heart stops. His vision dims. For a moment, his head seems to fill with static. As the roar gets louder, he thinks he might faint. “What?” he finally manages. “How? You said—”

“I lied,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to worry. I took a morning after pill, I swear I did. I thought it would be enough.”

Eyes closed, he presses his fist to his forehead. “Both times?” he asks, remembering that last time in the car, and that first time in her bed. He should have pulled out. Why didn’t he fucking pull out?

She pauses. “No. Just that last time in the car. But I guess I was already pregnant by then.”

Right. His heart thrashes against his ribs. He presses his fingers against his eyes, hard, until spots dance behind his closed lids. “How far along…?”

“Nine weeks now. I figured it out a couple weeks ago, but I couldn’t get an appointment any sooner.”

Nine weeks...He tries to do the math. A little more than two months. That would be about when Ygritte was on her trip. The first time he and Daenerys had sex. What were the fucking odds?

“Well.” He clears the phlegm from his throat and drops his fist; it dangles limply between his knees. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs.

Another pause before he asks, “Are you...what are you planning to do?”

“I don’t know, Jon.” She sighs. “Honestly, I don’t even know if I was planning to tell you.”

That stings, but he knows it’s not really fair of him to expect anything of her, either.

Like father, like son, he hears Ygritte’s sneering voice. Taunting him. He swallows against the sour taste rising in his throat.

No. He is not his father.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out, slowly. “OK.”

“OK?” she repeats, unsure. He nods, even though she can’t see him.

“Whatever you do, whatever you want to do.” Truthfully, he has no idea how they can make this work. But he knows one thing: “I want to be there with you.”