medicalling | Open Post

"Yes, of course. We don't have such problems in Winterfell but I imagine these might even exist in Westeros somewhere. Perhaps across the Narrow Sea or something."

The origin of sleep masks was not the point. Sansa slips it over her eyes and adjusts it; she cannot see anything at all and it is completely dark. She can smell Rowan - his summer scent of honeycomb and vanilla. Sansa wonders if she smells of winter the same way he smells of summer but she imagines that this is a musing for another time and place.

She doesn't quite know what to do with her arms so she stretches them up to cross them behind her head on the soft pillows.

"Do with me what you will, then."

"Don't say that," he said, smiling as he crawled onto the bed, "because what I want is to devour you entirely. I want to run my mouth over every inch of this pretty pale skin, watch you arch up for more. I want to be inside you, my tongue, my fingers, my cock. I want every inch of you, so no, love, I can't do what I will- yet. But I plan to."

He started by resting his hands on her ankles, letting her know where he was, and starting to drag his fingers up along her legs. When he got to her knee, he leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the inside of that particular knee. Then the opposite. "Good?"

Sansa feels her skin heat up when he says he wants to devour her and then proceeds to be quite explicit about how he wants to do it. She's so glad she doesn't have to look at him because she can hear a smile in Rowan's voice and she thinks that seeing his face right now would make her so shy that she would run into the bathroom.

He draws his fingertips up her legs and Sansa takes in a sharp breath because it feels so good. Then, she feels his lips at her knee.

"Very good," she assures him. "It feels good. Did you want me to undress completely?"

She only thinks she could bear it if she cannot see him looking at her.

"Not for now. Not until you want to. If you want to," he said, kissing up along that knee, then up towards her thigh. The hair on his beard rubbed along as he nuzzled her, his hands still touching, still letting her know where he was, but they were up much further now. Enough to have to push the edge of her borrowed shirt up.

"You smell like honeyed peaches," he murmured nuzzling in a few inches from where her legs met.

"I imagined I smelled of winter," Sansa says, sighing a little when she felt him nuzzling against her thighs. It feels as if his touch is sending sparks through her, somehow, and she's so sensitive to him. Perhaps that is because she can only go by touch and scent just now and not sight.

He says she does not have to disrobe unless she wants to and she reaches down and pulls the shirt up to just beneath her breasts so that her bare stomach and hips are on display. He hasn't untied her smallclothes and tossed them aside yet so she's still clothed...somewhat.

There's something else he smells of, something stronger than his summer-fresh scent, and it makes her want to pull him as close to her as possible. Is this something to do with his being not quite a man? She isn't sure.

He'd get to the smallclothes soon enough, but for now, he was going to kiss her through them, to get her used to his touch in general. To get her to the point of wanting. One hand moved up to gently touch the skin of her hips, up under where the shirt was bunched against her breasts, feeling the warm silkiness of her skin. He nuzzled there between her legs, kissing where he felt the hottest part of her. "You smell like mine," he growled, mouth close to her as he spoke.

"Gods be good."

Sansa draws in a sharp breath when he presses his mouth against the silk and his hands start wandering over her skin. She's so glad she cannot see him and cannot get shy about it because as it is, she moves her hips clumsily against his face. She's not really sure what she's supposed to do but she hopes he'll tell her.

"It's true, I am yours."

That admission has the feral part of him moving to tear at the side of her silk, tossing them off and removing that last barrier as he presses first a kiss, then a long drag of his tongue up through her folds. His. He has something, someone that's his. All he can do is pray to the Fates he doesn't let her down.

Sansa lets out a noise that she thinks is probably unbecoming of a lady but it doesn't matter because she cannot control her actions when something feels this good. Even before he dragged his tongue against her, Sansa felt as if she was slick with arousal and there's only more the more he draws his tongue against her.

"I...gods, that feels good," is all she can manage and she spreads her thighs wider to give him more access to her. She's never wanted a man to touch her so much in her entire life.

The noise merely prompts him to keep doing what he was doing, his tongue lapping at her, lips sealed around her clit, humming against it as he felt his body reacting to her arousal. It was impossible for him not to be rock hard just then, even though he'd already seen to his needs earlier. She wanted what she wanted, and he was beholden to give it to her.

He could taste her on his tongue, the slickness of her pleasure, her body letting him know even if her mind wasn't aware that she was enjoying this. "May I... touch your breasts?" She'd kept them covered, so he'd considered them off limits, but he wanted to ask. To show her all the places on her body that could light her up.

Sansa nods furiously and yanks the shirt up and off, tossing it to the side afterward. It's slightly cool in the room without it and she feels goosebumps pebble her skin but the burning heat between her thighs doesn't let her think about being cold for very long.

"Please? I did not know I wanted it until you asked for it."

Sansa suspects that will be a lot of things surrounding bedding - she won't know what she likes until she just does it. She has a list of dislikes, naturally, but nothing she likes.

And now he knows she likes oral. That's a check for his side, and one he's going to gloat about to himself in private. His hand moves up towards her, eyes watching its progress as his thumb traces around her nipple. Such lovely breasts. Soft, pale, perfect. He wants to taste them as well, but he wants to make her climax from oral first.

Which is why he renews his efforts in using his tongue to slip into her as well as sucking and kissing at her.

Everything he's doing with his mouth feels so good that Sansa feels her hips arching up toward his mouth and she fumbles blindly for the sheets to twist her hands in them and find the back of his head instead so she pulls lightly at his short hair. She does not know if that's a thing she should be doing but she imagines if he doesn't like it, he'll let her know, same as he's waiting on prompts from her.

"It feels so good," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "Everything is...I'm on fire, I think."

It feels as if the world has narrowed down to just his tongue and her folds and she asks him in a trembling voice -

"Did you want to use your hand?"

He doesn't stop, but he slows a bit, eyes up along the length of her body to her face. The blindfold is still in place, and she can't see him, but his eyes light up at the suggestion. "Only to make you feel good." She's wet and he can taste her on his tongue, the mess of her on his face, but he doesn't want her afraid of being penetrated. Digits to start, and he'll see if that's something she can handle.

"Well, yes," Sansa says. "Slow to start, I think. And not so...many. Do it in a way that feels good."

Sansa has no idea if that is enough description for him to figure out what to do and shifts restlessly under him. He must know that she wants his touch, desperately, and that she thinks she might die without it.

Well he was hardly going to start with four fingers, Sansa. One would do, and he gave her nipple one last gentle roll before he took his hand back to bring it down to where his mouth was. One finger to start, slow and careful. She was swollen, slick, and he was careful to watch her as he started his initial insertion.

This had always been painful, penetration, and Sansa is pleasantly surprised that Rowan's finger is not painful. She lets out a long breath and relaxes her muscles from where she'd drawn herself up tight and takes a moment to come back to herself.

"You took away all the injuries," she says quietly. "I thought you had but now I'm certain."

"If you had any lingering ones here, I'd ease them as well. But it seemed his... desires for a bloodline saved you from that particular horror." He'd seen female genital mutilation in his day, along with horrible effects from sexual assault trauma and he just had to be grateful that while he hadn't touched her there, his healing had gotten to anything that might have been in that area.

And just incensed his need to slaughter her husband again.

"Your touch feels good," Sansa murmurs, wanting to forget the spectre of Ramsay and put her mind to better things. She wants to only think of Rowan and his magical touch. She only wants to think of her mate and no one else.

"My love above all loves," she adds, trying to decide how she likes the feel of the words on her lips. She isn't quite ready to profess her love directly because everything is too new and too strange but she can return his affections in these small ways and acknowledge their bond.

Well... that didn't help him keep control of himself. As he carefully added a second finger and crooked it upward, finding that spot and playing around it, not directly on it, he went back to licking up every last bit of her- all while his glamour dropped and he let his attention focus solely on her. On her heartbeat. On those little breathy gasps. On the way her hips moved as she sought relief.

Sansa thrashes against the pillows and as she does, the mask comes off and she catches a glimpse of Rowan between her legs, glimmering bright. It's possibly the most beautiful thing she's ever seen and her breath catches before her body just clamps down on his fingers and flutters around them.

Gods, she's never felt so good in her life. Her heart's beating fast and her lungs feel as if they cannot get enough air. She cannot help but tugging at his hair and pulling him as close to her as she can while riding it out against his face.

"Oh! Oh Gods, Rowan, please," she whimpers.

He growls against her sex, his fingers crooking and teasing at her as she came around him, wanting to draw it out, but not too long. She'd be oversensitive, but he couldn't quite bring himself to be all that worried. It was, it seemed, her first pleasure. And he wanted very much to watch her come undone, to know that she could. That the bedroom could be a place of joy. "There she is, my lovely one. My heart."

"Very...very much so."

It takes Sansa what feels like an eternity to calm down from that exhilarating feeling and she just pets Rowan's hair and his back and everything she can reach while he's still between her legs. At a certain point, everything is too sensitive so she lightly pushes at him.

"It's too much just now," she murmurs. "Too sensitive."

He stops then, hand moving from her, face moving to kiss up along her thigh, pressing one to the dip where her hipbone juts from. He rests there, low on the bed, smiling up at her with a beatific look on his face. "Good. Well, not the too sensitive bit, but that's to be expected after an orgasm. But you enjoyed it?"

"Oh, very much so. Even afterward when it was a bit too much it still felt good," Sansa says, giving him a lazy sort of smile. She ruffles his hair a bit.

"You should take your pleasure from me now."

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