ugh

RE: Arrow's Fics

Everyone thinks that Derek Hale is the big bad wolf.

Well, technically he is, what with being the Alpha who was pretty scary even before his eyes flashed red and with the way that he seems to believe that the way to eliminate the distance between him and getting what he wants is to use Derek smash. Which technically Stiles can respect. Because he understands the importance of getting what you want but because he can’t kick through concrete he’s taught himself how to use different techniques over the years.

But still, he’s not bad. Stiles spent some time with the actual big bad wolf and he can confirm, without hesitation, that the similarities between Derek and his uncle are skin deep at best. He is reminded of this when they are together, when he scratches behind one of Derek’s ears and he makes this goofy sound before giving Stiles one of his best glares, or when Derek shows up to take him to school because he’s been complaining about how much gas the Jeep is using. Or after they fuck and Derek doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t have to because being mates means you know when the other person needs to be held.

And God that had been weird at first. Because Stiles had been trying to figure out what wanting Derek so bad even meant in terms of his sexuality (read: Lydia Martin) and Derek Hale had just been one hundred percent calm about the whole thing like he’d known it for ages and he’d just been waiting for Stiles to come around. Which is frustrating because everything would have been a lot easier if his mate had been his Sherpa up the mountain of bisexuality rather than the taunting, all-knowing monk at the top of it. But he’d made the journey all the same and the reward had been Derek and that had made everything worth it.

Stiles had learned quickly that part of being with the big bad wolf meant that everyone had expectations about your relationship. That was worth it too, but still it was a little disconcerting to have everyone up in your business constantly like ‘Does he hurt you’ and ‘is he always this angry’ or ‘do you ever get tired of how protective he is?’

Especially when, in Stiles’ opinion, Derek wasn’t the one who had a lot to feel protective about. Yes, there had been jealousy at first over how close he was with Scott but fortunately he’d finally gotten it through his thick skull that best friends didn’t mean lovers and that Stiles was just as loyal to him. And yes, it was aggravating that Derek was in the habit of paying too much attention to where Stiles was when there was danger instead of, you know, paying attention to the danger… But really, Derek Hale was Derek Hale.

His mate was an Alpha. An Alpha with perfect hair and the perfect jawline and cheekbones and muscles and yes. And even people who thought he was the big bad wolf would (reluctantly) admit that he was attractive.

So the second time that Erica kisses him, Stiles realizes that he needs to stake his claim. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Derek, or even Erica for that matter. Being mates means trusting and he does so without question. And he knows enough about werewolves to understand the difference between a real kiss and a beta testing their alpha’s limits. Still, it feels good when Derek pushes her off again and Stiles comes to the realization that no one who knew who Derek was would dare to mess with him like that.

Because even though there’s so much more to Derek, the first thing everyone thinks of is the big bad wolf and no one wants their arm broken for messing with something that doesn’t belong to them. And that bothers him, because Derek is his too. Their relationship isn’t some one-way street where he’s the helpless human who belongs to the alpha and he’ll just stand aside like he’s a passive character. Because no. That’s not what being mates means.

Stiles works on attacking this problem with his usual level of determination. Obviously, his scent isn’t enough. Because of course Derek smells like him pretty much constantly and that hasn’t been enough to give anyone pause yet. And when your lover heals faster than the goddamn Wolverine it’s not like you can leave your mark on his neck. Of course, this fact isn’t enough to keep him from trying, which is something Derek appreciates, but in the end Derek’s skin is as perfect as it always his and Stiles is left grumbling about healing rates while his mate returns the favour.

A collar is out of the question, so out of the question it had never been one in the first place, and a tattoo wouldn’t exactly get the message across unless Derek got it across his forehead and neither of them are really into that.

It has to come back to smell. Scent is technically unobtrusive, but it’s a huge thing for werewolves and even though it’s not enough right now Stiles has a feeling it could be. Because if Derek can smell things on him like arousal or sadness then part of the scent thing had to be linked to emotions. But Derek knew that he belonged to him. There was no question about that and so Stiles was left trying to think about the problem from another angle.

And then he started to wonder if maybe how he felt about Derek doesn’t have something to do with it. Because yes, he knew that Derek was his, and yes he trusted the alpha when he said that mates means they’re equals… But there’s something almost entirely unbelievable about the whole thing. It’s not a thought he entertains willingly, dwelling on the fact it didn’t made sense that an Alpha like Derek thought of him (spastic, seventeen-year-old, human and decidedly ordinary Stiles) as an equal wasn’t really his style. The thought, however, didn’t care about his style and it remained lurking in the back of his mind like some creature lying in wait to destroy his self-esteem.

So how, exactly, was he supposed to go about convincing himself that Derek Hale actually belonged to him when logically he already knew that he did?

RE: Arrow's Fics

"Don't make it harder than it needs to be, Snow."

His ex-husband always gave the best advice. For a few months they'd been married and for a few months he'd been Jon, and it seemed one privilege left as quickly as the other.

Then again, perhaps it was for the best. Angel never offered to tell who he was leaving him for, and Jon never thought to ask. That was probably for the best too. Getting Angel to trust and love him had been a long task, and after just over two years the agent couldn't help but feel stupid.

Marriage had been a band-aid, something Angel had thought would fix all the things that should have been there but weren't. And Jon had allowed his devotion to blind him. They had plowed through each roadblock and warning sign with the attitude that love would conquer all.

As it turned out, life was less a Disney movie than it was, well, life, and like many before him, Jon learned that all the love and devotion in the world wouldn't necessarily create those emotions in others.

In the end, he'd been a security blanket and a stepping stone to bigger and better things. Things that he could only assume came naturally, and weren't born out of guilt and a misconstrued sense of social responsibility.

Not that he wasn't at fault too. If he hadn't been so addicted to the thought of an all consuming love affair, he'd have seen the warning signs and put a stop to all of it before they'd both gotten hurt.

But he hadn't, and there they were. Sitting in a law office and neatly signing documents signifying the end of their relationship. For a few months, he'd had a husband and a daughter; the family he'd craved desperately as long as he could remember.

Now he only had his things left, and the apartment that he thought they would begin their life together in would be sold, the profits being spilt evenly between them. The wedding bands and family ring that Jon had worn would be returned to Angel, and Angel's engagement ring was returned to him. As Jon had owned the dog before he'd met Angel, he'd be allowed to keep him.

Assets divided, all that was left was to sign the final papers. Angel had signed easily enough, seeming to concentrate as he put his name to the documents that ended the story that had began just over two years ago, when Jon had been sent to fetch the expert that had been called in on the case he'd been working on at the time.

The agent hesitated when the papers were slid over to where he sat, and for a moment he couldn't help but stare. It seemed impossible that the end of his life could be contained in a plain blue folder, but there it was. His hand shook, and unconsciously he'd tighten his grip on the ball-point pen that had been handed to him to finish it off.

"Don't make it harder than it needs to be, Snow."

For the last time, he'd take Angel's advice.

RE: Arrow's Fics

"Where did you put the bottle of Nant when you were done with it, boy?"
"Are you sure you need to be mixing another drink now, dad?" The boy was leaning on the door jam, arms crossed and smiling as he assessed the situation.

Herc would say nothing, returning the boy’s stare with one of his own as he stumbled to the other cabinet, pushing a few empty bottles out of the way in search of the full one he knew they had. He’d had the boy fix him a drink an hour ago, and it couldn’t be gone already. Not yet.

"You know, you wouldn’t have these kinds of problems if you bothered to have someone pick up after you."

"Why don’t you do it then? I didn’t buy you to give me lip, boy."

"You like it when I do."

Half seething, Herc would round on the robot that now stood in the middle of the room, wondering how the hell something that didn’t breathe could copy every cocky smile that Chuck had ever given him. It was only then that he became blearily aware that the ‘bot hadn’t bothered to dress beyond boxers again, and for the hundredth time he’d curse himself for ignoring the ‘sexual desires’ part of the website in favour of the ‘replicate any person, living or dead’ one.

"And put some clothes on, I’ve told you not to wander around without them."

"You like that too."

"Take it back."

He’d complain day and night about the ‘bot disobeying him and ignoring direct commands because that was how it was supposed to be, and the guilt he felt about keeping a mass of circuits and silicone around that looked just like his dead son was somewhat relieved every time it told him to go to hell, but this was unacceptable. He loved Chuck. Loved him.

"No."

Without thinking, he would grab the ‘bots shoulders, forcing it to its knees. It wasn’t like the ‘bot could feel, and the old warhorse knew he’d cry for mercy before it did but all his pain and sadness told him was if he could make the ‘bot look like it was sorry then it would be, and everything would be right again.

"Take it back. Apologize to me."

He’d slammed his fists into the ‘bot’s shoulders, but he found himself neatly cut off as it leaned forwards to grab his hips and press its perfect face lovingly gently into the front of them.

It was wrong. It was entirely unacceptable but he stood there, his hands gripping all-too-realistic shoulders to keep his balance as the ‘bot undid his belt and slipped his pants down far enough so they’d drop the rest of the way on their own.

For once, Chuck’s mouth would cease its constant stream of cheek as it became otherwise occupied, and before long Herc realized that one of his hands was gripping the boy’s hair in a way he never dreamed he would.

RE: Arrow's Fics

In the morning, Chuck ends his sleep cycle in Herc's bed. This is not exactly an unusual occurrence; part of his primary function states that dad may prefer to keep him close. The part that does not align with other mornings is that Chuck is ending his sleep cycle on his own, and not having it interrupted when the old man shoves him out of the bed, grumpily reminding him that this is 'not what he bought him for'.

In short, it is the least confusing morning that Chuck has ever experienced.

In the months since the old man activated his AI, Hercules Hansen had constantly pushed him away and refused to entertain the notion that Chuck's primary function was to provide pleasure.

Desperate searches through his operator's manual and help drive revealed the same answer again and again; though a sexbot may perform any menial task requested of them, their purpose was to provide sexual pleasure and release in any requested form. And as dad had had programmed him never to initiate the initial encounter, Chuck had been left facing an almost existential crisis, which hardly seemed fair. Why had he been ordered if he was not wanted?

Rolling onto his side, Chuck would press his body tighter into the old man's, slipping an arm around him loosely while his body hummed contentedly. It would be alright now; the previous evening dad had initiated oral sequence 7a and Chuck knew he had purpose once more.

It was pleasurable to him to play back the even from his memory bank and so he did so, enjoying his receptor's input as to how it felt to have dad exposed for him, blue eyes observing intently as he eagerly began the sequence. Dad had even taken hold of his hair, and Chuck wondered if it was even possible to get as much joy from completing programming as he thought he did in that moment.

The old man had required assistance to return to his bed after, and Chuck could barely conceal his grin when he was pulled down into the bed as well. Finally. Finally.

Though Chuck could not initiate, the rules of what he was permitted to do after had been left open and it was with no small amount of his own pleasure that he found himself guiding dad's hands. There was some fumbling awkwardness in the beginning, but calling dad 'father' seemed to erase most sins. Soon enough Chuck was moaning contentedly into pillow while dad fucked him, hands pushing on his neck and back to keep him in place.

Chuck was sure that dad was satisfied by the time the old man fell to the bed beside him with a grunt, and he would happily curl into him before turning on his sleep cycle.

Though there was nothing in his help drive about reluctant owners, there was data about those who needed time to adjust and shame, so Chuck would take dad's cursing when he awoke in stride. As dad had already initiated their first encounter, Chuck found that all seduction sequences were unlocked and available to him.

"Stop your cursing, old man." The receptors in his hands almost felt like they were being overloaded as they travelled over muscle and hair in his exploration of dad's chest, and he was pleased to note a positive reaction on dad's face when he flicked his tongue over his nipple. "This is, after all, what you bought me for."

RE: Arrow's Fics

"Where's your mind, Jonnycake?"

He hadn't gone looking for Satin. God help him and keep him he hadn't. They talked from time to time, and this time when his ex invited him out for a drink Jon didn't say no. For years he'd turned his ex down, first not wanting to interfere with the perfect love he thought he'd found and then in the month following his divorce the agent had simply been too afraid to face yet another man who had ended up not wanting him. Not loving him.

In the end, Jon had simply run out of excuses. There wasn't any reason not to head down to the Thorne to talk to his ex, and Jon figured if nothing else his sorry face would at least be a reminder to the younger man that he had just been none of the things he wanted. So he took a cab from his brother's to the pub, and true to form he was early.

And true to his form, Satin was late. He came in with a flurry of snow and a smile, and he'd sit too close to Jon just like he always did. And after a few beers he found the brunette's slender fingers tapping the pale band of skin on his ring finger.

"What happened here?"

Satin's voice was gentle, and Jon tried to catch himself before he fell into the trap of depending on someone who wasn't interested.

"Divorce. First time I've had the ring off in about a year… I-"

It felt like there was so much more to say but Jon couldn't find the words for it. He'd let himself fall silent instead, gently pulling his hand away from Satin's as he held his beer eight both hands, like it was some kind of shield.

"Iggy?" Jon could hear the surprise in Satin's voice as clear as day, and he didn't have to wonder where it came from.

"No. No, Ygritte isn't in the picture. It was someone else."

"Who else would be dumb enough to marry you and then leave you?"

"Who says I got left?"

Satin was smiling again, blue eyes soft as he reached to gently take Jon's hand once more.

"Puppy, we both know you're not capable of leaving anyone."

This time, Jon wouldn't pull his hand away.

Words came easier after that, and Jon found that it was possible to talk without thinking about how nice it would be to sleep and not wake up every second minute. And after his fifth beer it seemed reasonable enough to accept Satin's invite back to his place. The last time they spoke, he'd been living in a hole near Alphabet City, and he couldn't help but be curious about the supposed Chelsea apartment.

The place was small but nice, definitely a few hundred steps up from the rathole he used to end up in after paroles. But the best thing, by far, was the view of St. Vincent's Church from the windows in the mid-rise condo.

"What can I say?" Satin's voice was light and teasing, and Jon found himself being hugged from behind as he stood at the living room windows. "Sex sells and tell alls by ex-call boys do better than most. I had to spend my entire advance on the place but once I saw the view I couldn't resist."

Jon couldn't stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth from spreading further, and for a moment all he could do was close his eyes as if that could guard against the sadness that stayed welled in his heart.

There wasn't enough left in him to resist when Satin pulled him towards the bedroom, and all he could do was let the younger man silence his protests with gentle kisses. Jon wanted him as badly as he didn't want him; he was at the point of desperation where he would give anything at all to stop feeling even half his pain.

They'd been loud when they were together before. Loud and violent and fun, a stark contrast to the quiet despair that they found each other in now. The room was lit only by the faint city light when they were done, and Jon didn't have enough left in his heart to be surprised when Satin pulled him closer. He'd bury his face in the younger man's abdomen without question, his painful need for comfort outweighing the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that Satin wasn't his Angel.

"Tell me now, Puppy." With his eyes shut, the fingers in his curls were almost familiar enough for him to find safety in, and Jon would do what he could stop his shaking when he spoke.

"I was his. I loved him with everything in me and for two years I was his. I… I was just none of the shit he wanted. And I guess… I guess he finally found someone who was and-"

There were tears in his eyes at the end, and Satin's hands were moving. Stroking through his curls and down his jaw in that simple soothing way that Jon could only guess came from years of practice.

"That's enough Jon. None of that, okay? Just breathe for me now because it's over. Nothing's going to hurt this bad ever again."

And because there was nothing else he could do, Jon would breathe.

RE: Arrow's Fics

"People would think it was wrong if they knew I was here."

"How's that, Jonny?"

The agent was laying in Satin's bed again, head in the younger man's lap as he watched the flurries of snow fall outside the apartment's window. A few weeks had passed since they had first gotten back together, and Christmas was coming close. Satin's fingers were tangled in his curls, stroking and massaging gently and Jon had been on the verge of sleep for a while.

"I just got divorced a month ago. I mean, technically I've been divorced as long as I was married. It only took a few weeks for him to realize that he didn't actually want me and to meet someone he did, but we were together for two years before that. That means something right? That we were together that long?"

"It does." The hands in his hair had stopped moving while he spoke, and he could feel the younger man now carefully detangling one. Satin would say nothing else, but after a few moments Jon could feel his fingers stroking against the stubble that lined his jaw and he'd allow his eyes to drift shut again.

"I loved him so much. I still love him. My family loved him too. Robb said he was like another brother and Bran and Rickon miss him so much. So fucking much and I do too. They'd think I was shit if they knew I was here."

"No they wouldn't, Jon." Satin's voice was gentle as it often was these days, but he couldn't read the younger man's expression from it like he usually could. "They all love you more than anyone else and none of them would think you were shit. Not for being here, not for anything."

"My dad wouldn't approve."

Satin's only response to that was a snort, it wasn't exactly a secret that Jon was a bastard lovechild, and they'd both grow silent for a while.

It was when he was close to drifting off for good that he heard the younger man speak again.

"How do you feel about it, Jonny?"

"I… I think I feel sane when you hold me. I constantly feel unloved and unwanted and alone. I feel like the world is going to fold up on me and I'm just going to be crushed and no one would care if I was but here… Here things feel quieter and more real."

"Good. I know it sounds like I'm completely insane right now but that's all that matters Jon. That's all that matters to me, that's all that should matter to you and that's all that matters to the people who love you."

"It… I think- I don't know how Angel would feel about it."

"That doesn't matter."

The choked sob that escaped his throat before Jon could stop it was embarrassing, but to his credit Satin didn't appear to pay it any mind.

"I know, Jonny. I know but it doesn't matter. I swear it doesn't. He left. I know it's the worst feeling in the world but it isn't your job to take care of him anymore. If you're okay is the only thing that matters now. I'm not asking you to agree with me or trust me or whatever but I mean it."

"I know that you can't stop thinking about him, and I wish I could promise you that you will but I can't. Maybe you'll think about him for the rest of your life. Maybe you'll let him go. Right now the future isn't the important thing. Right now the most important thing in the entire world is you feeling more okay. So if you like it here, then you stay right here, okay?"

He couldn't answer right away. The familiar feeling of the world pressing down on him was back, and Jon would simply allow himself to shake under Satin's slow moving hands until he felt some of the stress leave him.

"Okay."

RE: Arrow's Fics

I miss you so much every day it hurts. It aches and burns, but what hurts worse is the thought that comes behind every 'I miss you', the knowledge that there is nothing that I can say or do. There's no going back when you know you're wrong for someone, and they're wrong for you. There's no fixing, no changing, no moving forward. We can never be more than who we are, and yet sadly that was what the each of us needed.

So no, you never stop loving someone you once loved more than anything else in the world, but you move on. Because you have to.

RE: Snow's Fics

He had three names.

He had been called Snow when he was born because he had come to his parents in the middle of a fierce storm. Snow had always thought he would be a farmer. He had married a farmer’s daughter seventeen years and five days after he had been born. Her name had been Ygritte, and she had fire red hair and a spirit to match. They had lived in a small house on his father’s land, and Snow had continued to work his father’s fields.

Life had been simple for a year, and good. Ygritte’s belly had yet to swell, but that was not for a lack of trying. The spring after his eighteenth year, news came from the south. The Romans were invading, clearing through the larger tribes that lived in the south as if they were nothing, and moving north like an all-consuming swarm of locusts.

There was a call to fight, for all able-bodied men to come and drive the Roman invaders back. Snow went, it was his duty and he was young enough to believe those with heart could beat the large army that came.

They did not win, it was a massacre.

Snow saw the lands of his father and his father’s friends burned to the ground, scorched and salted to assure that they never had the means or the mind to rise again. He saw the eldest and the youngest members of his family slaughtered, the ones who would be too weak to survive the march back to Rome. He had watched his elder brother’s body fall on the field, and his sisters taken to be captives of the conquering generals.

But what hurt his heart the most was when his wife Ygritte was killed as if she were nothing. Her spirit was too high to allow her to bend, and though Snow had screamed for her to do as she was told, she had spat in the face of the man who had tried to overpower her, and slashed her hand down to tear at his eyes.

Snow’s scream of agony as she was run through the sword was the last sound he would make, and he was aware of little as he was pulled into formation, and he was aware of little for the next few days. He was forced to come to reality when he was pushed into a river, a man shouting crudely in his language that they should all bathe and drink, for it would be their last opportunity to do so for many days. It was there he made his vow, they might take his body, and bend it to their will, but his mind and heart would remain his own. And as long as his mind and heart were his, he’d not speak, for the mouth was a tool of the inner self.

Because of this, in the following two months it took to return to Rome, Snow became known as Ghost. He supposed his silence was unsettling, and that was the reason that they beat him with such severity. But he endured, and though he couldn’t stop the occasional cry from escaping his throat, his mouth never formed words, not even to cry for mercy.

They never hurt him too badly, and after a while Ghost understood that was because he had value. He was young, and his body was strong and unbroken. Rumors spread about being sent to the gladiator pits, but most were convinced that they would be auctioned off in private sales. After all, that was where the most money was to be made.

He had watched the moon carefully as they travelled south, and Ghost had counted two full cycles since the day that he had seen hell. He was thinner, eating wasn’t as good as it had been at this home, but he was stronger, and his muscle had grown from all of their walking. Ghost hadn’t been able to sleep much at first, his mind had filled with nightmarish images every time he closed his eyes, but after several weeks of movement his body had screamed for sleep and he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes open. Thankfully, his sheer exhaustion kept his mind clear of dreams, and slowly Ghost allowed himself to slip away from the man he used to be.

Rome was unlike anything he had ever seen. There had only been small farming settlements where he had grown up, and though he had heard tales of cities that stretched off into the horizon he had never seen one himself. They had passed through large cities on their way to the capital, and though Ghost had thought they were big, they were nothing compared to Rome.

They were not marched to the center of the city, as soon as they were inside of the walls they were lead along to buildings that were lined with cages and people. Guards began to pull people out of the line, dragging them in front of older men in crisp white togas who poked and prodded and examined. Ghost thought he should have perhaps been afraid, but how could one be afraid of this when they had been through hell?

After the man passed judgment on him, Ghost was pushed along to a cold, dank room in which they dumped water on him several times. Before he could begin to enjoy the dirt and dust of the road being washed from his body, Ghost was pushed again, and given a cloth to dry his body with and then a simple white linen that could be wrapped around his waist.

He waited in the cage for hours, pressed against the other men around him and wondering why they were made to clean themselves if they were to be made to stand and sweat in the dust of the building. He could just barely see the sun beginning to set in the sky when the guards finally came to open the doors of the cage. They were lead through corridors that he couldn’t even count and past so many people the faces blurred in his mind before having their arms tied tightly in front of them and being lead up onto a wooden stage.

The roof was open, so the natural light of the sun filtered the room, but there were many torch stands lining the stage as well, and Ghost found he didn’t have to strain to catch sight of the audience that was slowly filtering into the stone benches that lined the rest of the room. They were all dressed as Romans, in togas and sandals, but they looked much different than the guards and soldiers that he was used to seeing. There was a mix of men and women, and they ranged in age from teens to elders, and precious few looked to have the strength of, or carried themselves as, soldiers did.

Ghost stood silently, ignoring the people that came to the front of the stage to get a closer look at the men that stood there. He tried to keep his eyes focused on the back wall, allowing a quiet buzz to fill his head and push out any thoughts he had.

It was an entrance that distracted him from that task. Two guards entered first, and that caught his interest, but what captivated him was the person who entered after them, flanked by another two guards. Ghost couldn’t immediately tell if the person was a man or a woman, but he could tell that they weren’t older than sixteen summers. He thought he was perhaps dressed more finely than any of the others, in fabrics that billowed beautifully instead of hanging limply at his side. Jewelry flashed around their wrists and neck, and long brunette hair shone in the sunlight in a way that Ghost had never seen before.

His face coloured when he realized that he had been staring, and Ghost forced himself to once more fix his eyes on the back wall. The room fell silent not long after that, and soon there was a man calling out on stage in a language he didn’t understand, but recognized as being the language of the Romans. One by one, the men who had stood with him were pushed ahead, put on display, and then led away after a fierce bit of yelling.

As the sun set, Ghost was pushed ahead and he couldn’t help but let his eyes fall on the brunette that lounged on one of the front most benches. After this he would belong to someone, and he found that knowledge so incredibly strange that he could barely grasp it with his mind. Ghost allowed his arms to be raised, turning his body obediently when he was pushed to do so. He would remind himself as the shouting started that they would use his body as they willed, but his mind and heart would forever be his own.

The brunette lazily raised his hand again and again, and that filled Ghost with an emotion he couldn’t identify. As a rope with large symbols painted on it was placed around his neck, he would be led away, off the stage and to a far roomier cage than he had been in before. They didn’t need to wait as long as they had before, and before long the men were collected one by one.

He was collected by the guards who he had seen come in with the brunette, and they lead him along to the outside of the building. They were not as rough as the other guards had been, but they were quite firm. Ghost almost wanted to speak, to tell them that he had no desire to run. But even if he could break his vow, Ghost knew that the guards wouldn’t understand his language, and it was strange that that specific knowledge filled him with a sense of dread.

Outside, Ghost saw something else that he’d never seen before, and he was left wondering how many more things a person could experience in a day before their mind cried for no more. Four men almost as large as himself were carrying what looked like a cloth tent on slats, and the brunette lounged on pillows in the middle of it. Ghost was tied to the back of the tent, and the brunette shifted on the pillows so they could face one another.

Now that he was so close, he could see that the brunette was male, prettier than any man he had seen before, but a man all the same. Ghost could also see that his eyes were a piercing blue, and he stared at him so intently that the man who had once been called Snow felt small under his gaze. He was tempted to turn away, but he’d remind himself that wasn’t an option. Ghost would stand strong if nothing else.

His resolve crumbled when the younger man reached for him. Instinct that had been sharpened by the last two horrible months of his life had Ghost flinching away sharply, curling his body down and away as trembles ran down his bare back. He heard someone bark something short, and before he knew what was happening there was a hand in his dark curls, pulling his head up and holding him steady. He had no choice but to let the other touch his face then, and Ghost would shut his eyes tightly as if that would shut out his terror.

The brunette’s touch was far gentler than he had expected it would be, and Ghost could almost feel himself relaxing as he felt fingers move softly against the scruff on his jaw, moving up to stroke the deep circles under his eyes, and higher still to press against the worry winkles that had collected on his forehead. He was only aware that the hand in his hair had released him when the brunette’s hands slid down to his neck and finally moved away from his head.

They started moving then, and every time Ghost lifted his head up to look ahead of him, his eyes would almost immediately meet the brunette’s. It confused him that such an obviously important person would prefer to look at him, a slave, instead of the large city around them, but he knew it wasn’t his place to question anything. The streets were dark by the time the procession stopped moving, but Ghost noticed that torches lit the cobbled streets well enough for them to be able to see.

He almost mistook the villa they stopped in front of for another small village, the buildings and pillars rising above walls that stood taller than he did. The heavy gate opened slowly, and Ghost would have been embarrassed over how he stared with wonder, craning his head from side to side like a child if he had been aware that he was doing it. But as it was, his general exhaustion and hunger and fear were too high to allow him to be aware of much else.

In the courtyard, their procession would come to a halt, and men who Ghost assumed to be servants from their plain dress in comparison to the brunette that sat in the tent rushed forwards to help the younger man down. Once he was on his feet, he pointed towards Ghost, speaking sharply. The guards came to untie his hands from the wooden slats, but they did not fully release him, leaving his hands tied in front of him. He was lead towards the brunette, and he would smile at him warmly before wrapping one of his small hands around the rope that kept Ghost’s hands tied.

Ghost was pulled forwards, led along by the smaller brunette through many corridors and open rooms until they stopped in one with a large basin in the middle. There were many other people standing in the room, but the brunette paid little attention to them. Instead he turned to Ghost, continuing to smile as he carefully untied his hands, rubbing his much smaller ones up and down his wrists quickly to ease some of the bruising and red marks left by the rope.

The brunette spoke to him as he worked on his wrists, but Ghost understood none of it so he kept his head down. It seemed, however, that displeased the brunette, and the younger man’s hands would move upwards, tilting his head upwards so his grey eyes met the other’s piercing blues. He continued to speak, his voice changing until words came from him that Ghost recognized.

That startled him badly, and Ghost would have flinched away from the younger man again if he had not placed his hands in his thick hair. “Shh, calm yourself Northman. You’ll not be harmed here, so long as you behave correctly.” The brunette’s tone was soothing, and Ghost understood him clearly although his accent was quite thick. He would continue to hush him quietly until he stood straight once more, his eyes meeting the other’s eyes.

“Good. Now, tell me your name.” Ghost said nothing, he had not spoken in so long that speaking seemed like an impossible thing, and even if he could speak, he was determined not to break his vow. The child in front of him may own his body, but his mind and heart were still his own, and he was determined to keep it that way. The brunette waited for a while before his mouth turned into a frown, and he gripped his thick black curls tightly, giving his head a rough shake.

“Do not defy me, Northman. I will not tolerate disobedience, so if you value your life, then speak and tell me your name.” Ghost whimpered and cringed slightly, and slowly, the younger man’s expression would soften. “Can you not speak then? Well, I wish they had told us that at the auction, but no matter. No voice means that you have one less opportunity to defy me, doesn’t it? But you still need a name. Get in the bath and let us think on it.”

As the brunette went to settle on a pile of large pillows away from the edge of the bath, guards would step forwards to take away Jon’s simple linen covering and quickly help him down into the tub. Servants stepped forwards, and under the brunette’s instruction they would begin to cut his curls shorter, and shave the beard he had grown down into fine stubble.

“You will be my new bodyguard. That means that your life means nothing without mine, Northman. Do you understand this? If you fail in your duty to protect me, then you will die as well, and I think you still value your life, do you not?” The brunette paused, “Then I guess you should know my name. You don’t speak, so you’ll call me nothing, but you are to think of me as Master Satin. And you… I think we’ll call you Jon. A simple name for a simple man… Yes, it fits.”

It took time for him to remember his new name, and though for the first month Satin was quite tolerant of Jon, he told him after a few weeks he’d have to learn to speak Satin’s language. “After all, if I carry on talking to you in such a barbaric language people will talk, Northman. And we can’t have that, can we?”

RE: Snow's Fics

The weather was miserable. Summer had finally turned to fall, and the change of the seasons brought a good deal of rain. Then again, in Seattle, that was hardly unusual. However, that didn’t make the weather any less miserable for Jon, and on days like this he really started to miss New York.

But he couldn’t have stayed, there was too much guilt and pain after Ned died and Robb had asked him to take a position in Stark’s legal department. He wanted to very badly, and that was the problem. He had already been working for the DA’s office for a year when his father died, and he couldn’t move to the private sector after that. It was obvious to him that his calling was to prosecute, to serve what he saw as the greater good.

So he took the job that was clear across the country; away from the Starks, the Lannisters, and the oppressive memory of Ned’s legacy and Catelyn’s disapproving stare. It was away from his family and friends too, and that was where the only real regret came in. Seattle was lonely for Jon, even though he did make friends with some of the other ADAs in the office. He ended up getting a dog, some gigantic white mutt that followed him home after jogging one morning and never made a sound that Jon found himself getting particularly fond of.

There was a plus side, however. He had only been in the new city for a year and he was already moving up the chain, the DA had seen fit to give him his own legal assistant, to help with the legwork on his cases. This was his last interview after a week of them, though Jon didn’t see this one ending that well.

The kid claimed to be twenty-two, but Jon thought he was a good deal younger. It wasn’t his eyes; they were dark and filled with experience that made him look older than Jon. The dark-haired youth was thin and tall, and his hair actually curled in ringlets (which Jon could only assume was natural) that framed a surprisingly pretty face. He had his name listed only as ‘Satin’, and he wore dark jeans and a button-up shirt that had obviously seen better days. And to top it all off, a cursory background check had revealed that Satin had never been to college, much less graduated as a legal assistant.

But the kid was trying, and Jon didn’t have it in him to throw him out on the street. For the first time in his life he was seeing the people that were not part of the society he grew up in. Five years ago Satin would have been a one-dimensional person to Jon, just a hooker from the wrong part of town trying to pull some scam. And if he ever saw him again he wouldn’t have really seen him, Satin would have just blended into the streets like the other lost people used to.

It was his pride that impressed Jon the most; he held his chin high and never shied away from making eye contact. He stayed calm and his voice never wavered, even when it was clear that he didn’t know how to answer Jon’s questions. Snow couldn’t give him the job in the end, but he couldn’t just let him walk out either. Collecting strays was a passion of his, and something about Satin called to him.

And where would he go if Jon just let him walk away? Would the kid keep trying to get out of the life or would he just go back to Polk Street to pick up a habit, or worse, a pimp? Ned Stark’s bastard always had trouble with the concept of people surviving without his help or interference.

Jon didn’t miss the flash of distrust in the kid’s eyes when he invited him to dinner, and he shrugged off his decline of the invitation with a soft smile. “If you change your mind, I’ll be at the diner that’s two blocks south from here from five to say… Seven?”

Satin didn’t show up until seven-thirty. He approached Jon warily, like a dog that had been kicked too many times. He knew that he was being sized up, so the lawyer did his best to appear completely non-threatening.

“I thought you said you were only staying until seven.”

Jon shrugged, “Service is always slow here.” He wouldn’t say that he would have waited all night if he had to; the point was not to spook the kid. He also managed to resist the urge to order him something more substantial than the grilled cheese, and to keep his mouth shut while Satin ate. When he finished, Jon would do his best to coax some more information out of him.

“Satin, why did you apply for that job?”

“You’ve already asked me that.” His tone was calm and almost cold, and Jon knew he was being assessed once more.

“I know, but I’m not asking you as an interviewer now.”

“What are you asking me as, then?”

He would consider this for a few moments before answering with a shrug. “A concerned citizen, I guess.”

It was Satin’s turn to consider things before answering. “Why does anyone apply for a job? I need a job; I looked in the classifieds and saw that one. It looked like something I could do, so I applied.”

“I see.”

They were both quiet then; Jon sipping at his coffee while Satin traced the bottom of his own glass with one well-chewed fingernail.

“I can’t give you the legal assistant job,” his tone was entirely apologetic, “But I do want to help. Where are you living now?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose not. I live near First Hill,” Jon ignored Satin’s eye roll (First Hill was a neighborhood known for its affluence), “And I’ve been thinking of getting a… Live in assistant.” That was a lie, but if he talked his boss into giving him a raise instead of an assistant he could probably swing it. He knew how it sounded the second he said it, but he also knew that trying to explain himself would just make it sound worse.

Satin did not respond immediately, and instead chose to study Jon through narrowed eyes. He knew that the kid was trying to figure out what his angle was, but the dark-haired young lawyer didn’t really have an answer for him. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to accomplish.

------

It took a few weeks, but eventually the kid settled on the futon in his spare room. Things were going well, Satin took care of the house and dog during the day, and Jon could usually count on him to have something to eat ready when he came home. The other man also took care of the other meaningless tasks that Jon hated, like grocery shopping and going to the dry cleaners. All in all, it meant he had more time to spend at the office, and that had been the point.

Eventually he fond out more about Satin, like that the kid was barely twenty instead of twenty-two, and that he hadn’t finished high school. He had run away from his parents’ house when he was sixteen, though he refused to talk about where that had been or why he had left. The only other things he refused to discuss were his real name (he had been Satin since leaving home, and he had told Jon he could guess where he had gotten it from, which made the older man blush), and any of the specifics about why he wanted to stop whoring.

And in return, Jon did his best to answer every question Satin asked him. He told him about growing up as Ned Stark’s bastard, and in his brother Robb’s shadow. They talked about law school, and why he had decided to move out to the West Coast when Ned died.

That evening, they had talked about getting Satin his GED, and Jon was relieved to notice that some of the distrust that the younger man had used to show when Jon tried to help him was leaving. It seemed he was accepting that Jon just wanted to help, and nothing else, or so Snow thought. The lawyer also that he was successfully hiding his attraction to the other man. It didn’t bother him that he was attracted to a man (especially one as pretty as Satin), he had known for a while that he preferred men. That just wasn’t what he wanted from the kid, sex for room and board. Satin had wanted out of that life, and in Jon’s mind having a relationship with him could only be that sort of relationship.

He had gone to bed early, he had to be in court in the morning. Jon had been at the point that was half way between asleep and awake when he heard his door creak open. Bleary with sleep, he rolled over to face the door, surprised to see Satin standing there naked. Doing his best to ignore that, Jon would attempt to focus his eyes on the younger man’s.

“Hey, did you need something?”

“No.” With that, the younger man was crawling into Jon’s bed, moving under the covers and pressing his lanky body to the lawyer’s. Satin pulled his arms around his body, and before Jon could think to protest they were kissing. It was only when he felt the younger man pulling at his pajama pants that he had the presence of mind to put a stop to it.

He pulled his hands down to Satin’s, grasping them firmly before pulling them away. “Satin, no.” Jon regretted his tone the moment he heard it, it was entirely condescending, and he sounded as if he were scolding the dog.

The younger man froze, and then pulled away completely and left the room quickly. Jon couldn’t read his expression, but he could take a guess at Satin’s feelings about the manner when he heard him storm out of the house a few minutes later.

Sighing when Ghost trotted into his room to see what all the fuss had been about, Jon would hold out a hand for the mutt to lick. “You still like me, don’t you?” Ghost’s only response would be to huff once before jumping up on Jon’s bed to sleep.

------

Jon didn’t know if Satin came back home during the day over the following few days, the next time he saw him was the evening three days after the incident. He was there when Jon got home from the office, sullenly poking at pasta in the kitchen. They greeted each other as if nothing had happened, Jon didn’t really want to talk about it and he certainly didn’t want to know where the boy had gone. He had a sneaking suspicion that particular piece of information would make his skin crawl.

They continued in that stasis for a few days, tiptoeing around one another and pretending there was nothing to say. Jon didn’t mind that either, he had grown up not talking about anything in a family that didn’t talk about anything, and he found the repression oddly comforting.

It was Satin who broke it, of course. The younger man came to sit on the couch with him while he was watching the eleven o’clock news. He was quiet and still for the top two stories, but when they moved on to sports Satin moved to straddle Jon in one fluid movement, grabbing his dark hair quite firmly before kissing him. The younger man was more insistent than he had been several nights ago, his kisses were passionate and rough, and he moved his hips in Jon’s lap in a purposeful way that had the grey-eyed older man grasping at the other’s hips.

He told himself that he wanted to pull away but couldn’t, Satin was pushing him quite firmly into the back of the couch and there was nowhere for him to pull to. It wasn’t until the younger man moved back slightly so he could shove his hands up Jon’s plain black shirt that he told himself it was time to get a handle on the situation. Trying to ignore the way that Satin’s fingers and jagged nails ran up his abdomen, Jon would move his hands to the black-haired young man’s shoulders, pushing him back enough so he could speak.

“Satin, stop. I don’t want to-hngh-“ The dark haired young man cut him off with a vicious pinch to one of Jon’s nipples that had him bucking his hips involuntarily.

“Yes you do, Snow.”

But he remained strong, and kept his arms on the other’s thin shoulders. “No, I mean, you don’t want to-“

“Yes I do.” Again Satin managed to cut Jon off, this time emphasizing his point with a well-practiced roll of his hips that had the older man painfully and achingly aware that they were both very aroused.

“Gods damn you Satin, listen to me.” His voice was hoarse enough for him to be embarrassed about it, but he couldn’t let that bother him. This was so important. “We can’t. We can’t. You’re trying to get out of… I pay you to help me, and you don’t want to do that again.” It was funny how he lost his ability to form competent sentences when he was hard.

He had been expecting a negative reaction, after all the last time he had rejected Satin the other man had left his house for days… But he hadn’t expected this. The normally calm man went from zero to furious in a few seconds, his dark eyes narrowing to slits as he pulled his hands out from under Jon’s shirt.

“You… Insensitive… Asshole!” Every word was punctuated with a slam of Satin’s fists to Jon’s shoulders, and Jon could do nothing but stare up at the younger man helplessly. “What, because I used to turn tricks I can’t want to fuck someone I like? Do you know how insulting that is? I’m not some helpless… Fucking… Boy you have to save. I… Am not… Fucking… Damaged.”

Satin finished with a final furious smack before standing, and stomping off to his room. Jon thought he was being spared, and he was still trying to compose himself when Satin stormed back in, something clutched in his right hand and dark eyes flashing dangerously.

“It’s about money? Fine- Here-“ Satin had been holding folded bills, and he angrily shoved them into Jon’s hand. “Money. Now we’re even. Now you can look at me like a person and not some kind of project.” His normally pale skin was flushed with anger, and his dark eyes were glassy with tears. “Now look at me.” It was with great effort that Jon brought his eyes to meet Satin’s, but once they made contact he did not advert them.

------

The first few months of their relationship did not go smoothly. They lived together, and that did place a strain on things. But in the end it did not break them, their personalities were simply too compatible. Jon wanted the acceptance and the intimacy; he wanted these things as desperately as Satin wanted the respect, and the opportunity to be viewed as an equal rather than someone to be pitied or scorned.

And they both wanted the love. It grew between them easily, despite the fact that the ease with which it came confused (and frightened) them both. But it fit, they fit, and neither man saw any sense in attempting to fight it once they had worked out the specifics of their relationship. Jon helped Satin find a different job as a receptionist, and soon they settled into a comfortable routine.

At first they often slept apart, it was a good three months before Satin started staying in Jon’s bed when they had finished, and another before he started to move his own things into Jon’s bedroom, and it became their bedroom.

------

“Oh Gods, Jon, harder-“ They were tangled in the bed sheets, Jon on top with his arms wrapped protectively around Satin, who was dragging his nails in familiar tracks down the lawyer’s back. He wanted to comply with Satin’s demands, but he could not, it was not in his nature. Even when he was passionate Jon was a tender lover who moved slowly and with purpose.

It had surprised him that Satin was his opposite, the younger man was always quite calm and collected, and he had not heard him so much as raise his voice in anger since that argument five months ago. But in bed he was demanding and loud, and knew how to make expert use of his teeth and nails, and how to pull and pinch with his fingers just so. Not that Jon was complaining, not only did it feel unspeakably good, but it left a litany of marks along his previously flawless skin that were exciting in their own right. He couldn’t help but remember how he had gotten each of the bruises, scratches, and bite marks every time he dressed. And he couldn’t help but wonder what his colleagues would think of him if they could see the state of his skin under his expensive suits.

“Harder, fuck me faster- Please-“ His response was to nuzzle lovingly into the younger man’s neck, and that was certainly not enough for Satin, who responded by sharply tugging on Jon’s dark curls, “Gods damn you Snow, are you even listening to me?” He would give a half-hearted squeeze of the younger man’s shoulders in response, barely digging his nails in, which had his lover huffing and rolling out form under him to turn on the light on the nightstand. Because Jon hadn’t finished, he whined a little when the other left him, reaching for him only to have his hands smacked away.

They were both breathing hard, and Satin sat with his arms crossed in front of his thin chest while Jon rested his head on his boyfriend’s knee. The other man’s lightly annoyed expression did not change, even when Jon gave him his best ‘puppy dog’ look.

“Jon, I love you. I love you and I love how you are with me, but you don’t know how to fuck.”

“Yes I do.” His response was automatic, and his tone was slightly hurt, “What do you call what we’ve been doing then?”

“Making love.”

He would consider this quietly for a few moments, nuzzling into Satin’s knee before responding. “Well that’s good, isn’t it? I mean, that’s the end goal when you love someone, to make love to them.”

Jon watched Satin roll his dark eyes before reaching out to pet his dark hair affectionately. “Yes, but not every time. It gets boring when it’s the same all of the time, doesn’t it? You can be rough with me, you know. Not only will it not break me, but I like it.”

Jon muttered to himself that it wasn’t the same every time, but shut up when his lover pulled on his hair. “But what if I hurt you?” His voice was low, and betrayed a little of his concern about the matter. He was stronger than his boyfriend, and the thought of actually hurting him was enough to send a chill down his spine.

“Jesus, Jon. Then I’ll tell you to stop. I promise you won’t though, not in a way I don’t like, anyway.”

He considered this quietly for a few moments before giving in. “Fine then, Mr. Sexpert, show me how to fuck.”

With a grin that was about a mile wide, Satin would use his grip on Jon’s hair to yank him upwards, forcing him to crawl upwards on the bed between his long legs. Taking his cock in one hand, the younger man would push his lover’s head downwards with the other, moaning happily when Jon eagerly swallowed him down. His lover only released his hair when he tried to move his hands downwards, so he could stroke himself off while using his mouth on Satin.

In a move that had the younger man grinning and Jon pouting around the cock in his mouth, Satin firmly took hold of Jon’s arms, and then his hands.

“Not a chance, lover.” He’d hold the lawyer’s hands firmly while Jon continued to suck obediently, bobbing his head easily up and down Satin’s firm length. After a few moments, he would move one of Jon’s hands to his balls, and as Jon stroked them he would again feel Satin tangle his fingers in his thick hair. He would allow the other to take control of the way he moved his head then, managing not to gag as his ringlet-haired lover pushed him further and further down.

Soon the pouty look in Jon’s storm-grey eyes was replaced by one of lust, and the lewd sounds of him slurping and whimpering around the other filled the bedroom. It wasn’t long before Satin’s low moans joined the litany of noises, and soon after that his boyfriend was telling him he was going to come.

“Swallow it,” he cried out, biting his full bottom lip, “Swallow every fucking drop.”

Jon was only too happy to oblige. He’d barely had a moment to catch his breath before Satin was pulling on his hair again, wrapping his thin arms around Jon’s broad shoulders so that they could kiss. Their mouths clashed hungrily, bruising one another as their tongues danced, Jon groaning loudly with need when he tasted the lingering traces of his lover’s come mix with his saliva. Satin always tasted as sweet as he smelled.

He tried to grind his hips against the younger man’s, but was again denied by a quick movement of one of his boyfriend’s legs. Satin pushed his knee against Jon’s chest, and his foot against the older man’s hips so that he could not move against him, or into him, the way that he wanted too. Jon could feel him smile at the little noises of frustration he made, followed by a low moan when one of his toes brushed delicately against Jon’s aching cock.

They continued to kiss until Jon was desperate, pulling on Satin’s bottom lip with his teeth to signify his need. But his lover continued to tease him, running his jagged nails lightly down Jon’s back and occasionally giving his cock a teasing stroke with his toes. Finally Jon could take no more, and he grabbed roughly at Satin’s curls, yanking his head back.

“That’s enough.” His grey eyes were dark and churning with his want, and the way that Satin bit his bottom lip and dug his nails into Jon’s back when he pulled on his hair hand him understanding exactly what his boyfriend meant about wanting to be fucked. “I want you. Now.”

He moved back to settle on his knees, grabbing his lover’s thin sides firmly so he could roll him onto his front. Pulling Satin’s hips upwards so the other man settled on his knees, Jon would smack his perky ass firmly once before positioning himself behind the younger man. His boyfriend yelped but Jon thought it was fair payback, he always let Satin come when he wanted to.

There was enough lube left from earlier for him to push in, and he did so quickly, whimpering along with Satin’s moans at the rough treatment. He would tangle one of his hands in the other’s hair to pull him upwards, so his thin back rested along Jon’s strong chest. After wrapping his other arm around Satin’s chest to keep him in place, he would push their bodies forwards enough so he could grasp the headboard for support while he began to thrust in and out of his lover.

When Satin dug his nails into Jon’s arm, he rewarded him with a vicious pinch to the nipple his fingers rested against, smiling when he heard the younger man begin to whimper and beg for more. Leaning in to nip at Satin’s shoulder, Jon would then turn his head to murmur into Satin’s ear.

“Is this what you meant, darling?” He would give a particularly forceful thrust that had his lover gibbering nonsense before continuing, “Is this how you like to be fucked?”

“Oh Gods, Oh Gods Jon, yesss-“ He would interrupt Satin’s words with his own moaning as his lover began to clutch at his cock with his ass, rewarding him by again digging his nails into the younger man’s nipple. “More, don’t stop, please- Oh Gods Jon please-“

Once more, he was only too happy to fulfill his lover’s requests, and Jon continued to use him as roughly as he was able. When he knew he was getting close, Jon would shift so that he could move Satin’s arms to clutch the headboard. He would keep one arm wrapped around the other’s chest, but his other hand would reach down to take hold of Satin’s cock, which was hard and throbbing once more.

“Going to come,“ He grunted into his lover’s ear, “But not you. Don’t you dare-“

Soon after that, Jon’s orgasm overtook him, and he bit Satin’s shoulder again to muffle his screaming as he filled his lover’s ass. Panting desperately, he would pull out, ignoring Satin’s gibbering pleas to be allowed to do the same. Jon raked his teeth down the younger man’s thin back, grabbing his hips firmly. Without so much as a word, he would part his full cheeks and move his head in to lick roughly at what lay between them.

The taste of his come had him moaning right along with Satin, and Jon would work to swallow every drop his tongue could reach before beginning to bugger the other man with it. He had his lover screaming for release before Jon moved one of his hands to again grasp Satin’s cock firmly. He had barely stroked him once before Jon felt his boyfriend’s hips buck hard and his hot come filling his hand.

Wiping his hand on the sheets, Jon would tenderly kiss his way back up Satin’s thin back before taking the trembling man into his arms. They laid close together, legs entwined as they kissed slowly. He had been surprised to find a few tears staining his lover’s cheeks, and Jon wiped them away when they broke for air.

“Did I hurt you?” Jon smiled when Satin weakly smacked his back, and then nuzzled into his lover’s neck. “I love you, Satin.”

“I love you too.”

RE: Snow's Fics

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been a week since my last confession.”

Jon said nothing; he didn’t have to because he recognized the voice. You weren’t supposed to remember, but he did. The man said he was nineteen, and he claimed to work as a whore in town. For three months, he had been coming to confess every Friday evening, when the church was emptiest and Jon held private confessions. At first the young priest had tried to help the young man, asked him to come in for counseling and tried to assign penance that would help him. After a month, it had become clear that wasn’t why Satin came.

He began to tell Jon a story about a young priest he was attracted to, a young priest with dark, curly hair and grey eyes. Satin spoke about coming to mass only to watch the priest, and how he fantasized, even when he was with a client, about what it would be like to make love to him. At first Jon had tried to stop Satin from speaking about it, but the young man was persistent and soon he could do nothing but sit and listen, and try to stop his body from responding.

“I continue to sell my body to make my living… But it’s easier now that I can think of him,” Satin’s voice was smooth and wicked, but with that faux varnish of innocence that could almost make you love him. “When they hit me, or they’re rough, I can just close my eyes and think of Father Snow, and how different he would be. He’s such a passionate man in mass, but I think he’d be very tender.” He paused, and Jon could almost hear the smile that played along the whore’s lips, “Do you think he’d be tender, Father?”

Jon said nothing, balling his fists on his robe and trying to ignore the way that sweat was running down his back even though it was late November and the church ran cold. “… I guess you’re not supposed to think about that sort of thing, are you? I wonder, though. I wonder if Father Snow thinks about me. That’s wicked, isn’t it? But I know he’s seen me. When he gave mass last Sunday I felt his eyes fall on me when he held up the bread and I could tell, there was this faint glimmer of recognition…”

His neck felt tight, and unthinking, Jon reached up to tug at the white collar, the piece of cloth that was meant to remind him he was no longer part of the secular world. Satin was a good six years younger than he, and the young man should not have been able to twist him this way. But he did, and even worse, he knew what he did to Jon and seemed to enjoy it too. God help him.

“I thought about going to him after the mass.” Satin was speaking again, and Jon could do nothing but listen. “After everyone else had gone while he put away the tools of his trade. He’d take me on the altar, as tenderly as good man can-“ The whore’s narration was broken by the sound of a lighter flicking, and soon the confessional was filled with the inexplicably comforting smell of cigarette smoke. This too was something Jon had begged him not to do, but had eventually given up resisting. At least this vice calmed his nerves a little. “Right in front of God, while Jesus watched us from that cross he hangs on up high.”

Then sound of Satin exhaling loudly, and then Jon would be able to see the cigarette smoke drift through the wooden lattice that divided the rooms of the confessional, curling towards him like Satin’s voice often did when he was alone. “We’d make love facing one another, and I’d watch his doubt slowly fade from those perfect grey eyes, and be replaced by the passion he has when he speaks about God’s love.”

The other man was never more explicit with him than that, but the images of what he described came as they always did. Jon could see them on the altar, see the way the heavy cloth that sat on it bunched up under the other’s back as they moved as one. He could almost feel what Satin’s skin would be like against his arms as they held one another, and the pain of the man’s nails scraping into his back. God help them both.

Satin’s thin, pale fingers would curl through the holes of the lattice, and Jon’s eyes would be drawn to the chipped and torn black polish on the nails. “And we’d both know that God didn’t mind because God loves sinners… And Father Snow is holy enough to know how to save us both.” There was the sound of something rustling, and Jon knew that the other man was putting out his cigarette. He didn’t know how the whore did it, but he’d never found a single butt or burn in the confessional.

This was usually where Satin asked for penance, and Jon stuttered as he attempted to assign rosaries and readings. But there was only silence this time, a full five minutes of it before Satin’s fingers disappeared and there was the sound of the heavy velvet curtain being drawn back. The priest thought that perhaps he had been spared, and he sat back in his seat almost panting as he tried to collect himself.

The young priest’s relief was broken with surprise and fear when the curtain on his side of the confessional drew open, and Satin stood before him. He felt his heart might hammer out of his chest as he got his first close-up look at the one who had been torturing him so elegantly for the past three months, and his lips parted uselessly as Satin drew the curtain closed behind him.

“You… You can’t be in here.” Desperate protests from a man who already knew what was going to happen.

“Shhh…” He was more beautiful than Jon had thought another man could be, a thin face framed by messy dark hair that curled loosely to his shoulders. Satin’s blue eyes were cold and piercing, but they filled with a sort of softness when they traced over Jon’s body. The whore’s lips were as thick as his own, and Jon couldn’t stop his eyes from being drawn to them when the young man spoke.

“I’ve sinned so terribly Father, the only way for you to say me is to lay your hands upon me,” with that he was straddling the priest, and Jon would later be ashamed to admit he was shaking. “So then, see if you can drive my demons out.”

There was no time to respond, no opportunity to resist. Satin pressed his lips to Jon’s and the holy man was lost. The calm that followed in his heart reminded him of when he prayed alone in the gardens, and before long he was kissing back the best he was able. The priest’s lips would be gentle and unsure, and he would be all too willing to let the whore guide him. He was able to do little more than whimper desperately when Satin’s hips moved down into his, and Jon’s hands flew not to push the young man away, but to tug on his pants and beg for more.

Satin kept the kissing slow, even though Jon attempted to rush it with his need, trying to take more and more. Eventually, the priest would be able to move his lips the way that the other man wanted him to, and only then would he be rewarded with the feeling of Satin’s hot tongue sliding into his desperate mouth. Their tongues danced, twisting and stroking until Jon thought he would not be able to stand it anymore. Devotion and lust outweighed the doubt in his storm-grey eyes when Satin slid away from him, hands reaching for the man but not attempting to stop his movements.

“And now, I eat of the body.” He had Jon’s robes up and slacks down around his knees with a few quick and obviously practiced movements, and the priest shuddered with anticipation when the other took his hard length in his soft hands. The man’s mouth was smooth and soft, and he had some insight into where Satin had gotten his name before he was able to think nothing at all.

Instinct guided his hands to Satin’s hair, but he was too shy to pull roughly… Like he wanted to. The young man was teasing him again, but the torture was so sweet Jon would have borne it for an eternity. It seemed that would not be his fate, however, because before he could release in the way that his body was begging him to Satin’s warm mouth was gone, and replaced by the cool air of the church.

The priest moaned as loudly as he dared, eyes searching helplessly for the whore’s. No explanation was given, but there was again the sound of plastic crinkling and then the feel of something being rolled down the length of his cock. It’s a condom, the priest’s mind told him, thoughts barely able to make their way through the cloud of lust that occupied him. Jon knew what was coming then, and he almost hated the way he wished for it instead of resisting it.

Greedily, he watched the young man pull down his own pants to the knees, and Jon would have to bite the back of his hand to keep from crying out when Satin settled in his lap and pushed his body back on to Jon’s. It was good, better than he thought it would be, and his arms wrapped tightly around the other’s chest when he laid his back along Jon’s body.

The sharp tug Satin gave his hair only excited him more, and soon their lips pressed together again as the whore began to move his hips, rising and falling ever so slightly along Jon’s length. His mouth greedily swallowed every sound of pleasure the priest made, and his other hand reached for one of the holy man’s, guiding it down to his own stiff cock.

What followed was the kind of ecstasy Jon had thought would only be possible in heaven. He didn’t know how long they were lost in one another, and the priest was only vaguely aware of the feeling of Satin’s cum spilling in his hand soon after his own orgasm. They held each other tightly for a while after that, Jon’s arms tight around Satin’s chest, and Satin’s wrapped more languidly around Jon’s neck as they continued to kiss softly.

Every inch the younger man moved away from him after that was torture, because it allowed his shame and doubt to creep back in, and the priest would panic slightly as he tried to think of the best way to clear a confessional of the smell of cigarette smoke and sex.

Jon’s mind cleared again as Satin kissed him one last time after pulling his pants up. “Thank-you, Father Snow.” His voice was soft, teasing, and almost shy, and the priest knew it would haunt him until the day he died. The young man would stop after he parted the curtain again, smiling back at the man who sat still panting and trying to compose himself. “I’ll see you Sunday, at mass.”

RE: Snow's Fics

"Don't make it harder than it needs to be, Snow."

His ex-husband always gave the best advice. For a few months they'd been married and for a few months he'd been Jon, and it seemed one privilege left as quickly as the other.

Then again, perhaps it was for the best. Angel never offered to tell who he was leaving him for, and Jon never thought to ask. That was probably for the best too. Getting Angel to trust and love him had been a long task, and after just over two years the agent couldn't help but feel stupid.

Marriage had been a band-aid, something Angel had thought would fix all the things that should have been there but weren't. And Jon had allowed his devotion to blind him. They had plowed through each roadblock and warning sign with the attitude that love would conquer all.

As it turned out, life was less a Disney movie than it was, well, life, and like many before him, Jon learned that all the love and devotion in the world wouldn't necessarily create those emotions in others.

In the end, he'd been a security blanket and a stepping stone to bigger and better things. Things that he could only assume came naturally, and weren't born out of guilt and a misconstrued sense of social responsibility.

Not that he wasn't at fault too. If he hadn't been so addicted to the thought of an all consuming love affair, he'd have seen the warning signs and put a stop to all of it before they'd both gotten hurt.

But he hadn't, and there they were. Sitting in a law office and neatly signing documents signifying the end of their relationship. For a few months, he'd had a husband and a daughter; the family he'd craved desperately as long as he could remember.

Now he only had his things left, and the apartment that he thought they would begin their life together in would be sold, the profits being spilt evenly between them. The wedding bands and family ring that Jon had worn would be returned to Angel, and Angel's engagement ring was returned to him. As Jon had owned the dog before he'd met Angel, he'd be allowed to keep him.

Assets divided, all that was left was to sign the final papers. Angel had signed easily enough, seeming to concentrate as he put his name to the documents that ended the story that had began just over two years ago, when Jon had been sent to fetch the expert that had been called in on the case he'd been working on at the time.

The agent hesitated when the papers were slid over to where he sat, and for a moment he couldn't help but stare. It seemed impossible that the end of his life could be contained in a plain blue folder, but there it was. His hand shook, and unconsciously he'd tighten his grip on the ball-point pen that had been handed to him to finish it off.

"Don't make it harder than it needs to be, Snow."

For the last time, he'd take Angel's advice.

RE: Snow's Fics

"Where's your mind, Jonnycake?"

He hadn't gone looking for Satin. God help him and keep him he hadn't. They talked from time to time, and this time when his ex invited him out for a drink Jon didn't say no. For years he'd turned his ex down, first not wanting to interfere with the perfect love he thought he'd found and then in the month following his divorce the agent had simply been too afraid to face yet another man who had ended up not wanting him. Not loving him.

In the end, Jon had simply run out of excuses. There wasn't any reason not to head down to the Thorne to talk to his ex, and Jon figured if nothing else his sorry face would at least be a reminder to the younger man that he had just been none of the things he wanted. So he took a cab from his brother's to the pub, and true to form he was early.

And true to his form, Satin was late. He came in with a flurry of snow and a smile, and he'd sit too close to Jon just like he always did. And after a few beers he found the brunette's slender fingers tapping the pale band of skin on his ring finger.

"What happened here?"

Satin's voice was gentle, and Jon tried to catch himself before he fell into the trap of depending on someone who wasn't interested.

"Divorce. First time I've had the ring off in about a year… I-"

It felt like there was so much more to say but Jon couldn't find the words for it. He'd let himself fall silent instead, gently pulling his hand away from Satin's as he held his beer eight both hands, like it was some kind of shield.

"Iggy?" Jon could hear the surprise in Satin's voice as clear as day, and he didn't have to wonder where it came from.

"No. No, Ygritte isn't in the picture. It was someone else."

"Who else would be dumb enough to marry you and then leave you?"

"Who says I got left?"

Satin was smiling again, blue eyes soft as he reached to gently take Jon's hand once more.

"Puppy, we both know you're not capable of leaving anyone."

This time, Jon wouldn't pull his hand away.

Words came easier after that, and Jon found that it was possible to talk without thinking about how nice it would be to sleep and not wake up every second minute. And after his fifth beer it seemed reasonable enough to accept Satin's invite back to his place. The last time they spoke, he'd been living in a hole near Alphabet City, and he couldn't help but be curious about the supposed Chelsea apartment.

The place was small but nice, definitely a few hundred steps up from the rathole he used to end up in after paroles. But the best thing, by far, was the view of St. Vincent's Church from the windows in the mid-rise condo.

"What can I say?" Satin's voice was light and teasing, and Jon found himself being hugged from behind as he stood at the living room windows. "Sex sells and tell alls by ex-call boys do better than most. I had to spend my entire advance on the place but once I saw the view I couldn't resist."

Jon couldn't stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth from spreading further, and for a moment all he could do was close his eyes as if that could guard against the sadness that stayed welled in his heart.

There wasn't enough left in him to resist when Satin pulled him towards the bedroom, and all he could do was let the younger man silence his protests with gentle kisses. Jon wanted him as badly as he didn't want him; he was at the point of desperation where he would give anything at all to stop feeling even half his pain.

They'd been loud when they were together before. Loud and violent and fun, a stark contrast to the quiet despair that they found each other in now. The room was lit only by the faint city light when they were done, and Jon didn't have enough left in his heart to be surprised when Satin pulled him closer. He'd bury his face in the younger man's abdomen without question, his painful need for comfort outweighing the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that Satin wasn't his Angel.

"Tell me now, Puppy." With his eyes shut, the fingers in his curls were almost familiar enough for him to find safety in, and Jon would do what he could stop his shaking when he spoke.

"I was his. I loved him with everything in me and for two years I was his. I… I was just none of the shit he wanted. And I guess… I guess he finally found someone who was and-"

There were tears in his eyes at the end, and Satin's hands were moving. Stroking through his curls and down his jaw in that simple soothing way that Jon could only guess came from years of practice.

"That's enough Jon. None of that, okay? Just breathe for me now because it's over. Nothing's going to hurt this bad ever again."

And because there was nothing else he could do, Jon would breathe.

RE: Snow's Fics

"People would think it was wrong if they knew I was here."

"How's that, Jonny?"

The agent was laying in Satin's bed again, head in the younger man's lap as he watched the flurries of snow fall outside the apartment's window. A few weeks had passed since they had first gotten back together, and Christmas was coming close. Satin's fingers were tangled in his curls, stroking and massaging gently and Jon had been on the verge of sleep for a while.

"I just got divorced a month ago. I mean, technically I've been divorced as long as I was married. It only took a few weeks for him to realize that he didn't actually want me and to meet someone he did, but we were together for two years before that. That means something right? That we were together that long?"

"It does." The hands in his hair had stopped moving while he spoke, and he could feel the younger man now carefully detangling one. Satin would say nothing else, but after a few moments Jon could feel his fingers stroking against the stubble that lined his jaw and he'd allow his eyes to drift shut again.

"I loved him so much. I still love him. My family loved him too. Robb said he was like another brother and Bran and Rickon miss him so much. So fucking much and I do too. They'd think I was shit if they knew I was here."

"No they wouldn't, Jon." Satin's voice was gentle as it often was these days, but he couldn't read the younger man's expression from it like he usually could. "They all love you more than anyone else and none of them would think you were shit. Not for being here, not for anything."

"My dad wouldn't approve."

Satin's only response to that was a snort, it wasn't exactly a secret that Jon was a bastard lovechild, and they'd both grow silent for a while.

It was when he was close to drifting off for good that he heard the younger man speak again.

"How do you feel about it, Jonny?"

"I… I think I feel sane when you hold me. I constantly feel unloved and unwanted and alone. I feel like the world is going to fold up on me and I'm just going to be crushed and no one would care if I was but here… Here things feel quieter and more real."

"Good. I know it sounds like I'm completely insane right now but that's all that matters Jon. That's all that matters to me, that's all that should matter to you and that's all that matters to the people who love you."

"It… I think- I don't know how Angel would feel about it."

"That doesn't matter."

The choked sob that escaped his throat before Jon could stop it was embarrassing, but to his credit Satin didn't appear to pay it any mind.

"I know, Jonny. I know but it doesn't matter. I swear it doesn't. He left. I know it's the worst feeling in the world but it isn't your job to take care of him anymore. If you're okay is the only thing that matters now. I'm not asking you to agree with me or trust me or whatever but I mean it."

"I know that you can't stop thinking about him, and I wish I could promise you that you will but I can't. Maybe you'll think about him for the rest of your life. Maybe you'll let him go. Right now the future isn't the important thing. Right now the most important thing in the entire world is you feeling more okay. So if you like it here, then you stay right here, okay?"

He couldn't answer right away. The familiar feeling of the world pressing down on him was back, and Jon would simply allow himself to shake under Satin's slow moving hands until he felt some of the stress leave him.

"Okay."

RE: Snow's Fics

Jon Snow liked angel cake.

Satin had first discovered the pink and yellow confection in a plain white box in their fridge, which he had opened in a fit of curiosity. He had expected cannoli (the agent had a passion for the ones made in a small Italian bakery not too far from their apartment), or even possibly red velvet cupcakes from Satin’s own preferred bakery. Instead he found an incredibly spongey cake that he thought might have looked more at home at a little girl’s tea party than in two grown men’s fridge.

He couldn’t help but wonder if the other agents in the Seattle office of the FBI knew about it. It seemed ludicrous to him that such a small bit of brightly coloured cake could cause any trouble, but then again he’d never claimed to understand much about people.

One of the people he had thought he had understood was Jon. They had dated briefly in New York, a million years ago when Jon was still a beat cop and Satin had still been pushing at the fine line between ‘escort’ and ‘hooker’. He was younger than the man by a few years but Satin remembered feeling so much older when they were together. Jon was like a puppy with the way he loved too much and too fast and eagerly followed you around waiting for scraps of your affection. He had always liked Jon, but the first time around the way Jon had wanted them to be halfway to married after a few weeks had been simply to much for them and they had broken things off.

They kept in contact in the years that followed that; nothing official but every once in a while Jon would text, or he would write the agent an email and then they’d meet for coffee and catch up. At some point the previous year Jon had stopped texting, and Satin simply assumed that he’d been busy. So it was a complete surprise when he heard from him a month before they moved to Seattle together.

He still looked like a puppy when they met for coffee, but more like one that’d been kicked one too many times than the happy, hopeful thing he’d once known. Satin had assumed that it had been Ygritte at first; many of Jon Snow’s troubles seemed to trace back to the fiery red-head and she had this neat trick of understanding exactly how to make the man self-destruct.

It wasn’t until much later that he understood that it had been someone else all together, but in that moment he didn’t worry about it. Jon had wanted to tell him that he’d accepted a transfer to the Seattle office, and without really thinking about it Satin offered to go with him. It seemed to him that one could be an unemployed writer on the west coast just as well as one could on the east, and before he knew it they had their things packed in a U-Haul and they were driving across the country with the agent’s massive beast of a dog sandwiched between them.

Satin had been itching to ask exactly what it was that could make a man move clear across the country from a family that he had an almost symbiotic relationship with, but after a week or two of studying Jon he’d decided against asking about it.

And that was the point where he realized that he didn’t understand the agent as well as he once had. As oppressive as Jon’s love had been, it had been something he could understand and trace back to his home life. But this new Jon who brooded and stalked as quietly around their apartment as that damn dog of his did was an entirely different kind of beast.

He fucked Satin as well as he ever did (Gods help him, Jon had even gotten better) but there was a certain cold distance to the man that hadn’t been there before. Jon was English so naturally it was a very polite cold distance, but it was there all the same. And it left Satin wondering exactly where he stood. Sure, you could move clear across the country with a guy and let him fuck you every night until you were a screaming, gibbering wreck but the social code that everyone imposed on themselves meant that you weren’t allowed to ask about someone else’s mental anguish. No, that shit was private.

So he put the angel cake back in the fridge, where he intended to ignore it politely, as if it were some deep, terrible secret and not a bit of egg and flour that had been baked until spongey.

Their weeks spent living together weren’t easy ones, and by the third Satin was certain he would have preferred screaming fights to the silence and the way they seemed to quietly withdraw to different parts of the apartment to stare listlessly at the wall, or at one another.

But there had been progress too. Jon had started wrapping his arms around him in the night, after Satin was sure that the agent thought he was sleeping. He had come home one night with a new laptop for him to write on, and though he hadn’t actually presented it to him he had marked his name on it neatly and stuck one of those shiny red bows you could buy at the drugstore for a buck on it and left it on his half of the bed. Which was sweet, in a really repressed sort of way.

Still, the cake and everything it represented nagged at him. He could feel it sitting there, in its little white box in the fridge as if it were emitting a beacon of light. If the cake could talk (at this point he had given up trying to tell himself he wasn’t being reasonable and had instead chosen to indulge the feeling) Satin was sure it would do so very snidely. It would smirk like a first year university student who thought they understood everything about the world after one semester and ask him if this wasn’t really what he wanted. After all, he’d spent the entirety of their relationship before pushing the agent away, so shouldn’t he be pleased that the hulking giant finally knew his place? He wouldn’t even tell Jon his real name so what right did he have to know about what had happened to him in their years apart.

Twenty minutes before Jon was due home Satin finally decided he could take the bastard cake’s taunting no more. He yanked the box as violently from the fridge as one could yank a box that weighed next to nothing and he slammed the door shut as if the appliance had been a part of the whole thing.

When Jon came home, he would be greeted by the sight of the cake arranged neatly on a plate on their kitchen table. Before he could ask about it Satin would wrap his arms around the agent’s neck, burying his fingers in the man’s thick curls as he gently tugged on Jon’s hair so the man would look him in the eye.

“Hello. My name is Shane Wirth and I’d like to get to know you better.” Fuck secrets. He was ready to start writing their story.

RE: Snow's Fics

The weather was miserable. Summer had finally turned to fall, and the change of the seasons brought a good deal of rain. Then again, in Seattle, that was hardly unusual. However, that didn’t make the weather any less miserable for Jon, and on days like this he really started to miss New York.

But he couldn’t have stayed, there was too much guilt and pain after Ned died and Robb had asked him to take a position in Stark’s legal department. He wanted to very badly, and that was the problem. He had already been working for the DA’s office for a year when his father died, and he couldn’t move to the private sector after that. It was obvious to him that his calling was to prosecute, to serve what he saw as the greater good.

So he took the job that was clear across the country; away from the Starks, the Lannisters, and the oppressive memory of Ned’s legacy and Catelyn’s disapproving stare. It was away from his family and friends too, and that was where the only real regret came in. Seattle was lonely for Jon, even though he did make friends with some of the other ADAs in the office. He ended up getting a dog, some gigantic white mutt that followed him home after jogging one morning and never made a sound that Jon found himself getting particularly fond of.

There was a plus side, however. He had only been in the new city for a year and he was already moving up the chain, the DA had seen fit to give him his own legal assistant, to help with the legwork on his cases. This was his last interview after a week of them, though Jon didn’t see this one ending that well.

The kid claimed to be twenty-two, but Jon thought he was a good deal younger. It wasn’t his eyes; they were dark and filled with experience that made him look older than Jon. The dark-haired youth was thin and tall, and his hair actually curled in ringlets (which Jon could only assume was natural) that framed a surprisingly pretty face. He had his name listed only as ‘Satin’, and he wore dark jeans and a button-up shirt that had obviously seen better days. And to top it all off, a cursory background check had revealed that Satin had never been to college, much less graduated as a legal assistant.

But the kid was trying, and Jon didn’t have it in him to throw him out on the street. For the first time in his life he was seeing the people that were not part of the society he grew up in. Five years ago Satin would have been a one-dimensional person to Jon, just a hooker from the wrong part of town trying to pull some scam. And if he ever saw him again he wouldn’t have really seen him, Satin would have just blended into the streets like the other lost people used to.

It was his pride that impressed Jon the most; he held his chin high and never shied away from making eye contact. He stayed calm and his voice never wavered, even when it was clear that he didn’t know how to answer Jon’s questions. Snow couldn’t give him the job in the end, but he couldn’t just let him walk out either. Collecting strays was a passion of his, and something about Satin called to him.

And where would he go if Jon just let him walk away? Would the kid keep trying to get out of the life or would he just go back to Polk Street to pick up a habit, or worse, a pimp? Ned Stark’s bastard always had trouble with the concept of people surviving without his help or interference.

Jon didn’t miss the flash of distrust in the kid’s eyes when he invited him to dinner, and he shrugged off his decline of the invitation with a soft smile. “If you change your mind, I’ll be at the diner that’s two blocks south from here from five to say… Seven?”

Satin didn’t show up until seven-thirty. He approached Jon warily, like a dog that had been kicked too many times. He knew that he was being sized up, so the lawyer did his best to appear completely non-threatening.

“I thought you said you were only staying until seven.”

Jon shrugged, “Service is always slow here.” He wouldn’t say that he would have waited all night if he had to; the point was not to spook the kid. He also managed to resist the urge to order him something more substantial than the grilled cheese, and to keep his mouth shut while Satin ate. When he finished, Jon would do his best to coax some more information out of him.

“Satin, why did you apply for that job?”

“You’ve already asked me that.” His tone was calm and almost cold, and Jon knew he was being assessed once more.

“I know, but I’m not asking you as an interviewer now.”

“What are you asking me as, then?”

He would consider this for a few moments before answering with a shrug. “A concerned citizen, I guess.”

It was Satin’s turn to consider things before answering. “Why does anyone apply for a job? I need a job; I looked in the classifieds and saw that one. It looked like something I could do, so I applied.”

“I see.”

They were both quiet then; Jon sipping at his coffee while Satin traced the bottom of his own glass with one well-chewed fingernail.

“I can’t give you the legal assistant job,” his tone was entirely apologetic, “But I do want to help. Where are you living now?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose not. I live near First Hill,” Jon ignored Satin’s eye roll (First Hill was a neighborhood known for its affluence), “And I’ve been thinking of getting a… Live in assistant.” That was a lie, but if he talked his boss into giving him a raise instead of an assistant he could probably swing it. He knew how it sounded the second he said it, but he also knew that trying to explain himself would just make it sound worse.

Satin did not respond immediately, and instead chose to study Jon through narrowed eyes. He knew that the kid was trying to figure out what his angle was, but the dark-haired young lawyer didn’t really have an answer for him. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to accomplish.

------

It took a few weeks, but eventually the kid settled on the futon in his spare room. Things were going well, Satin took care of the house and dog during the day, and Jon could usually count on him to have something to eat ready when he came home. The other man also took care of the other meaningless tasks that Jon hated, like grocery shopping and going to the dry cleaners. All in all, it meant he had more time to spend at the office, and that had been the point.

Eventually he fond out more about Satin, like that the kid was barely twenty instead of twenty-two, and that he hadn’t finished high school. He had run away from his parents’ house when he was sixteen, though he refused to talk about where that had been or why he had left. The only other things he refused to discuss were his real name (he had been Satin since leaving home, and he had told Jon he could guess where he had gotten it from, which made the older man blush), and any of the specifics about why he wanted to stop whoring.

And in return, Jon did his best to answer every question Satin asked him. He told him about growing up as Ned Stark’s bastard, and in his brother Robb’s shadow. They talked about law school, and why he had decided to move out to the West Coast when Ned died.

That evening, they had talked about getting Satin his GED, and Jon was relieved to notice that some of the distrust that the younger man had used to show when Jon tried to help him was leaving. It seemed he was accepting that Jon just wanted to help, and nothing else, or so Snow thought. The lawyer also that he was successfully hiding his attraction to the other man. It didn’t bother him that he was attracted to a man (especially one as pretty as Satin), he had known for a while that he preferred men. That just wasn’t what he wanted from the kid, sex for room and board. Satin had wanted out of that life, and in Jon’s mind having a relationship with him could only be that sort of relationship.

He had gone to bed early, he had to be in court in the morning. Jon had been at the point that was half way between asleep and awake when he heard his door creak open. Bleary with sleep, he rolled over to face the door, surprised to see Satin standing there naked. Doing his best to ignore that, Jon would attempt to focus his eyes on the younger man’s.

“Hey, did you need something?”

“No.” With that, the younger man was crawling into Jon’s bed, moving under the covers and pressing his lanky body to the lawyer’s. Satin pulled his arms around his body, and before Jon could think to protest they were kissing. It was only when he felt the younger man pulling at his pajama pants that he had the presence of mind to put a stop to it.

He pulled his hands down to Satin’s, grasping them firmly before pulling them away. “Satin, no.” Jon regretted his tone the moment he heard it, it was entirely condescending, and he sounded as if he were scolding the dog.

The younger man froze, and then pulled away completely and left the room quickly. Jon couldn’t read his expression, but he could take a guess at Satin’s feelings about the matter when he heard him storm out of the house a few minutes later.

Sighing when Ghost trotted into his room to see what all the fuss had been about, Jon would hold out a hand for the mutt to lick. “You still like me, don’t you?” Ghost’s only response would be to huff once before jumping up on Jon’s bed to sleep.

------

Jon didn’t know if Satin came back home during the day over the following few days, the next time he saw him was the evening three days after the incident. He was there when Jon got home from the office, sullenly poking at pasta in the kitchen. They greeted each other as if nothing had happened, Jon didn’t really want to talk about it and he certainly didn’t want to know where the boy had gone. He had a sneaking suspicion that particular piece of information would make his skin crawl.

They continued in that stasis for a few days, tiptoeing around one another and pretending there was nothing to say. Jon didn’t mind that either, he had grown up not talking about anything in a family that didn’t talk about anything, and he found the repression oddly comforting.

It was Satin who broke it, of course. The younger man came to sit on the couch with him while he was watching the eleven o’clock news. He was quiet and still for the top two stories, but when they moved on to sports Satin moved to straddle Jon in one fluid movement, grabbing his dark hair quite firmly before kissing him. The younger man was more insistent than he had been several nights ago, his kisses were passionate and rough, and he moved his hips in Jon’s lap in a purposeful way that had the grey-eyed older man grasping at the other’s hips.

He told himself that he wanted to pull away but couldn’t, Satin was pushing him quite firmly into the back of the couch and there was nowhere for him to pull to. It wasn’t until the younger man moved back slightly so he could shove his hands up Jon’s plain black shirt that he told himself it was time to get a handle on the situation. Trying to ignore the way that Satin’s fingers and jagged nails ran up his abdomen, Jon would move his hands to the black-haired young man’s shoulders, pushing him back enough so he could speak.

“Satin, stop. I don’t want to-hngh-“ The dark haired young man cut him off with a vicious pinch to one of Jon’s nipples that had him bucking his hips involuntarily.

“Yes you do, Snow.”

But he remained strong, and kept his arms on the other’s thin shoulders. “No, I mean, you don’t want to-“

“Yes I do.” Again Satin managed to cut Jon off, this time emphasizing his point with a well-practiced roll of his hips that had the older man painfully and achingly aware that they were both very aroused.

“Gods damn you Satin, listen to me.” His voice was hoarse enough for him to be embarrassed about it, but he couldn’t let that bother him. This was so important. “We can’t. We can’t. You’re trying to get out of… I pay you to help me, and you don’t want to do that again.” It was funny how he lost his ability to form competent sentences when he was hard.

He had been expecting a negative reaction, after all the last time he had rejected Satin the other man had left his house for days… But he hadn’t expected this. The normally calm man went from zero to furious in a few seconds, his dark eyes narrowing to slits as he pulled his hands out from under Jon’s shirt.

“You… Insensitive… Asshole!” Every word was punctuated with a slam of Satin’s fists to Jon’s shoulders, and Jon could do nothing but stare up at the younger man helplessly. “What, because I used to turn tricks I can’t want to fuck someone I like? Do you know how insulting that is? I’m not some helpless… Fucking… Boy you have to save. I… Am not… Fucking… Damaged.”

Satin finished with a final furious smack before standing, and stomping off to his room. Jon thought he was being spared, and he was still trying to compose himself when Satin stormed back in, something clutched in his right hand and dark eyes flashing dangerously.

“It’s about money? Fine- Here-“ Satin had been holding folded bills, and he angrily shoved them into Jon’s hand. “Money. Now we’re even. Now you can look at me like a person and not some kind of project.” His normally pale skin was flushed with anger, and his dark eyes were glassy with tears. “Now look at me.” It was with great effort that Jon brought his eyes to meet Satin’s, but once they made contact he did not advert them.

------

The first few months of their relationship did not go smoothly. They lived together, and that did place a strain on things. But in the end it did not break them, their personalities were simply too compatible. Jon wanted the acceptance and the intimacy; he wanted these things as desperately as Satin wanted the respect, and the opportunity to be viewed as an equal rather than someone to be pitied or scorned.

And they both wanted the love. It grew between them easily, despite the fact that the ease with which it came confused (and frightened) them both. But it fit, they fit, and neither man saw any sense in attempting to fight it once they had worked out the specifics of their relationship. Jon helped Satin find a different job as a receptionist, and soon they settled into a comfortable routine.

At first they often slept apart, it was a good three months before Satin started staying in Jon’s bed when they had finished, and another before he started to move his own things into Jon’s bedroom, and it became their bedroom.

------

“Oh Gods, Jon, harder-“ They were tangled in the bed sheets, Jon on top with his arms wrapped protectively around Satin, who was dragging his nails in familiar tracks down the lawyer’s back. He wanted to comply with Satin’s demands, but he could not, it was not in his nature. Even when he was passionate Jon was a tender lover who moved slowly and with purpose.

It had surprised him that Satin was his opposite, the younger man was always quite calm and collected, and he had not heard him so much as raise his voice in anger since that argument five months ago. But in bed he was demanding and loud, and knew how to make expert use of his teeth and nails, and how to pull and pinch with his fingers just so. Not that Jon was complaining, not only did it feel unspeakably good, but it left a litany of marks along his previously flawless skin that were exciting in their own right. He couldn’t help but remember how he had gotten each of the bruises, scratches, and bite marks every time he dressed. And he couldn’t help but wonder what his colleagues would think of him if they could see the state of his skin under his expensive suits.

“Harder, fuck me faster- Please-“ His response was to nuzzle lovingly into the younger man’s neck, and that was certainly not enough for Satin, who responded by sharply tugging on Jon’s dark curls, “Gods damn you Snow, are you even listening to me?” He would give a half-hearted squeeze of the younger man’s shoulders in response, barely digging his nails in, which had his lover huffing and rolling out form under him to turn on the light on the nightstand. Because Jon hadn’t finished, he whined a little when the other left him, reaching for him only to have his hands smacked away.

They were both breathing hard, and Satin sat with his arms crossed in front of his thin chest while Jon rested his head on his boyfriend’s knee. The other man’s lightly annoyed expression did not change, even when Jon gave him his best ‘puppy dog’ look.

“Jon, I love you. I love you and I love how you are with me, but you don’t know how to fuck.”

“Yes I do.” His response was automatic, and his tone was slightly hurt, “What do you call what we’ve been doing then?”

“Making love.”

He would consider this quietly for a few moments, nuzzling into Satin’s knee before responding. “Well that’s good, isn’t it? I mean, that’s the end goal when you love someone, to make love to them.”

Jon watched Satin roll his dark eyes before reaching out to pet his dark hair affectionately. “Yes, but not every time. It gets boring when it’s the same all of the time, doesn’t it? You can be rough with me, you know. Not only will it not break me but I like it.”

Jon muttered to himself that it wasn’t the same every time, but shut up when his lover pulled on his hair. “But what if I hurt you?” His voice was low, and betrayed a little of his concern about the matter. He was stronger than his boyfriend, and the thought of actually hurting him was enough to send a chill down his spine.

“Jesus, Jon. Then I’ll tell you to stop. I promise you won’t though, not in a way I don’t like, anyway.”

He considered this quietly for a few moments before giving in. “Fine then, Mr. Sexpert, show me how to fuck.”

With a grin that was about a mile wide, Satin would use his grip on Jon’s hair to yank him upwards, forcing him to crawl upwards on the bed between his long legs. Taking his cock in one hand, the younger man would push his lover’s head downwards with the other, moaning happily when Jon eagerly swallowed him down. His lover only released his hair when he tried to move his hands downwards, so he could stroke himself off while using his mouth on Satin.

In a move that had the younger man grinning and Jon pouting around the cock in his mouth, Satin firmly took hold of Jon’s arms, and then his hands.

“Not a chance, lover.” He’d hold the lawyer’s hands firmly while Jon continued to suck obediently, bobbing his head easily up and down Satin’s firm length. After a few moments, he would move one of Jon’s hands to his balls, and as Jon stroked them he would again feel Satin tangle his fingers in his thick hair. He would allow the other to take control of the way he moved his head then, managing not to gag as his ringlet-haired lover pushed him further and further down.

Soon the pouty look in Jon’s storm-grey eyes was replaced by one of lust, and the lewd sounds of him slurping and whimpering around the other filled the bedroom. It wasn’t long before Satin’s low moans joined the litany of noises, and soon after that his boyfriend was telling him he was going to come.

“Swallow it,” he cried out, biting his full bottom lip, “Swallow every fucking drop.”

Jon was only too happy to oblige. He’d barely had a moment to catch his breath before Satin was pulling on his hair again, wrapping his thin arms around Jon’s broad shoulders so that they could kiss. Their mouths clashed hungrily, bruising one another as their tongues danced, Jon groaning loudly with need when he tasted the lingering traces of his lover’s come mix with his saliva. Satin always tasted as sweet as he smelled.

He tried to grind his hips against the younger man’s, but was again denied by a quick movement of one of his boyfriend’s legs. Satin pushed his knee against Jon’s chest, and his foot against the older man’s hips so that he could not move against him, or into him, the way that he wanted too. Jon could feel him smile at the little noises of frustration he made, followed by a low moan when one of his toes brushed delicately against Jon’s aching cock.

They continued to kiss until Jon was desperate, pulling on Satin’s bottom lip with his teeth to signify his need. But his lover continued to tease him, running his jagged nails lightly down Jon’s back and occasionally giving his cock a teasing stroke with his toes. Finally Jon could take no more, and he grabbed roughly at Satin’s curls, yanking his head back.

“That’s enough.” His grey eyes were dark and churning with his want, and the way that Satin bit his bottom lip and dug his nails into Jon’s back when he pulled on his hair hand Jon understanding exactly what his boyfriend meant about wanting to be fucked. “I want you. Now.”

He moved back to settle on his knees, grabbing his lover’s thin sides firmly so he could roll him onto his front. Pulling Satin’s hips upwards so the other man settled on his knees, Jon would smack his perky ass firmly once before positioning himself behind the younger man. His boyfriend yelped petulantly but Jon thought it was fair payback, he always let Satin come when he wanted to.

There was enough lube left from earlier for him to push in, and he did so quickly, whimpering along with Satin’s moans at the rough treatment. He would tangle one of his hands in the other’s hair to pull him upwards, so his thin back rested along Jon’s strong chest. After wrapping his other arm around Satin’s chest to keep him in place, he would push their bodies forwards enough so he could grasp the headboard for support while he began to thrust in and out of his lover.

When Satin dug his nails into Jon’s arm, he rewarded him with a vicious pinch to the nipple his fingers rested against, smiling when he heard the younger man begin to whimper and beg for more. Leaning in to nip at Satin’s shoulder, Jon would then turn his head to murmur into Satin’s ear.

“Is this what you meant, darling?” He would give a particularly forceful thrust that had his lover gibbering nonsense before continuing, “Is this how you like to be fucked?”

“Oh Gods, Oh Gods Jon, yesss-“ He would interrupt Satin’s words with his own moaning as his lover began to clutch at his cock with his ass, rewarding him by again digging his nails into the younger man’s nipple. “More, don’t stop, please- Oh Gods Jon please-“

Once more, he was only too happy to fulfill his lover’s requests, and Jon continued to use him as roughly as he was able. When he knew he was getting close, Jon would shift so that he could move Satin’s arms to clutch the headboard. He would keep one arm wrapped around the other’s chest, but his other hand would reach down to take hold of Satin’s cock, which was hard and throbbing once more.

“Going to come,“ He grunted into his lover’s ear, “But not you. Don’t you dare-“

Soon after that, Jon’s orgasm overtook him, and he bit Satin’s shoulder again to muffle his screaming as he filled his lover’s ass. Panting desperately, he would pull out, ignoring Satin’s gibbering pleas to be allowed to do the same. Jon raked his teeth down the younger man’s thin back, grabbing his hips firmly. Without so much as a word, he would part his full cheeks and move his head in to lick roughly at what lay between them.

The taste of his come had him moaning right along with Satin, and Jon would work to swallow every drop his tongue could reach before beginning to bugger the other man with it. He had his lover screaming for release before Jon moved one of his hands to again grasp Satin’s cock firmly. He had barely stroked him once before Jon felt his boyfriend’s hips buck hard and his hot come filling his hand.

Wiping his hand on the sheets, Jon would tenderly kiss his way back up Satin’s thin back before taking the trembling man into his arms. They laid close together, legs entwined as they kissed slowly. He had been surprised to find a few tears staining his lover’s cheeks, and Jon wiped them away when they broke for air.

“Did I hurt you?” Jon smiled when Satin weakly smacked his back, and then nuzzled into his lover’s neck. “I love you, Satin.”

“I love you too.”

RE: Snow's Fics

Herc is trying to write a report when Yancy Becket wanders into his office during the cadet’s downtime. He and his brother Raleigh recently began training with the other recruits under his and Stacker’s program, and they were as of yet the only americans.

"I’m bored."

He doesn’t bother to look up, after raising Chuck Herc is very far from strangers with the concept of teenagers who are too smart for their own good and who enjoy testing others as a form of entertainment.

"Where is your brother?"

"Making out with Mako."

"So instead of attempting to make other friends, cadet, you look to a superior officer to… What? Provide day-care services?"

"Oh, so that’s not what we’re doing here?"

The Jaeger Program is as of yet firmly under wraps, and the amount of information given to cadets about what they’re training for is still being limited. Still, Yancy’s sarcasm is enough to have Herc giving him a look that shuts most of the other young recruits up and settles them down. Not Chuck, of course. And now apparently not Yancy either as the kid was smiling like a motherfucker and not cowering appropriately. He wondered if Stacker ever had these sorts of problems.

"You haven’t answered my question, cadet."

"We could make out." Yancy’s head was tilted, and the teen still had that cocky smile in place.

"Shut the door, cadet."

"Why? Are you going to kiss me or yell at me?"

"I will do neither with the door open Becket, so you can either leave my office or shut the door and find out for yourself."

At first it seems that Yancy would do nothing but sit and study him, and so Herc would return to his report without a second thought. In truth, he doesn’t mind if the the kid stays, as long as he is quiet. After a few moments however, it seemed the elder Becket decided to roll the dice and Herc could hear the chair he sat in scrape against the floor as he stood and walked to the door, both shutting it and locking it. Herc would count the beats as he waited for Yancy to either return or unlock the door and leave, and he is only half surprised when the teen makes his way back to stand in front of his desk. Yancy did not sit again, and eventually Herc looked up at him.

There was silence as they both studied one another, and when he decided that Yancy had decided he was serious about his offer, Herc would push back in his chair.

"Do you expect a superior officer to stand and come to you, Becket?"

"Oh, so you’re not one of those ‘let me make you feel special’ older guys?"

That time, Herc’s look had some of the desired effect, and Yancy would make his way around the desk. The teen would place his hands on the arms of his chair, but Herc would enjoy his small noise of surprised when he pulled him down into his lap instead. They kissed hard, testing each other for limits until the sound of keys in the doorknob startled them both apart.

Chuck would fix his father and the new recruit with a sarcastic sort of smile.

"Really old man? In your office?"

RE: Snow's Fics

(( Seth as always appears courtesy of Nov (November Bleeds), who I thank for their patience and kindness as I assume everything I write is terribad ))



"Don? I'm sihg."

Smiling softly, Jon would turn to the teen that had been asleep in bed beside him, curled up against his chest and snuggled under his arm as Jon sat with his back against the headboard. The dog was sleeping across Seth's feet to help keep him warm, and the englishman had insisted on bundling up his lover in one of his own sweaters and sweatpants. It was the first time the teen had woken up in a few hours, and Jon would turn the hockey game he'd been watching to pass the time off. He'd brush some of Seth's red-tipped hair out of his green eyes, stopping to feel his forehead. It seemed his fever was going down, but clearly the younger man wasn't entirely over his flu. Jon would kiss Seth's forehead gently before answering him.

"Yes you are, Monkey. Luckily you're also dating a doctor."

"A psychiadriss."

"True, but they make all of us take 'Taking Care Of Sick Boyfriends 101' before they hand over the medical degree."

Seth would give him a look that seemed to say he'd be snorting if his sinuses weren't otherwise occupied, and Jon couldn't help but smile again and kiss his baby's nose gently. "If I warm up some soup, will you try to eat?"

With his younger lover's consent, Jon would slip out of bed and head down the steps to the kitchen. When Seth had started to get sick, he'd gone out and stocked up on a bunch of local soups. Picking out a spicy chicken soup full of vegetables and beans that he hoped would help his baby feel better, Jon would heat it and place it on a tray along with some crackers and orange juice and a few vitamin c tablets. It seemed that the teen had dozed off a little while he was gone, but a few soft kisses and gentle words had the younger man up enough to eat. He was overwhelmingly tempted to feed Seth himself but Jon managed to restrain himself.

There was so much about his boyfriend that had him wanting to do everything for him; and it seemed like Jon was constantly reminding himself that he made decisions with his partner, not for him. He'd done that once and it had ended disastrously. The younger man had thought he was trying to send him away, and Jon didn't know if he'd ever be able to wipe the memory of Seth's hurt expression away. His younger lover had forgiven him, and Seth's wonderful love and acceptance meant that he was starting to forgive himself as well.

For years it was as though the englishman had denied that he had any emotions, and now that being with Seth had woken up his heart again some days it was like he felt entirely too much. There were so many negative emotions and memories to be had; but being with the young man with the red and black hair who'd wrapped him around his little finger chased them away with his presence, and began to heal the broken parts that Jon denied he had inside of him by holding him. He'd fallen in love quicker than he'd meant to, despite his promises about slow steps, but that no longer seemed to matter. Both of them needed each other, and Jon was finding it was impossible to deny the teen anything.

Soup mostly finished, Jon would coax Seth into taking the vitamins as well before pulling his lover back into his arms. The teen made some fuss about going into work, and Jon would remind him that he'd called them both in sick for the time being. "No use in stressing yourself out, Monkey. I love you. Get some sleep, okay?"

He'd hear the teen's quiet 'I love you' in return, and Jon couldn't remember ever feeling so content.

RE: Snow's Fics

The thing about divorce seemed to be that everyone gave you a free license to be a shit.

It was April, four months after the safe little world Jon had built for himself had ended and nothing seemed to matter much anymore. He still went to work, did his job with the sort of robotic precision that his superiors expected of him, closing cases without allowing himself to get emotionally involved… But it no longer held for him the level of excitement or satisfaction that it had before.

Somewhere down the line, it seemed he'd moved in with Satin. Jon still had a good deal of shit in storage, and most of his things were left in the spare room of his brother Robb's house, but he was there most nights and so was the dog, so he guessed that counted. He'd taken up smoking again too, a habit he hadn't indulged with regularity since college, but it seemed to matter little. Satin didn't mind it, even in the apartment, so it became a convenient little indulgence of an addiction. Light up, inhale, stress gone.

When gay marriage had become legal in New York, pundits had joked that it was the first gay divorce that should really be watched for, and Jon couldn't help but wonder if that had been him. He was certainly playing into the stereotype; smoking, moving in with his ex (an ex-whore as well, no less), and giving less and less of a shit about being alive by the day. Look ma, I'm a stereotype. Bit of a useless observation, as he hadn't the faintest idea of who his mother was but there you go. Everyone had their problems.

Satin didn't pay him much mind, and Jon liked it better that way. He knew it was fucked; the fact that they acted like barely acquainted roommates and then slept in the same bed nightly, that Satin allowed himself to indulge in progressively frantic and violent sex, and that the other man still stroked his curls when he cried and offered up pearls of wisdom no doubt developed by years of listening to men just like him spill their guts after sex, when everything felt a little safer and warmer.

Still, he was a greedy sort of monster and he'd take the comfort that Satin had to offer him, collecting each word and touch and storing them away as if they could be used as a battlement against the useless sadness and anger that raged through his insides daily. He'd done nothing but give, give and try and beg and it had never been enough. Then again, if your own father didn't want you, you couldn't really go around expecting anyone else to.

Fuck it. Reaching for the package of cigarettes now kept on the nightstand on the side of the bed he usually slept on, Jon would realize that this train of thought brought him to another troubling little fact. What did Satin want with him? The man was patient, kind, open, and beautiful enough to be chased. He was also making a decent bit of money from his book sales, and though he went away often for readings and signings, he always took care to call Jon before turning in for the night. The conversations were short, usually nothing more than Satin asking him if he was doing alright and Jon lying and saying yes (because he couldn't stand the humiliation of confessing no over the phone), and yet Satin never missed a night. So what was that then, if the extent of their relationship seemed to be a shared grocery bill and comfortfucks that ranged over into the domination and submission category?

Lighting one, he'd toss the pack back along with the lighter, sitting up so that he could ash into the glass of water he'd brought to bed. Satin was away, Pennsylvania this week on a five city tour, and the dog was taking up his space on the bed. The call had happened earlier, same as always, and Jon would mull it over as he reached to pat Ghost's side gently. He felt the same guilt he always did about using the man who'd invited him back into his life… But not enough to leave. No, as long as there was comfort to be had and the faint notion that Satin wanted him just a little bit, the monster would stay. It was the same shit he'd always been desperate for; attention, affection and that safe little feeling of being desired.

And, as always, Jon would promise himself that they'd talk about it when Satin got home, knowing full well that he'd be too scared to bring it up when the opportunity arose. After all, he'd be drawing attention to the fact that he wasn't really wanted or needed, which left him open to being left again… And he couldn't have that, could he?