Chapter Text
“Jon! Jon! Over here!”
“Jon, we love you!”
“Lord Commander! Look this way!”
The sounds of people screaming his name as he left the awards show afterparty were annoying buzzes in his ear, especially after several whiskeys– and maybe a hit of something else, he wasn’t sure what he’d taken– although it didn’t make it less loud. If anything the buzzes seemed magnified tonight. Jon blinked against the camera flashes, a horde of paparazzi on the street, just beside the roped off crowd of fangirls and professional autograph chasers.
Normally he’d just wave, maybe even smile– most likely not now because he was so buzzed– carrying on with his plan to get from the club to the waiting black SUV which would whisk him back to his suite at The Sunspear, which was the toniest and fanciest of the hotels in Sunspear, Dorne. He only showed up in Dorne when he was meeting with executives, filming if necessary, or forced to attend these events, whether they be networking or awards shows.
He was in town for the Golden Kingdom awards, putting in his contractual appearance as one of the “ensemble” of The Steel Throne cable fantasy series. He was nominated this time around, for the final season, and he had no idea why. His role had been reduced to nothing more than window dressing and he had only a handful of lines he mostly delivered in a flat wooden voice because he really couldn’t be bothered to put in anything else. It really was his last bit of “fuck you” to the writers and producers who had destroyed a character he’d come to consider a part of himself.
And somehow he got a nomination for an award. He was crossing his fingers that he’d lose and thank the gods he did. He wasn’t even at hsi table when they called his category, he needed a smoke break.
As always happened when he left clubs and his publicist– shitty little cretin Tyrion Lannister– called ahead for photographers and tipped off Instagram celebrity spotting pages, he was swarmed. He paused as the SUV pulled up to take him away, lighting a cigarette. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and took pity on several of the people calling his name, because they looked young and naive enough to think he deserved to be famous.
Plus they didn’t have the look of girls who wanted to come home with him, which was nice. He ignored Tyrion, who was tugging on his arm to drag him back, and waved at his “date” to the awards and the parties, his beastly friend Tormund who was leering at some of the poor girls, and approached the line.
He stuck his lit cigarette in his mouth when he got to the line, randomly scribbling his name on shirtless pictures of him from his modeling days or promo shots of him as Lord Commander Cregan Snow. He would have preferred it if someone had brought up the cartoon character of the same name. He was gunning to voice that dude in the animated movie he’d heard was in production, but seemed his agent Davos wasn’t keen on him attaching his name to a children’s fantasy series.
“You don’t have the greatest of reputations, son.“
It was all a matter of perception, he thought, and somehow he’d fooled even Davos.
As he scribbled his name on one last photo of his shirtless, oiled up body from a blockbuster he’d done in his early acting days, turning his face briefly to blow smoke away from the crowd, he caught sight of a woman with curly dark pink hair.
Pink. That was a new color, one he hadn’t seen before. He ignored the screams of the girls; at least two shoved their numbers into his hand, which was still outstretched for another photo to sign. He scribbled something akin to his name on this one and waved, stepping backwards from the throng of fans. He sucked on the cigarette a moment, his gray eyes sweeping the crowd again, until he spotted her again.
The pink haired woman blinked at him, cocking her head and coyly pointed her finger at herself. She smiled, long and slow, and he noted that her eyes were a curious coloring. She had one green eye and one blue. He had never seen that before either. He blew out more smoke, licking his lips and flicked ash off his cigarette, his gaze never wavering from her.
She had on a deep pink halter top with a pair of barely there black shorts she’d put on over black tights, a pair of heavy platform black boots, and a black leather jacket. The shirt was cut, jagged, giving a glimpse of her taut midriff. The dark hair with pink streaks was wavy around her face and scattered with tiny braids.
He didn’t blink and pointed at her, before gesturing towards the car. She giggled and pointed to herself, mouthing “Me?”
“You,” he mouthed back. He turned, not waiting, and went to the waiting car. Davos was standing there, already on his phone. “She’s with me,” he said, before Davos could stop security from keeping the woman from going to the SUV.
Davos sighed and said nothing. He shoved his phone in his jacket pocket and turned without a word, going off to his car.
Jon climbed into the SUV after the woman, ignoring the sobs of his name from the dejected crowd. He slammed the door shut and turned to her, taking her in again, this time face-to-face. She had pale skin, her cheeks flushed pink, and there was a tattoo creeping out from the top of her shorts. “Wow,” she giggled. “This is really insane! Jon Snow!”
“That’s me.”
“Sooooo dreamy,” she giggled, leaning against him. She licked her lips and her tongue wagged, a pink stone in the center of it. He twitched in place, already growing hard at the prospects of what that little tongue and stone could do when placed in certain areas. She dragged a pink fingernail on his collarbone, dragging it over his exposed chest. “You’re shorter in real life.”
He smirked. “Not the best way to start off a convo, babe.”
“Babe?” She wrinkled her pert nose. “Not a fan of that.”
“Sweetie?”
“Ew.”
He reached behind her head and tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her against his chest and rubbing his lips over hers. “How about your name?”
“It’s…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Whatever you want it to be.”
He laughed. That was new too. “You’re usually better prepared. Pink, huh?”
“THought I’d try something new.” She straddled his hips, pushing his shoulders into the buttery leather seat behind him. Her hips swiveled against his and he groaned, unable to stop his hands from finding her hips,pulling her closer. She pressed a kiss to his mouth, hot and open, before jerking back and gagging. “Disgusting.” She swatted his chest. “No fucking smoking!”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s a stress reliever!”
“I thought I was your stress reliever.”
“You tend to give me more stress.”
She pulled a mint out of her pocket, popping it into his mouth. He crunched hard on it and swallowed quickly, eager to get back to her, but they were already at the hotel. Fuck, he thought, glancing between them at the heavy bulge in the front of his pants. She smirked again, tapping his nose. “Ill walk in front of you.”
“Much obliged.”
They exited the SUV, thankfully only a couple of photogs across the street who snapped some what he knew would be blurry unidentifiable photos— he’d gotten good at this in the last decade— of the two of them hurrying into the hotel.
He selected this hotel because it was discreet, which was very needed given his ah… proclivities. Or what the world thought were his proclivities. He jabbed the elevator button, his nose in line with the top of her pink hair. He inhaled deeply, sighing out the exhale. “You smell like peaches.”
“It’s the shampoo.”
“I like it.”
The doors dinged open and they stumbled in, barely waiting for them to close before he had her pressed up against the back, her surprised gasp caught in his mouth as he kissed her. He noted that she even tasted like peaches. Or he could have been making that up between the booze making it’s way through his system.
She hiked her leg around his hip and he dove his fingers down to unzip her shorts, finding that her tights were actually stockings, the garter hidden. “Oh seven hells,” he groaned, feeling her desire already seeping against his fingers, hot and slippery. She was starkers too, which caused his cock to twitch in his pants. “You’re all ready.”
She choked out a throaty laugh. “You know what I like.”
“Gods, I can’t wait…” He turned to hit the stop button but it was too late, the doors already opened onto the penthouse floor. He fumbled in his pocket for his key card, tripping out and down the hall to his room.
She was behind him, sucking on his earlobe while he tried to swipe the key. Her hands were in his pants, fast and warm, the first touch of her fingers around his cock almost causing him to explode right there. He growled. “Fuck!”
The door burst open and they fell into the room. He tripped on his pants, already at his knees courtesy of her stealthy moves. He ripped off her jacket and yanked at the halter, the fabric falling forward and exposing her perfect breasts to his hungry eyes. And mouth.
He eagerly kissed her, hands grasping the soft globes, squeezing and flicking at her nipples, furling them into tight pink buds against his fingertips. “You’re gorgeous,” he mumbled, pressing her to the wall near the suite’s bedroom. They were definitely not going to make it there.
“Full of compliments, aren’t you?” She gasped, his lips folding over one nipple, his fingers tweaking the other. One of her hands tangled in his hair and the other was between them, pumping his cock. “Seven hells Jon. Fuck me.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
With one fast drop to his knees to swipe his tongue on her slit, teasing at her little clit and dipping his fingers in to test her readiness, he was satisfied. Her nails dug into his shoulders, tearing at his jacket and dress shirt. He struggled to get them off, buttons flying in all directions when they finally gave up and just tore the damn thing.
The designer would have to understand. It was a life or death situation at this point. She scattered kisses along his collarbone while he shoved his briefs down and kicked them off, her legs up over his elbows, her abs flexing as he pressed her harder against the wall, searching for her lips.
He had no idea at what point she’d taken off her shorts, but they were gone, only her stockings and garters on. He slid against her, the head of his cock bumping her clit. “Oh fuck,” she groaned, hitting her head against the wall. “So good…who knew?”
Jon tangled his tongue with hers, tilting her hips so he could line up and a second later, punch his hips up, cock sliding into her plush, molton heat. His eyes rolled back in his head, her body squeezing around him, pulsing and tight. “Shit,” he mumbled, forehead touching hers. He let go of one leg, his hand cupping hee face, rough fingertips scratching against her soft cheek. “I think we can give up the act.”
She laughed, her tongue barbell tapping his lower lip. “Not yet. Show me your talents Jon Snow. I’ve always wanted to know.” She gasped, eyes slamming shut when he thrust back, almost pulling out before he bottomed out into her in a hard, powerful thrust.
They said no more, just curses and shouts of Valyrian from her and gasping grunts from him as he fucked her hard against the wall. Her nails ripped at his hair with one hand and held her leg up with the other as he pressed his thumb between them against her clit, just when he knew she was about the topple over the cliff.
She screamed, coming so hard around him she triggered his release, his heart stopping as he shuddered around her, clutching her limp body to keep from dropping her. He came and came, seeing stars as he emptied himself into her. “Fuck,” she sighed, after he finally finished, his breath ragged gasps into her throat.
They slid down the wall onto the cool floor, a heap of clothes, sweaty limbs, and sex. He kept his eyes shut a moment, trying to return to his body. She kissed him and patted his cheek. “I’ll show myself out.”
He weakly reached for her, but she was gone in a flash, clothing on and door shut after her. “Fuck,” he mumbled, scrubbing his face. He stood slowly, his mind foggy. He blinked a few times to right himself and went to the bathroom to clean up.
A piss and hot shower later, he was walking out of the bathroom to collapse into bed, when he heard the TV going in the bedroom. He chuckled, scrubbing a towel through his hair, another tied around his waist. Jon padded into the bedroom, in time to see his ex-wife shrieking at something.
It was on the television but still made his balls shrivel up inside of him. “What the fuck is this?” he demanded, tossing the towel aside.
His girlfriend of almost a year, Westeros’s Sweetheart and all around good girl Daenerys Targaryen, who no one would ever have pinned as his one and only, the love of his life, and the only woman he had been with in at least two years since he divorced said ex-wife. She was curled on the massive bed in a t-shirt with his character’s face on it, slurping an ice cream sundae.
She smiled innocently around her spoon. “I can’t help it, I like watching shitty television.”
“Can we not watch her show? It’s horrible.”
“I like it! It’s good bad tv.” She tucked a faded pink strand of hair behind her ear, patting the space beside her. “Come on, let’s have a game. Whenever she makes a constipated face or the story makes no sense, we’ll drink.”
“We will be drunk in ten seconds.” He climbed into the bed anyway, dragging her over to him and allowed her to feed him bites of ice cream before he could stand no more of his ex’s face, even if it was TV. “This is too much I’m changing the channel!”
Dany whined, trying to grab the remote. “Oh come on!”
Jon flicked the channel in time to see her face take up the screen. He grinned. “Ah, now it’s your stuff.” He wagged his tongue at her and wiggled his brows “I hope it’s that Hallmark movie you did when you were sixteen, with the ducks.”
She groaned. “No! Anything but that I hated those ducks.” She stuck her tongue out and then shook her head, glancing at the TV and laughed. “No, not that, it’s a post awards show gossip fest.”
They watched for a few minutes— she had been declared one of the best dressed for her red plunging neckline dress which they all declared was Daenerys “stepping out of her good girl shell.”
“If only they knew you dressed up as different women and pretend to be a fan girl,” he mused. It was a kink they’d discovered on accident, but one they loved to indulge in, especially Dany. It worked for them both. She could exercise her inner bad girl and he got to look like the whorish bad boy that had made him famous.
Too bad no one knew he’d rather spend his nights in bed eating ice cream with her watching bad TV. He was the opposite of a whore, but hey, it made him famous. He was just sick of it. “What are you thinking about,” she mused, tapping the frown between his brows. “What’s this here?”
He shrugged. “Guess I’m tired of being Man Whore Jon.”
“Jack.”
“Huh?”
“Online they call you Jack. It’s your whore alter ego.” She nipped his bottom lip and reached for her phone, bringing up a blog. “See?”
“Get off the internet Dany it will ruin your brain.”
“Oh shit.”
“Huh?” He was looking at his phone now, Davos sending a few messages they had to talk about revamping his image.
She shoved her phone under his nose. It was a gossip Ravengram, @Lantaissa. People dropped celebrity sightings there and send in blinds. He peered at it, squinting since he’d taken out his contacts in the shower. “What’s it say?”
“Anon please! I have MAJOR NEWS. I JUST saw Lord Commander Jon Snow and goodie two shoes Daenerys Targaryen at the Sunspear Tower. She had pink hair but it was DEF her and they were getting in the elevator together and were super handsy!”
Dany groaned. “Ugh this is NOT how I wanted us to get out!” It could work though, he thought. They’d have to figure it out with the PR teams but it could work. He took the phone from her and tapped on the submit button. “What are you doing?” she demanded. She leaned over his shoulder, chuckling after a moment. “Oh Jon Snow, you crafty little wolf.”
Using a fake email he’d had set up for exactly these PR purposes, because Tyrion had made him, he submitted the “anon please” and then using his phone, texted Davos to tell Tyrion that his image control would be handled.
After a few minutes, he frowned again and looked up at her. She was staring at the TV, her blue and green contacts out. He flicked one of the pink curls. “You sure you want to tie yourself to me?” he wondered. “I don’t have the best rep. Not like I planned it that way.”
“Jon I love you, I don’t care.” She kissed him softly, smiling and arched a brow. “I just open us being a public thing soon enough won’t upset our little rendezvous.”
He laughed. They’d snuck around like this for this long. “You might have to upgrade to some elaborate wigs instead of hair coloring.”
“I have a whole closet full.”
“Also you didn’t have a name picked out tonight, threw me off guard.”
“I was in a hurry to get out of that loaned awards dress and into my costume.”
He smiled, pulling her down for a quick kiss. He sighed. “I love you Dany.”
“Your lady of the night,” she teased. “Is that what they call the girls lucky enough to fuck Jon Snow?“
“You tell me, you’re the only one lucky enough for that.”
She giggled and pulled him up over her, sighing happily as he kissed down her neck. “Hmm, yes, lucky me.”
Fin.