some nights i always win
asoiaf/game of thrones PWP: dany/robb/jon

 written for this

if her brother had ever taken the iron throne, dany expects he would 
have taken her for his bride and had every member of every rival 
house with more than a dozen knights or a few pounds of gold to 
their name executed.
as it is, she's on the throne now, three full-grown dragons her only 
children and no husband to warm her bed and hear her troubles in 
the night.
so she summons the young wolf and his brother the bastard from 
the oft-cursed north to her court. not exactly in secret, but not 
proudly either. she has them placed in a room in one of the towers 
and leaves them there for a day or two with ample food and other 
amenities to let them be reacquainted. she knows that if there were 
any family left for her to be reunited with she would appreciate the 
time alone.
when she enters the chamber, though, they seem more wary than 
grateful. nonetheless she is the queen and so when she directs 
them to quit their shirts and breeches they oblige with little care for 
modesty. dany examines them with interest. they are nowhere near 
the size and prowess of her drogo, but she must acknowledge that 
that strength and comfort shall never return. like her, they are no 
longer in the prime of youth, but old age has not yet stripped the 
essential vitality from the muscles rippling under the pale skin. she 
sees that they have availed themselves of the water and razors left 
in the room, though, as their cheeks are as smooth as her own. 
only half brothers, but they still favor each other, all messy curls 
and furrowed brows. she wonders if that's the face of the infamous 
ned stark showing. 
before her poised restraint starts to look like hesitation, dany steps 
forward till the bastard's chest is just inches away. she has to tilt 
her head up a fair distance to make her mouth reach his. she asks 
for something, not knowing what, with her mouth, and he complies. 
his kiss is tenderness and a sadness that mirrors hers and also a 
little steel underneath. without realizing her hand reaches out and 
the young wolf takes it and squeezes, and here they are, not just 
strangers but enemies, but his chest is at her back now and his 
hands on her hips and it's such a relief to finally feel contained.
she was only wearing a nightgown when she came in, shedding 
her robe in the doorway. it's more of a shift really, linen or 
something else flimsy, and the wolf's determined hand has it out of 
the way in a moment, his hand just resting over her cunt, not 
stroking or entering, just holding her, and the bastard is still kissing 
her, biting at her lips and sucking her tongue, and now there's a 
mouth at her neck and hands stroking through her long hair and 
she's grinding down into robb stark's palm. 
the bastard, snow, pulls back then and looks into her eyes, and 
something in the darkness she looks back into is a warmth that 
belies what common wisdom would say about cold, gruff, 
musicless northerners, this one who calls the iciness beyond the 
wall home, and his brother, the fallen lord of winterfell. but for all that 
there's something more like fire in the civilized bearage of these 
lords' sons than in all the fury and rage of the targaryen house. 
dany never shared as heated a glance with viserys as these two 
brothers do now, for all the fondling he did behind chilled green 
suddenly dany's lifted up, her legs on robb stark's shoulders, and 
her cunt suddenly enveloped in such warm-water sweetness like 
that first bath in qarth and she remembers doreah's mouth then, 
but this is different somehow. perhaps because she's still looking 
into the eyes of nedd stark's bastard as he holds her up by the 
waist, and she rests her arms on his shoulders and then, feeling 
less in control than befits a khaleesi, reaches down to grab his 
cock with her right hand. he's big enough to make her hand seem 
tinier than it is, not as ridiculous as drogo but that makes it easier 
to try to match her strokes with the throbs that are now pulsing 
through her whole body, until finally she's just too hot even for the 
dragon blood, sweating like a fever and shaking and she only 
realizes after she stops that she's been screaming with all the 
targaryen fury that won her this, this moment. 
still dizzy with the force of it, she lets them lay her down on the 
feather pallet, and she places her bare feet on the stone floor to try 
to cool down as she lazily watches robb stark take the mouth full of 
her and take his bastard brother's cock all the way down into that 
pale throat of his, and then the two of them back up a foot or two 
into the chamber wall and it's only a minute or so before the 
bastard comes, grunting and frowning, and then slides to the floor 
shaking his head in seeming disbelief and maybe a bit of rebellion. 
for his part, the king in the north actually crawls across the floor to 
smile up at her from between her knees.
"don't... if you please, call me khaleesi," dany says. she tries for a 
tone of command but somehow the foreign word sounds silly or 
make-believe here in westeros, the land she now calls (has always 
called?) home, and she would flush if she wasn't already red all 
"call-eesy?" he tries, not quite fitting the hot desert word into his 
northern accent. 
"that... will do," she says, feeling too satisfied to mind. 
"how are you, call-eese-ie," he whispers as he crawls up onto the 
pallet until his sizeable, callused hands are on either side of her 
head, holding his broad torso up in the air above her. 
then he bucks his hips forward, just once, but she's still soaking 
wet and he's so painfully hard and they both hiss. he just looks at 
her, that strange northern warmth again but this time interlaced 
with desire verging on desperation, and he doesn't have to say 
you're so beautiful i'll die if i can't for her to feel empty all over 
"it's all right. you... you may," dany allows, and somehow the formal 
tone seems so out of place, this all does, three enemies in an 
abandoned chamber of the castle at king's landing and not one of 
them a lannister. and not one of them wielding a sword. and now 
he's pulled the shift up over her arms and now they're three naked 
enemies, but before she can think any further his hot mouth is 
sucking on her breasts and his cock slips inside her and she 
watches his face as he struggles not to come just from that first 
dany hears something, and looking to her right, remembers that 
they aren't alone. the stark bastard is hard again, stroking himself 
as he watches them. the queen of the seven kingdoms probably 
ought to be infuriated, or at the least ashamed. but dany grins at 
him, and he smirks back as his brother comes inside her.
is it so wrong to think they've all won the war, at least for tonight?


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