Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nope, he didn't like to talk.

Not at all.

“I say we should order in. Thai or Chinese?”

Jon walked into the living room, holding his phone between his cheek and shoulder while skimming over the two takeaway menus. His boyfriend gave him an intelligible mumble, icy blue eyes still glued to the screen of the laptop.

Nope, his boyfriend didn't like to talk, not even to him.

It's Thai, then. Jon decided, because Brandon totally hated spicy food.

Jon had made up his mind, that he was going to order the spiciest dish he could get, then pile it on Brandon's plate and make him eat it. Two weeks. His boyfriend had gone abroad for two fucking weeks for a stupid universiade. And when Brandon was finally done with the coaching, he was practically making love to his stupid laptop instead of his needy lover. Jon pouted, pressing on his phone with unnecessary force.

“Nothing too spicy, Jon,” Brandon finally answered, without looking up from the screen. Too late, love. Jon thought bitterly. He tried to imagine what his boyfriend’s plate would be like later: a mountain of chili peppers, red and protesting about the lack of attention he had received.

Two weeks, Brandon, your boyfriend was lonely, needy, desperate. He missed you like hell, and he demanded your undivided attention.

To be honest, no one had ever expected Jon to get together with Brandon, the infamous merciless national javelin coach who wore a cold face 24/7. After all, his ex was a passionate woman, a beautiful red-haired archer. They had all assumed he had been straight as an arrow, and had had a thing for redheads.

When Jon revealed their established relationship to Arya, his usually witty cousin, she literally dropped her jaw, and stared at him in disbelief.

“So for almost three months you have been shagging with Brandon? The javelin coach? Is he good in bed? Jon, I. Need. Details!” Arya was jumping up and down in excitement. Jon blushed, thinking of what exactly Brandon was like in bed: intense blue eyes, vice-like grips, absolutely sinful mouth and fingers.

“Jon, you look like a teenage schoolgirl,” Arya smirked at his sudden shyness.

“Tormund was the matchmaker… in a sense. Not intentionally anyway,” Jon said hesitantly, not sure how much should he reveal to his dear cousin.

It all started with Tormund’s crush for Brienne, a fierce-looking girl on the karate team. A mad and massive crush, the love-at-first-sight cliche, Jon must added.

One day, by the help of some cheap alcohol and the promise of a speed limit exceeding ride on his motorbike, Tormund successfully lured Jon out of his apartment and out of the post-breakup-with-Ygritte misery. Tormund dragged him from club to club, and party after party. It was chaotic and nasty and Jon was crying like it was the end of the world by the time they got themselves both kicked out from the last club. And then, Tormund decided it was the best time for him to show up at Brienne’s front door and asked her to marry him.

It was the worst plan of the year.

Turned out that Brienne wasn't alone that night. She was with Jaime freaking Lannister, sharing a good bottle of red wine and probably going to bang sooner rather than later.

There was a heated argument between the three. Tormund was yelling at the blond javelin thrower and Brienne was insulting the drunk redhead with the same volume. Jon, as he recalled, was bawling again before he blacked out completely.

The next morning Jon woke up with a terrible headache, in an unfamiliar bed, with a cold-looking and unsmiling javelin coach staring at him. Brandon had the most intense sapphire eyes he had ever seen. They had sex the very next day with Jon withering under the built body and the coach whispering dirty praises in his ears.

“So you're basically the love-at-first-fuck cliche. Good for you,” Arya concluded. But Jon knew it was more than that. The man was different. Contrary to popular opinion, the Ice Zombie coach is actually very human, a passionate and obsessive lover. Jon relished the idea that he was the only one privileged to this rarely shown side of his lover, his Brandon. He liked to be different.

But now Brandon wasn't even looking at him, or questioning him about the sea of red, hot oil on his plate. Instead, he was just poking at the chicken breast, put it in his mouth after a long moment, chewed it with a blank expression, while his attention was sill fixing on his laptop.

Jon wanted to smack him.

Hard.

With a solid, metal chair.

Twice.

“You're quite today,” Brandon noted and reached for water for the fifth time, “and you look upset.

Upset is the understatement of the century, Jon thought drily. Murderous. Murderous was the word you were looking for.

“It is nothing. I'm fine,” Jon replied stiffly. No, he was far from fine.

They finished the rest of the meal in slightly awkward silence. Brandon even volunteered to clean up the table and do the dishes.

“You still have to go to work early tomorrow. Throne wouldn't give up any chance being a bastard to you,” Brandon tucked Jon in, his voice deep and husky. A shiver ran down Jon’s spine, a touch of that warm whisper on his skin was hardly enough for him.

Brandon quietly left their room, leaving Jon hard and wanton under the sheets. If his boyfriend insisted on being a dick, then he would just have to touch himself and be done with it.

Jon toed off his boxers, one hand balling on the crisp white sheets and the other reaching down to his crotch.

He kept his eyes shut and pretended they were Brandon’s long, calloused fingers caressing him.

He was aroused, his cock hard and his nerves were licked by flames. The pleasure was building quickly as Jon started to stroke his dripping cock fiercely. He was almost embarrassed by the fact that he was already at the brink of coming all over himself with only few touches. He was gasping, whimpering, moaning, the smell of lust filling their bedroom deliciously. He was so close…

“Jon.”

Chapter Text

Jon peered up lustfully. Brandon was leaning against the door frame watching him masturbating shamelessly, with gaze sharp like a hawk.

“I'm close,” Jon gasped out the words as he squeezed the head of his cock, “are you going to fuck me or not?”

Great, he was practically begging his heartless, stupid boyfriend at this point. He sounded pathetically desperate even to himself. The scene must be so undignified, his legs spread and his ass exposed.

Brandon smoothly move to the bedside, still refused to mutter a single syllable, blue eyes glowing in the dim light like clear ice. Jon heard the noise of Brandon searching for lube in the drawer, his heart fluttered in wild anticipation. It went silent for a moment, then a clear click , followed by a lubricated finger nudging at his puckered entrance.

Jon let out a satisfied sigh, spreading his pale thighs wider for Brandon’s access. The sensations were almost too much but he enjoyed every second of it.

“You're so good for me, Jon. Still mad at me?” Brandon asked calmly while circling Jon’s backside teasingly.

“Fuck you,” Jon moaned. The finger entered his ass with tender force, stroking and massaging the sensitive wall. Then Brandon added the second finger, pumping in and out of his ass. His prostate was barely stimulated, fucking teaser.

“You are still mad at me,” this time it wasn't a question, the husky, dark-chocolate voice almost made him come all over himself. Jon cried out when Brandon him right in his sweet spot, eyes rolled to the back of his head in overwhelming ecstasy. His lover chuckled , now forcing four long fingers ramming into his hot, velvet channel.

Brandon silenced the screams and shouts with a clashing kiss, he kissed him with searing passion until Jon felt dizzy and giggly because of the lack of oxygen.

Jon could feel the sinful tongue and teeth continued traveling down his body, biting, leaving marks on his skin. Brandon sucked and licked and nipped on both of his dusky nipples, made them hard and sensitive. His body wasn’t his anymore. He was completely at the mercy of his lover. A wanton slut. A miserable moaning mess.

And suddenly, with a swift move, Brandon swallowed him down.

Grabbing on Brandon's sandy blonde locks, Jon was tore between the burning desire to thrust his shaft into his lover’s throat and to slam his body down meeting those fingers.

Then he came hard with a silent shout, shooting loads of his seeds inside his lover’s wet, welcoming mouth.

Jon collapsed on the sweat stained sheets. Boneless and panting and totally incoherent. He passed out, or he didn't. Maybe his babbling stupid nothings to his lover, but he didn't care at all. He also didn't care if Brandon had come or not. It was one of the best orgasm he’d had and he wanted to be selfish.

Brandon was gentle and careful when he took a washcloth, dipped in warm water, and cleaned off the mess between Jon’s legs. It was only fair. His anus was sore and puffy. The whole crotch area was slick with all kinds of fluids. The smell of sex was amazing. It was perfect.

“I should go abroad more often. It makes you so cute when you're unsatisfied.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“Fuck you.”