Even though Jon's fingers were surprisingly delicate with the laces, tender where they touched her skin beyond her sheer shift beneath the gown, it was still a little, but only a little, unnerving. Her septa and ladies in waiting had been the only ones to ever touch her so...intimately, but as foreign a sensation as it was, Guinevere realized that it wasn't at all unpleasant. She felt the dress loosen, and after removing all of the pins and braids from her long hair, let it slip down over her arms, a brief chill washing over her pale skin as the garment rustled away. Then her husband was pulling her back against his solid warmth, and when she shivered this time, it wasn't from the cold.

His kisses seemed to burn against her skin where they touched, and Guinevere obligingly tilted her head to offer him more, beginning to feel warmer than she had a few minutes ago, seated right near the fire. Her wedding gown was caught at her waist, but a brief shove and it slithered to pool at her feet, leaving the Queen of the North covered only in a sheer pale shift, a delicate barrier between her skin and the dress's rougher interior. Gauzy and light, it left hardly anything to the imagination, and turned her head just enough to catch her lips against Jon's grizzled cheek.

"Touch me again," she murmured as they stood together in the fire's light. "As you did before.."