jonsa newbie

Jon groans softly, squeezing her breast. He noses at the back of her neck, leaving an open-mouthed kiss at her nape. She sighs, leaning into his touch. Jon flattens his palm and rubs it in circles against her nipple. He can feel it harden against his hand, turning into a tight little peak under his callused fingers. He plucks at it with his fingers while kissing her neck and she mewls, arching into him. She turns her head toward him and he pulls his numb right arm from beneath her head, sliding up to brace on his forearm full of pins and needles so he can kiss her lips. The blankets slide away, down around his waist, revealing more of her warm, pale skin. His slides his left hand down to cup her other breast while he kisses her, tongue in her mouth. He rocks his hips against her ass and she reaches up, arm angled awkwardly to cup the back of his head, fingers threaded through his curly hair. He rubs his thumb across her hard nipple and she moans against his lips.

"Jon," she breathes.

Jon groans. He kisses her harder, left hand skimming down her torso to the apex of her thighs. His finger slides against her clit and she breaks the kiss with a whimper. He presses his lips to the soft underside of her jaw, fingers sliding lower. He rubs two fingers against her slick slit. She's wet, soaking, her damp thighs wetting the sides of his hand.

"Fuck," he grunts, "Sansa."

"Jon."

He kisses her again, sliding his slick hand to her hip. He uses the touch to roll her onto her front and she goes without complaint, clutching at the bedding, parting her thighs. He runs a hand down the center of her spine to her ass. He brushes his fingertips along the finger-shaped bruises he left on the backs of her thighs, both fresh and faded. He feels a surge of satisfaction at the sight. He keeps his hand on her upper thigh and leans down to press a kiss to her spine, feather light. He parts his lips and bites at her shoulder, soothing the sting with his tongue. He trails open-mouthed kisses down the line of her back, fingers skating up her thigh to slide into her wet cunt. She gasps, jerking where she lays on her front. Jon hums against her skin, lips skimming the back of her shoulder while he fingers her slowly. She writhes beneath him, fingers clutched in the sheets by her shoulders.

"Can I fuck you?" he mumbles, lips moving against her skin.

"Jon," she whines, wriggling her hips.

"Can I fuck you like this?" he asks again, slowly pulling his fingers out of her, slick hand landing on her ass cheek. He rubs his thumb against her firm flesh.

"Please."

Jon's cock twitches in his sweatpants. He pulls away from her to pop his shirt off and get out of his sweats. She turns her head to watch him strip. He moves to climb out of the bed and Sansa's hand snaps out, fingers a manacle around his wrist.

He huffs a laugh.

"Condoms are in my bag," he says.

"Jon," she pleads.

He licks his lips. His cock twitches where it curls toward his hip.

"Yeah?"

"Wanna feel your come in me."

Jon closes his eyes tight, toes curling.

"Fuck."

He moves, covering her body with his own, his knees on either side of her thighs. He runs his callused palms down her back to her ass, massaging it in his broad palms. He parts them so he can see her pussy more clearly and groans at the sight of her shining with slick. She clenches around nothing and he watches her labia move, a fresh wave of slick dribbling out her. He sucks in a sharp breath. He lets go of one of her ass cheeks to fist his shaft, guiding the head of his cock to her entrance. He slides the tip along her slit, down to bump her clit and she moans. He presses forward, meeting little resistance, and pushes inside with a low groan.

Sansa whimpers, fingers tight in the sheets at the stretch. In this position she only takes half of him, but it's enough to feel her tight and wet, squeezing around the head of his cock with every roll of his hips. He presses his forehead to the nape of her neck, panting and gasping while he humps her cunt. She mewls and sighs beneath him, taking what he gives her.

Jon kisses her back then pulls away, back up on his knees, cock sliding out of her, shaft shining with her slick. She whines and he wraps his big hands around her hips and pulls her up onto her knees, her chest still pressed to the mattress. He presses back inside her in one smooth motion, buried to the hilt, his hips flush to her ass, the head of his cock pressed snug against her cervix. She moans long and low, whimpering and reaching a hand back toward him. He tangles their fingers together, free hand on the small of her back. His eyes lock on the place where they're joined and he licks his lips, watching as he slowly pulls out of her, thick cock dragging along her walls. His lashes flutter as he presses back in, feeling her tight around him.

"Gods," he mutters as he starts up a steady rhythm, fucking her with long strokes, pace slow, dragging it out.

She moans softly, cheek pressed to the bed. She squeezes around him and he groans, snapping his hips roughly into her in response. She untangles their fingers to clutch at the bedding and he picks up the pace, fucking her harder, faster. He curls a fist in the long hair at the back of her head and she moans, whimpering and spreading her knees a little further. He closes his eyes then forces them back open to watch her.

She's beautiful, face flushed, lips parted around a moan. Her fingers scrabble at the mattress, twisting in the bedding. Her ass jiggles every time he snaps his hips into them.

"Fuck," Jon grunts, twisting his fingers tighter in her hair. Her pushes it aside so he can see her pale neck, wrapping his long fingers loosely around her throat, just resting. His thumb is pressed behind her ear.

She moans at the touch, gasping and whimpering. She clenches her pussy around his shaft and Jon's lashes flutter, hips stuttering in their movements. He's sure to keep pressure off her neck, his touch light. He grips her hip with his other hand, bracing against it.

"Jon," she gasps, "Please."

"What do you want baby?"

She whimpers in response.

He slows his thrust and stops, buried to the hilt inside her.

She touches the back of the hand on her neck and presses it more firmly against her. He feels her soft throat give slightly under his fingers. He swallows hard.

"Sansa." He swipes his thumb nervously along her neck.

She lets out a shaky breath.

"Jon," she says again.

"Tell me what you want, sweet girl," he murmurs.

She squeezes her eyes shut tight, letting out a gasping breath as she clenches around his cock again, rolling her hips against him.

"Want your hand around my throat while you come in me," she breathes.

Jon's cock twitches inside her. He closes his eyes, breathing sharply through his nose.

"My hand is around your throat," he says.

Sansa whimpers.

"Jon."

He swallows. He adjust his grip on her neck, moving his hand so it's positioned better. He adds a gentle pressure, fingers and thumb at her pulse points. She gasps softly, lashes fluttering, fingers flexing in the sheets. He rolls his hips in a shallow thrust, slowly building back to a rhythm. He slams into her, fingers tightening minutely around her neck. She moans, slick coating her inner thighs. Every thrust forces a dirty squelch out of her pussy and Jon groans. He fucks her harder, faster, and Sansa reaches between her legs to rub at her clit.

Her orgasm slams into her. She moans out loud, body straining. Her whole body shudders under Jon, pussy fluttering around his cock. He releases her neck and she whines, sucking in a sharp breath. He puts his hand back on her hip, gripping her tight as he chases his release, fucking into her with abandon. She clenches her engorged pussy around him, locking him down tight deep inside her, and he comes with a loud moan, spilling inside her cunt. He pants for breath, soothing his palms along her torso, muttering a soft, "fuck." under his breath.

"Fuck," he says again, eyes closed.

He bends forward to press his forehead to her back, feel her breathing. He runs his hands down her thighs and back up to her hips. He kisses her back before straightening his spine and carefully pulling out. She whines softly at the drag, fingers clenching in the sheets. Jon presses a kiss to the base of her spine then flops over on his side in the bed beside her. He wraps an arm around her and drags her in against his chest. She snuggles close, her head under his chin, hands on his chest. Jon insinuates his knee between her thighs, one hand on her back, the other outstretched under her head.

Jon wakes to the sound of a phone ringing, afternoon sun streaming through the curtains. They're still tangled together, too much body heat trapped under the blankets. Jon throws the blankets off, letting the cooler air of the room flood in. He pats around the nightstand in search of the sound of the phone, not really looking as he answers it.

"Hello?" He rumbles.

Silence for a long moment.

"Sansa?"

Jon's eyes go wide, suddenly fully awake. He makes a little choking noise.

"Um," he clears his throat, "she's right here. Hold on."

He presses the phone screen to his bare chest and shakes her gently, calling her name. She yawns and stretches against him, snuggling closer, hands wandering. She strokes down his back and he shudders. He can hear muffled voices on the phone. He shakes her again.

"Sansa, there's someone on the phone for you," he says urgently.

She squints her eyes open, a little bleary.

She blinks.

She takes in Jon's panicked expression and the pale blue phone case against his firm chest.

"What?"

Jon flushes.

"I thought it was mine," he says, holding the phone out to her.

Sansa pales, hesitantly taking the phone and putting it to her ear.

"Hello?"

There's no response and Sansa furrows her brow, pulling the phone away from her ear to see if the call dropped.

The time is still ticking up, "Dad" on the screen above the numbers. Her stomach sinks. She puts the phone back to her ear.

"Dad?"

Jon makes a little wheezing noise like he's been struck, turning to lay flat on his back in her bed. He puts his hands over his face.

"Sansa. . ." Ned trails off, expectant.

Sansa clears her throat, drawing circles in the bedding with her free index finger.

"Did you need something?" She asks.

Another beat of silence. She closes her eyes, waiting him out.

"Your mother wants to know if you're bringing a dessert on Christmas Eve," Ned says finally.

Sansa swallows hard, relieved he's not going to push.

"I was going to make lemon bars," she says, "like usual."

"Okay, sweetheart. I—," Ned takes a deep breath, "okay."

Sansa chews her lower lip.

"Okay."

"I'll see you on Christmas Eve," Ned says.

"See you Christmas Eve, Daddy."

"I love you, Sansa."

Sansa ducks her head.

"I love you too."

"Okay, sweet girl, good-bye."

"Bye."

Sansa hangs up and smacks Jon lightly in the chest, face hot. He winces, covering her hand with his own.

"I thought it was my phone," he says again.

Sansa huffs. She scoots closer to him, throwing a leg over his hips, forehead pressed to his shoulder.

"We're terrible at this secret business," she mutters.

Jon hesitates then cards a hand through her hair.

"Is it a secret?"

"Robb hates you," she reminds him, "and you're a professional athlete which I—" she swallows hard, "I don't really want to deal with right now."

Jon grunts.

"We're still getting to know each other," Sansa whispers.

Jon sighs, his hand gripping her thigh.

"Yeah."

Sansa bites her lower lip, running her soft palm across his chest.

"My sister knows," she say quietly.

"Yeah?"

Sansa nods.

"I told Tormund," Jon says, "Well— he forced me to anyway."

"Forced?"

"Stole my phone," Jon shrugs, "wanted to see the girl making me smile."

Sansa presses her grin to his arm.

"I make you smile?" She asks.

Jon rolls his eyes.

"Like an idiot, apparently."

Sansa laughs. She leans up to kiss his cheek. Jon turns his head at the last second to catch her lips with his. They kiss lazily until Jon's stomach growls and Sansa pulls away with a giggle.

"Let me feed you," she says quietly.

"Okay," Jon starts to roll out of bed, but Sansa tugs on his arm to stop him.

"Wait here," she says.

Jon huffs, amused.

"I have to pee," he says.

"Ugh, fine."

They both climb out of bed.

The sight of Sansa when he turns to face her knocks the wind out of Jon. He licks his lips, eyes tracing her body, the way he'd marked her.

"How long are you going to be at your parents?" He asks, watching Sansa rifle through her drawers, the bruises on her thighs livid.

"Through New Years probably," she answers absently, pulling a shirt over her head, "why?"

She's wearing a silk camisole, shimmying leggings up her thighs. The bruises on her neck and chest stand out sharply against her pale skin.

Jon eyes her skeptically.

"How many turtlenecks do you own?" He asks.

Sansa blinks at him. She stiffens, cursing and spinning around to look at herself in the floor length mirror in the corner of the room. She groans.

"Jon."

He scratches at his beard, sheepish.

"You didn't mind before."

Sansa heaves a deep sigh, tilting her head to the side to admire the bruises. She pokes at a particularly purple one on her clavicle.

"You're a possessive fucker," she mutters.

Jon flushes.

"I—"

Sansa turns her head to arch a brow at him, daring him to deny it.

His ears go hot.

"I just like using my mouth," he says.

"Hm."

Jon licks his lips, shifting on his feet.

"It's not—" he clears his throat, "I can try to be better about it."

"No," Sansa says imperiously, turning to face him.

"No?"

"I like it," she says, shrugging. She crosses her arms loosely across her chest, "It'll be a little embarrassing, but—" she shrugs again, cheeks pink, "it's nice."

"Yeah?" Jon says, taking a step toward her.

She bites her lower lip and nods her head, taking a corresponding step closer to him.

"Nice to see good bruises," she says, "and you're good with your mouth — I wouldn't want to give it up."

Something about that statement makes something in Jon stand up straighter, an antennae raised.

Nice to see good bruises.

He doesn't press.

He closes the gap between them, pressing a kiss to her cheek, her chin. His lips hover by her ear.

"As many good bruises as you want," he murmurs.

Sansa shivers. She smiles. She kisses his jaw then takes a step back.

"Get dressed; I'll make some toast and eggs — that okay?"

Jon nods his head.

"Sounds good."

*

Sansa sits sideways on her sofa, back propped against the arm of the couch. Her feet are in Jon's lap, his callused hands warm on her ankle, her shin. She's knitting Arya's scarf, nearing the finish line, while Jon watches an old documentary on the Wall. She occasionally flicks her gaze between him and the TV, but he never seems bored.

"Are you bored?" Sansa asks him after she finishes another row, scrutinizing the side of his face.

Jon tears his gaze away from the TV to look at her, brow furrowed. He squeezes her ankle lightly.

"No. Why?"

Sansa shrugs, turning back to her knitting.

"Just checking."

Jon frowns at her. He squeezes her ankle again then turns his attention back to his documentary. His thumb swipes absently at the joint of her ankle.

Sansa peeks up at him, flexing her foot in his hold. He seems enraptured by the TV.

She goes back to her knitting.

The credits are rolling on the documentary when Sansa binds off the scarf, setting her finished work aside. Jon is watching her instead of the TV now, eyes warm and dark. She pulls her feet out of his lap and kneels on the couch. She crawls toward him and he opens his arms, letting her climb into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. She slides her arms around his neck, wrists crossed loosely behind his head.

"Did you enjoy your movie?" She asks.

He has one hand on her thigh, the other slides up the back of her shirt, resting warm on her lower back.

"It was interesting," he says, "did you know there are nineteen castles along the wall?"

Sansa smiles, amused. She nods.

"I was listening," she says.

"It'd be cool to visit the ruins," Jon says, thumb brushing along the dip of her spine, "a road trip. I've only been to Castle Black."

"You're really into that kind of stuff?"

Jon shrugs.

"I like history."

Sansa squints at him, tilting her head. She cards her fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

"Did you go to college?" She asks.

He shakes his head.

"I wanted to," he admits, "but it wasn't the path for me."

"You played in major juniors?"

Jon shakes his head again.

"NTDP."

Sansa's eyes go wide.

"That's rigorous, isn't? Robb always wanted to play in the NTDP, but mom and dad insisted he do normal high school kid things and college."

"It was a lot," Jon muses, shrugging, "I didn't have much of a choice."

"What do you mean?"

Jon squirms a bit under her, hands roaming.

"We didn't have a lot of money," he shrugs, "I got scholarships and shit — benevolent sponsors," he snorts, "I went where the money allowed me."

"Oh," Sansa frowns. She thumbs at the side of his neck, "maybe you can go to college after you retire."

Jon huffs, a smile quirking his lips.

"I don't think I have it in me."

"What do you mean?"

"I'd have to get in," he points out.

Sansa tilts her head.

"Won't know unless you try."

"Sansa, I did shitty online school," he laughs, "barely."

She frowns at him. He pokes at her down-turned cheek.

"I don't need a degree to learn what I want," he says, "I can read independently."

"You can read?" She teases.

Jon narrows his eyes at her. He digs his fingers into her sides and she squeals, laughing. She squirms in his lap, trying to get away, but he holds her firm, tickling her until she begs him to stop, a laugh in her voice. He releases her and she sighs, flopping forward, chin hooked over his shoulder. He wraps his arms around her back, tucking his face into her neck.

"What did Robb study?" He asks.

"Exercise science."

Jon snorts.

"I swear that's what every college guy picks."

Sansa shrugs in his arms.

"It's relevant."

"I guess."

"Well what did you want to study?" She asks.

Jon hums, pressing a kiss to her skin.

"Northern history."

"You're really just a nerd," she says fondly.

Jon shrugs.

"I've come to terms with being boring," he says.

Sansa furrows her brows, pulling back to look him in the face.

"I didn't say that," she says.

Jon shrugs again.

"Didn't have to."

"Jon."

"Hm?"

Sansa studies his face.

"I don't think you're boring."

"Well," he clears his throat, shifting under her, "you don't know me that well yet."

Sansa narrows her eyes.

"Who said you were boring?"

Jon huffs.

"No one."

Sansa continues to stare at him. He rolls his eyes.

"My ex," he says, "Ygritte."

"Ygritte," Sansa says flatly.

"She wasn't wrong," he says, pushing his hand back under her shirt at the back, "I'm not a very interesting guy."

Sansa frowns deeper.

"I think you're interesting," she says, "I like spending time with you."

Jon swallows hard. He shifts her closer in his lap.

"I like spending time with you too," he says, voice low.

Sansa gives him a small smile, running her fingers through his hair. She cups his face in her hands and leans in. Jon tilts his head to accept her kiss, pulling her closer. Their lips meet, warm and firm. They move against each other, kissing until Jon has to break away for air. He tilts his head back and Sansa licks her lips.

"You said I could mark you up next time," she says, tracing a finger down the line of his strong neck.

Jon smiles up at the ceiling.

"Yeah."

Sansa leans in, nosing at his beard. She presses a kiss to the soft underside of his jaw. She kisses her way to the spot behind his ear and he tilts his head to accommodate her. She sucks at the thin skin there, pulling blood to the surface. She leans back to admire the mark she left behind, thumbing at it with satisfaction. She leans back in and drags the tip of her nose down his neck before placing a kiss above the neck of his shirt. She nips at the spot then laves over it with her tongue before sucking a hickey into his skin. She trails open-mouthed kisses up the line of his throat, stopping to mark him each time.

Jon shoves his hand further up her shirt, running his palm up and down her back. He's half-hard under her ass, head tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted slightly.

Sansa licks and nips and sucks at his neck until she's satisfied, pulling back from him with a smug smile.

"There," she says, tracing her fingers along the marks, "now we match."

Jon looks at her, eyes half-lidded. He cups the back of her head and pulls her in for a searing kiss, licking into her mouth with a groan. Sansa whimpers, clinging. She grinds down in his lap, meeting his tongue in her mouth with her own. They tangle together while she curls her fingers in his hair, his hands on her waist, under her shirt, sliding up to thumb at her nipples. She moans, a choked sound in the back of her throat, pressing into the touch.

"Jon," she whines, pulling away from his mouth.

He's fully hard under her now, cock a hot line against the cleft of her ass. Sansa kneels up above him and his hands never leave her, falling from her breasts to her hips. She reaches into his sweats to pull his cock out and he groans. She pumps his thick shaft once, twice, thumbing at the head. Jon bites his lip, squeezing his eyes closed. Her hands leave him and so does her weight.

Jon opens his eyes to see her fumbling to push her leggings down to her feet, leaving her lower half bare. She kicks them away and crawls back into his lap before he can think of anything to say, kissing him hard and fisting his shaft. He gasps into her mouth, hands tight on her hips. She guides the head of his cock to her pussy and sinks down on him with a low moan, settling in his lap with a whimper.

"Fuck," she mutters, lashes fluttering. She puts her hands on his shoulders, "Fuck. You feel so good."

She rocks her hips, tightening up around him and he groans. He kisses her.

"We're just fucking raw forever now?" He mutters against her lips.

Sansa whimpers, eyes squeezed shut. She nods her head.

"Yeah," she breathes, "like your cum in me."

Jon groans. He kisses her again.

Sansa rolls her lips, fucking herself on Jon's cock at a slow, steady pace. Their lips part as she finds her rhythm, curled forward to pant, open-mouthed, into Jon's neck. The head of his cock grinds against her already bruised cervix with every downward roll of her hips and she whimpers, clawing at his shoulders. She gasps and moans, biting her lip, thighs burning.

"You're doing so good," Jon says, hands on her waist, her back, her breasts, "so good. You feel so good sweet girl, so hot and tight around my cock, fuck."

Sansa gasps his name, whimpering. Her thighs ache and she slows, forehead to his shoulder as she pants for breath.

"I can't—" she gasps, tightening her cunt around him, "I can't."

Jon groans. He pats her thigh.

"Up," he says.

Sansa hesitates before kneeling up, his hard cock slowly sliding out of her. Her slick shines on his shaft and he groans again at the sight of it.

"Fuck," he mutters. He nods to his right, "lay down, baby."

Sansa scrambles to obey, moving to lay on her back on the couch, head pillowed on the arm. She bends her knees and lets them fall open, lower lip caught between her teeth.

"Like this?" she asks.

Jon swallows hard. He crawls between her legs and up her body, hovering, hard cock bobbing between them. Sansa reaches down to wrap her hand around his length, stroking up to the head and twisting her wrist. Jon moan softly and she licks her lips, watching his face. Jon bats her hand away with a grunt and fists his shaft, guiding it to her slick entrance. He presses in with one smooth thrust, slamming into her cervix with a low moan.

"Gods," Sansa whimpers, wrapping her arms around Jon's shoulder.

She locks her ankles behind his back. He's got his forearms braced by her ribcage, tucked under her armpits, face in her neck. He rolls his hips, fucking her deep and slow. She mewls and sighs, eyes closed, lips barely parted. She runs her hands along his back and shoulders, up into his hair. His pelvis grinds against her clit with every thrust, sending sparks up her spine.

She whimpers.

It's a slow, steady build, Jon's cock coaxing her orgasm out of her. She cries out when it washes over her, thighs trembling around Jon's hips. She pulls at his hair until it stings and he groans into her neck, picking up the pace until he's spilling inside her. They lay there for a long moment, catching their breath.

Sansa unhooks her ankles from behind Jon's back, letting her right foot fall over the side of the couch, toes trailing against the rug. He pulls back, lips grazing her cheek before landing on her lips. He kisses her hard and she wraps her arms around his neck before he can pull fully away.

"Hold on, hold on," she mumbles against his mouth, "I want—"

"Hm?" Jon pulls back just enough to look her in the eye.

"It's nice," Sansa says shyly, cheeks flushed, "I like your weight on me."

"Mm."

Jon resettles on top of her with a deep sigh, face buried in her neck.

"Like this?" He mumbles into her skin.

Sansa closes her eyes and nods, carding her fingers through his hair.

"Yeah," she says softly, "just like this."

*

Sansa lets herself into her childhood home at seven in the morning on Christmas Eve, wearing the first of three turtlenecks. She pulls a luggage bag behind her and has a tray of lemon bars in hand.

She'd said good-bye to Jon late the night before, kissing in front of her apartment building so long his uber threatened to leave him there.

Sansa smiles to herself at the memory, blushing.

She's barely crossed the foyer when Catelyn emerges from the kitchen, already dressed for the day, an apron around her waist.

"Sansa," she says with a bright smile.

"Hi mom," Sansa beams.

She lets Catelyn take the lemon bars from her hand and accepts a one-armed hug from her.

"I've started breakfast," Catelyn says, looking Sansa over none too subtly, "go take your stuff to your room."

"I'll come down to help," Sansa promises.

Sansa leaves her mother downstairs and carries her bag up to her old bedroom. She checks her reflection in the mirror and pulls her long hair up into a pony. She can see two hickeys behind her ear and on her neck even with the turtleneck she's wearing and sighs, resigning herself to the comments that are sure to come.

She heads back downstairs and hears multiple voices in the kitchen, entering the room to find Catelyn, Ned, and Arya. Catelyn stands at the counter, whisking ingredients together for waffles while Ned sits at the island nursing a cup of coffee, Arya filling a water glass at the fridge.

Ned smiles to see her and Sansa prays he won't bring up Jon answering her phone when he called. She rounds the island to give her dad a hug and say hello, murmuring 'good morning' to Arya.

"Nice turtleneck," Arya says with a smirk, looking her up and down.

Sansa flushes, narrowing her eyes.

"Thanks," she mutters.

Arya's smile widens. She turns away, chugging her water.

"It is nice," Catelyn comments, looking at Sansa over her shoulder, "is it new?"

Sansa clears her throat. She shrugs.

"Not really? I've had it since last year."

"Hm. It brings out your eyes."

"Thanks mom. What can I do to help?"

"Eggs?" Catelyn suggests.

Sansa nods and steps up to the fridge while Arya rounds the island to sit next to Ned. Sansa pulls out a carton of eggs and sets about scrambling a dozen.

It's a peaceful morning.

Robb comes down as Arya is setting the dining table, bleary-eyed and grumpy.

"Morning," he grunts, heading straight for the coffee maker.

He receives a chorus of 'good morning's in return. He makes it halfway through his cup of coffee before he seems to register that anyone else is in the room with him, attention drifting to Sansa at the stove.

"How's your little boyfriend?" He asks.

Sansa stiffens, frowning down into the pan of eggs she's babying.

"He's not my boyfriend," she says.

Robb reaches over and pokes at the hickey behind her ear. Sansa blushes, jerking away from the touch and glaring at him.

"Could've fooled me."

"Is that who answered your phone? Your not-boyfriend?" Ned asks curiously, eyes steady on the back of Sansa's head.

"He answered your phone?" Arya asks, incredulous,

Sansa's whole face and ears go red.

"Dad," she whines.

"I'm just curious about who you're spending time with," Ned says, placating, "He sounded, uh, sleepy."

"Oh my gods," Sansa mutters under breath, "let the floor open up and swallow me."

"Why would he answer your phone?" Arya prods.

"He thought it was his," Sansa sighs.

Catelyn arches a brow at her and Sansa wilts.

"It was early," she says.

"It was afternoon," Ned corrects, a furrow in his brow.

Sansa's face grows impossibly redder.

"We took a nap," she says stiffly, turning back to the stove just in time to rescue the eggs from burning.

Robb makes a retching noise.

"T.M.I!" He protests.

Arya rolls her eyes, setting her empty cup into the sink.

"Your delicate sensibilities can't handle your sister napping with a man?" She snarks.

"It's what led to the nap!" He protests.

"You're a child, Robb," Sansa bites out. She transfers the scrambled eggs to a heat proof serving bowl, sets the dirty pan and spatula into the sink, then turns to look at Catelyn, "I'm going to get Rickon and Bran."

Her mother just nods.

Sansa storms out of the kitchen.

*

Jon: my mom is making me watch a hallmark Christmas marathon

Sansa smiles at her phone, peeking around the living room before replying.

Sansa: we're watching the old stop motion Christmas movies

She snaps a picture of the TV screen.

Sansa: Jack Frost (1979)

Jon: never seen it

Sansa: no?????

Jon: nope

Sansa: we'll have to fix that

Sansa: it's one of my favorites

Jon: sounds good :-)

Sansa smothers a snort that captures the attention of half the room. Arya rolls her eyes while Catelyn shoots a disapproving look. Robb is disgruntled, but Ned seems only curious, a tinge concerned. Rickon spares her barely a glance and Bran offers a slight smile.

She smiles back.

"Sorry guys," she says quietly, tucking her phone away.

She feels her phone vibrate, but ignores it favor of the film on the TV. As soon as it's over she excuses herself, sheepish walking past her family toward the stairs. She rushes up them to her room and throws herself into her bed, an irrepressible smile on her face as she pulls her phone out of her pocket.

Jon: she keeps turning up the volume

Jon: asked if she needs hearing aids

Jon she didn't like that

Sansa giggles, rolling onto her stomach in bed.

Sansa: JON!!

Jon: I was being sincere!

Sansa snorts.

Sansa: you're such a loser

Jon: :p

Sansa grins.

Sansa: changed out of the turtleneck after my shower btw

Sansa: thought i'd be safe in one of Robb's hoodies…

Jon: guessing not?

Sansa sighs.

Sansa: you should've seen my mom's face 😭 she didn't say anything but her eyes got all big and she turned away so fast

Sansa: dad's started glaring at my phone whenever it goes off 👎

Jon: did Robb say anything else to you?

Sansa: did a double take and muttered under his breath 🙄

Jon: my bad

Sansa: i don't think ur actually sorry

Jon: i'm sorry it's awkward for you

Jon: not sorry i got to put my mouth on you

Sansa flushes, smiling stupidly at her phone.

There's a knock on her door before she can reply. She furrows her brow and rolls out of bed, approaching the door and pulling it open hesitantly.

Catelyn stands on the other side.

Sansa pulls the door open all the way and steps back, letting her mother in. She trails Catelyn to her bed where she abandoned her phone, thankful the screen has gone dark. Catelyn sits on the edge of her bed and Sansa follows suit, brow furrowing again. Their knees bump.

"What's up, mom?"

Catelyn's throat bobs. Sansa tilts her head in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

Catelyn reaches out and takes one of Sansa's hands between her own.

"Just wanted to check on you," Catelyn says quietly with a weak smile.

Sansa blinks.

"I'm good," she says, a smile blooming on her face. Her phone vibrates behind her and she laughs softly, "I'm really good."

Catelyn doesn't look convinced.

"We're just worried," she says.

Sansa frowns.

"Mom—"

"It's just— well— Sansa." Catelyn gestures to Sansa's bruised neck.

Sansa frowns harder, rolling her eyes.

"You're worried that he likes kissing me?"

"It's just—," Catelyn gestures vaguely toward her neck again, "does it hurt?"

Sansa arches a brow.

"Have you never had a hickey before, mother?"

Catelyn's cheeks go pink. Her eyes widen minutely.

"Sansa."

Sansa sighs wearily.

"I like it mom," she explains, cheeks going hot. She perseveres, "I like when he marks me up."

"It just reminds me—"

"Well it doesn't remind me," Sansa says firmly, "it's nice. He wants me. He likes me. He's nice to me."

Catelyn stares into her eyes, gaze flicking between them.

"Okay," she says.

"Good," Sansa says. She smiles a little, "I only have two more turtlenecks."

Catelyn huffs, but there's a ghost of a smile on her face.

"Alright, sweetheart. Just— why so secretive? You won't tell us his name."

"I told you his name is Jon," Sansa reminds her.

Catelyn's expression flattens, unimpressed.

Sansa sighs; she pulls her hand out of Catelyn's.

"It's new," she excuses, "I really don't want you guys scaring him off. I just want him to be just mine for a while."

"You said he's just a friend," Catelyn challenges.

Sansa groans.

"Moooommmm," she whines, covering her face with her fans. She peeks at Catelyn's pursed lips between her fingers and sighs, lowering her hands. She begrudingly says, "we haven't labeled it."

Catelyn narrows her eyes.

"What does that mean?"

Sansa sighs.

"It means we're not— we haven't, like, talked about it. What we are to each other."

Catelyn arches one perfect eye brow.

"But you let him do this—-" she gestures to Sansa's neck, "—to you?"

Sansa blushes bright red.

"Sometimes it's just nice to be wanted," she mutters.

"Sansa," Catelyn says with a sad expression.

"Ugh, mom, I'm fine! I'm good. Jon treats me well and we'll figure things out when we feel like it."

Catelyn purses her lips, studying Sansa's face with narrowed eyes.

"Okay," she says, "you're a grown up. I trust you."

"Thank you."

"Your father isn't pleased though," Catelyn adds.

"He doesn't like being confronted by the idea of me having sex," Sansa says with a brow arched.

Catelyn's eyes go wide.

"Sansa!"

Sansa doesn't quail. She keeps her shoulders square.

"It's true!" She says, "And I get it, but. . .I mean—" she parts her hands in front of her, palms up, "I only have two more turtlenecks."

Catelyn sighs. She shakes her head and pats Sansa's hand.

"Wear them the next two days. He'll adjust. . . and the bruises will fade."

Sansa nods.

"I can do that."

"Okay," Catelyn looks at her for another long moment. She nods her head, "Okay. I'll let you be; I love you."

Sansa smiles at her, leaning across the gap between them to kiss Catelyn's cheek.

"I love you to, Mom."

Catelyn gives her one last smile before making her exit.

Sansa flops back on the bed with a sigh after Catelyn pulls the door closed behind her, groaning to herself. She fishes under herself for her phone, swiping open Jon's latest text.

Jon: my mom says hi

Sansa's stomach flutters. She laughs.

Sansa: you told her about me?

Sansa: my mom just confronted me about my hickeys

Sansa: good thing i'm wearing leggings

Jon: apparently i've been smiling at my phone a suspicious amount

Jon: confronted?

Sansa grins, closing her eyes and pressing her phone to her chest for a moment before holding it back above her head to reply.

Sansa: well tell her i say hi back

Sansa: they're just worried

Sansa: apparently it reminds them of my ex

Sansa's stomach sinks as soon as she sends the message, re-reading it and regretting saying too much. She considers un-sending it, but figures Jon probably already saw it and deleting it would be suspicious. She sighs, pressing a hand to her face with a groan.

She does not want to talk about Joffrey.

She watches the three dots appear and disappear a few times before going away for a long period. She frowns.

"Stupid," she mutters to herself, locking her phone and tossing it away.

It vibrates almost immediately.

Sansa's tempted to pretend she fell asleep.

She snatches the phone.

Jon: the one who wasn't nice?

Sansa swallows hard.

Sansa: yeah

She stares at the screen until it goes dark.

The three dots never appear.

She closes her eyes, heart clenching.

Her phone vibrates and doesn't stop.

A call.

Sansa stares at it for a long moment, swallowing hard. She hesitates before picking it up.

She was always going to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey sweet girl," Jon says softly.

Tears prick at Sansa's eyes at the sound of his low, rumbling voice. She blinks them away, shaking her head.

"Hey," she says, "is something wrong?"

"Sansa," Jon sighs. Sansa can picture him running a hand through his hair, "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but it didn't seem like a text conversation."

Sansa sighs. She settles back in her bed and buries her nose in the collar of Robb's old hoodie. It smells like her perfume. She wishes it smelled like Jon.

"He just wasn't nice," she says.

"Okay."

She swallows hard, fingering the hoodie's strings.

"He was really controlling," she says, "and he said nasty things to me and he had a temper," she hesitates and sucks in a shaky breath, "he could be violent."

Jon doesn't respond and Sansa wishes she could see his face. She pulls the phone from her ear and hits the recorder icon, requesting a video call.

Jon accepts immediately.

She can see that he's sitting cross-legged in his childhood bed, hunched over his phone with the big light on, casting shadows on his cheeks. His jaw ticks.

"Hi," she murmurs, swallowing hard.

"Hey," he grinds out.

Sansa licks her lips. She feels stupid before the words even leave her lips.

"Are you mad at me?" She asks, voice small.

Jon's breath shudders out of him in one big gust.

"Of course not," he says firmly.

"Okay," Sansa whispers.

Jon's Adam's apple bobs.

"I'm not mad at you," he says again, "I'm mad someone hurt you."

"Okay."

"And— and I— I don't know," he frowns, looking down at his lap instead of at Sansa's face on his screen, "I choked you."

"I wanted you to."

Jon's lips twist to the side, doubtful.

"Jon." Sansa says firmly. She waits for him to look at her, "I wanted you to. I asked for it. I'm not made of glass and I know what I like."

He studies her for a long moment.

"Okay."

"Gods," she sighs, "I feel like I just had a version of this conversation with my mother."

Jon raises his eyebrows.

"You told your mom you like to be choked?"

Sansa snorts. She rubs her face with her free hand, shaking her head.

"No, just— I'm an adult. I can make decisions about my love life. Joffrey doesn't define me."

"Of course," Jon says quietly. He shifts where he sits and clears his throat, "as one of those decisions, I respect that."

Sansa laughs.

Jon smiles at the sound, lips curling up at the corners. His eyes are soft and warm, gazing at her out of her phone.

"I miss you," she murmurs. Her eyes fly open wide. She claps a hand over her mouth, "I didn't—!"

"Sansa." Jon cuts her off, voice soft. His eyes crinkle at the corners, "I miss you too."

She lets out a gusty sigh, covering her eyes with her a hand. Her cheeks are pink. She spreads her fingers to peek at him and finds him grinning at her.

"Stop it," she says.

He shrugs, wide smile still on his face.

"I'm not doing anything."

She whines.

Jon laughs quietly.

"You make me feel crazy," Sansa mutters.

"The feeling's mutual," Jon assures her.

Sansa huffs. She glares at him, but it just makes his grin crack wide open again. She tries and fails to suppress her own smile.

"Good night, Jon," she says faux-stern.

*

Jon sits heavily in his stall, pushing his sweaty hair from his face. He strips out of his equipment before reaching for his phone, smiling to himself when he sees Sansa's name on the screen. He swipes the message open and chokes. He immediately locks his phone back, looking around the locker room furtively. He leans back in his stall, holding his phone close to his face and unlocking it again.

He stares, studying the marks he'd left on her body, the wry smile on her face. He's surprised she's not mad.

Ygritte would've been mad.

He shakes the thought from his mind. Edd sits down beside him and Jon locks his phone again, tossing it back in his locker, but the image is seared into his mind. Every time he blinks he sees her, naked as her nameday and covered in bruises he left on her. His cock twitches in interest and he shakes his head forcefully.

"What's wrong with you?" Edd asks, one eyebrow arched.

"Nothing."

Edd huffs and shakes his head, turning back to taking his skates off.

Jon rushes through his shower and hurries to his car, finally feeling comfortable with re-opening Sansa's text when he's safely ensconced alone in the driver's seat. He stares until his eyes feel dry and he blinks rapidly to wet them. He's half-hard in his sweats. He'd be embarrassed if she wasn't so beautiful.

Jon: a turtleneck might help

Sansa: Jon

Jon: it's not like it's unseasonable

Sansa: my sister is going to notice

Jon: how many siblings do you have?

He swipes to his streaming app and hits play on the album he'd been listening to on his way into the rink that morning then places his phone in the car holder. He sees the blink of another notification at the top of the screen, but puts the car in reverse instead of grabbing it. He pulls out of his parking space and heads home.

Sansa's message will keep.

*

Arya notices immediately, eyes squinted, scrutinizing Sansa as she approaches the booth Arya is reclined in.

"Robb says you spent the weekend in Castle Black," she says, idly fiddling with her butter knife.

Sansa presses her lips together as she slides into the booth opposite her sister.

"Robb's got a big mouth," she says.

Arya snorts. She nods. She eyes Sansa critically.

"Turtleneck, huh?"

Sansa feels herself flush, cheeks going warm. She tilts her chin up.

"It's cold."

"Robb says your little friend is a vampire."

Sansa rolls her eyes. The waiter approaches to ask for her drink order before she can reply.

"You guys are way too invested in my love life," she says once her mug of coffee is warm between her palms.

Arya narrows her eyes, but lets her gaze slide away.

"Can you blame us?"

Sansa sighs.

"Jon is a good guy."

"Yeah?" Arya asks, leaning forward a little in her seat, eyes locked on Sansa's, "how long have you known him?"

Sansa swallows hard.

"I like him."

"That's not an answer."

Sansa sighs. She runs a hand through her hair.

"We met in King's Landing."

Arya blinks.

"That was like. A week and a half ago," she says blankly.

Sansa's cheeks are hot. She can imagine how red they are.

"You went to some man's house several hours away that you met less than two weeks ago? Without telling anyone in the family?" Arya asks in disbelief, "I thought the Joffrey situation made you smarter."

Sansa glares at her.

"Jon is a good guy!" She repeats.

"Sansa—"

"Arya."

Arya snaps her mouth shut, shaking her head.

"I want his full name and picture," she says, "are you meeting him again?"

Sansa shrugs, though she knows she'll go again if Jon asks.

Arya rolls her eyes.

"It was stupid to go up there without telling anyone," she says.

"I told Margaery," Sansa says snippily, "and she's met him."

"I don't care that Margaery met him! She probably encouraged you!"

Sansa sighs long and loud.

"We just worry." Arya says, "Now show me."

Sansa groans and puts her head in her hands. She peeks up at Arya through her fingers.

"If I tell you who he is you have to promise not to tell Robb," she says, "or mom. Or-or anyone else."

Arya crosses her arms over her chest.

"Why the secrecy?"

"You're all crazy!" Sansa insists. She hesitates, "and because you know him. or— know of him."

Arya's eyebrows raise.

She waits.

Sansa sighs. She grabs her phone and swipes it open, finding Jon's contact and pulling up his picture — there's no smile in his contact photo, just him staring blankly at the screen — and pushes it across the table to Arya.

Arya blinks down at the picture. She looks up at Sansa then back down at the screen then back up at Sansa.

"Is that Jon Snow?" She asks.

Sansa puts her head back in her hands.

"I can't believe you recognized him immediately," she complains.

Arya quirks a brow.

"You didn't?"

Sansa shakes her head.

"Not until Robb sent me the Battle for the North graphic," she says.

"And Jon didn't recognize you?" Arya asks carefully.

Sansa shakes her head again.

"He didn't know who I was."

"You're sure?"

"He seemed genuinely bewildered when I threw a book at him."

Arya blinks.

"You threw a book at him?"

Sansa flushes. She nods.

"I thought— When I finally recognized him I thought maybe he knew who I was."

"But he didn't."

"No."

"That's good," Arya allows.

A notification lights up Sansa's screen — a message from Jon — and Arya pushes the phone back toward her. Sansa doesn't check it immediately, meeting Arya's cautious gaze instead.

"Robb hates him," Arya reminds her.

Sansa swallows hard.

"I know."

"What about Jon?"

"He says he doesn't hate Robb."

"Really?" Arya says, dubious.

Sansa rolls her eyes.

"It's his job to keep Robb from scoring," she says, hands folded together on the tabletop, "he says Robb's a good player — relatively clean."

"Relatively?"

Sansa shrugs.

"I didn't ask him to elaborate. We all know how Robb can get."

Arya huffs.

"You give one guy a concussion. . ."

Sansa frowns, pulling her coffee closer to her.

"CTE is not a joke," she says.

Arya rolls her eyes.

Later, Sansa sits on her couch with a glass of wine, finger hovering guiltily over the 'ok' button on her remote control.

She clicks to watch the Night Watch versus Dragons game.

She settles back in her seat, remote on the arm of the couch, and takes a sip of her wine. The game hasn't started yet, but it will soon.

Sansa tunes out the talking heads, scrolling Instagram idly. She doesn't pay attention to the TV again until they begin announcing the starting line-up, Jon's name pulling her attention from her phone. They show a close-up of his handsome face on the screen and Sansa smiles automatically at the sight even though he looks like he's scowling.

Sansa: why so grumpy?

Sansa: the game hasn't even started you can't be upset already

She sets her phone back in her lap and turns her attention back to the TV, knowing he won't see her messages until at least the first intermission. She picks it back up and open her text thread with Margaery.

Sansa: it's insane to say I miss him, right?

Sansa: not TO him obviously I know that would be insane but in general

Sansa: gods

She puts a hand to her face as the game begins, head ducked as she watches her phone, waiting for Margaery to respond.

It only takes a minute.

Margie: Sansa…

Margie: what happened to just fucking?

Sansa flushes. She whines.

Sansa: he's really nice

Sansa: I don't know

Sansa: I like him

She sets the phone face down on her thigh and forces her attention to the game, barely tracking the puck as it flies across the ice. She scans the players for number thirteen in black, and finds Jon battling for the puck in one of the corners behind the Night Watch's goal. He manages to fling the puck out toward the nearest face off dot and a teammate of his picks it up and carries it down the ice, pursued by Dragons in red. The camera leaves Jon behind and Sansa checks her phone.

Margie: Sansa.

Margie: Sansa Sansa Sansa

Margie: that is not how friends with benefits works

Sansa frowns down at her phone.

Sansa: he said he likes me too

She chews her bottom lip.

Sansa: the whole weekend was a lot tbh

Sansa: in a good way

Sansa: but a lot

Margie: he said he likes you?? A lot how???

Sansa sighs through her nose and sips at her wine, peeking up at the TV screen then back to her phone.

Sansa: he said he shouldn't have invited me

Sansa: basically because everything felt really intense I guess

Sansa: and it wasn't supposed to be

Sansa: so I told him I like him and he was like [broody voice] you don't know me

Sansa: 🙄

Sansa: but then he said he likes me too

Sansa: so

Sansa: idk

Margie: intense how?? A lot how?? Icb this

Sansa: it was easy!!!! Everything was easy!!! The chemistry was crazy Marge and it was sooo domestic he held my hand and bought me breakfast and made lunch and dinner and we walked his dog together like!!!!

Sansa: I'm losing it

Sansa: I'm covered in love bites and bruises and I put the stupid game on because I missed him!!!!!

Sansa flicks her gaze to the TV again. They show Jon on the bench wiping his visor with a towel then turning to the teammate next to him to say something before turning the camera away.

Margie: block him

Sansa: Marge

Margie: I'm so serious

Sansa: it's too late I've already added him to my favorites players in the WHL app next to Robb

Sansa: im going to get a notification every time he scores or gets an article written about him

Sansa looks back at the TV in time to catch Jon make a cross-ice pass to Tollett. She switches to her thread with him.

Sansa: pretty pass to #93

Sansa: Margaery told me I should block u

Sansa: I don't wanna do that

Her phone buzzes in her hand.

Margie: you're hopeless

Sansa unsends her last two messages to Jon before the opportunity disappears. She sighs.

To Margaery she says, "I know."

*

Jon doesn't check his phone during games, so he doesn't see Sansa's messages until it's over and they've won, celebrating with the boys, music blasting their victory song from Tormund's speaker. Jon strips out of his jersey and shoulder pads, pushing his sweaty hair back form his face as he sits in his stall. He grins and nudges Edd with his shoulder beside him before leaning down to unlace his skates. He pulls them off one by one with a groan, slouching for a second to just let his aching muscles relax. He pushes his hair back again, then turns to grab his phone from his stall. There's a few email notifications he swipes away and two texts from his mom, below that he sees twenty-six texts from Sansa.

He frowns, brow furrowed. He swipes them open and huffs a laugh, scrolling through her inexperienced play-by-play of the game with a grin. He notices two messages that were unsent early on and wonders what they could've been, but decides to let it be.

Jon: i thought you didn't like hockey?

He sits there staring at his phone with a smile on his face until Tormund stands in the middle of the locker room with the black cloak they use for player of the game, making a speech that Jon misses most of. Ed shoves Jon lightly with a laugh as Tormund approaches their corner with the cloak just as Tormund says, ".—our captain! Jon, put the damn phone down."

Jon laughs, ears red. He sets his phone aside and stands, letting Tormund place the cloak over his shoulders. He looks around the locker room, taking in the whoops and cheers, the music still blasting.

"Alright, alright," he laughs, "uh, we all worked hard today, it was a tough battle to the end, but we pulled it out and I'm proud of each and every one of you. Uh, thank you."

Jon sits back down, cloak engulfing him. The guys continue with their celebrations and Jon finishes undressing, handing the cloak off to one of the staff members. He showers and changes into sweats and a t-shirt before making his way out of the stadium to the player parking lot, phone burning a hole in his pocket.

He's exhausted and it's late, but he's hoping Sansa is still awake.

He climbs into his SUV and presses the button to turn the car on, heater turned up all the way. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and frowns when he sees that Sansa still hasn't replied. He takes a second to tell his mom thank you for the congrats and that he loves her then sets the phone in the cradle of the phone holder on his dash before pulling out of the lot and heading home.

He lets himself into the house and Ghost meets him at the door, dancing around happily, nudging Jon's knees with his head. Jon huffs a little laugh and pats his head.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He murmurs as he passes into the house, closing the door behind him.

He lets his duffle fall to the ground by the door and kicks off his shoes, hanging up his coat and hat before heading directly to the bedroom. He throws himself into his unmade bed and rolls onto his back, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He stares at the black screen, hesitating on waking it up.

He clicks the screen and smiles stupidly when he sees a message from Sansa.

Sansa: i don't HATE hockey. . .I've watched it my whole life for Robb

Jon: I never said hate

His phone starts ringing in his hand almost as soon as the message is sent and he answers with a grin.

"Don't be pedantic with me Jon Snow," Sansa says when he picks up, "it's late."

He huffs a laugh.

"Alright."

"You played really well," Sansa says, "I bet your ankle hurts so bad from blocking that shot in the second period."

Jon snorts. He flexes his right foot, circling his ankle. It aches.

"It'll definitely bruise," he says.

"You got player of the game?" She asks. A beat. She sounds almost embarrassed, "I saw the video on twitter."

Jon smiles stupidly up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, three assists will do that to a guy, I guess," Jon licks his lips, "Did you enjoy the view?"

She's quiet and he feels stupid for asking, assuming she'd notice he was only half-dressed.

"You were very handsome," she says primly.

Jon laughs, his left hand resting on his stomach, phone to his ear.

"Thanks."

Sansa sighs wistfully.

"I should've given you a million hickeys," she says.

Jon covers his smile with his free hand.

"I wouldn't object," he says.

"No? Even if everyone would see?"

Jon shrugs to himself.

"Oh no, everyone will know I had sex. How will I cope?"

Sansa laughs.

"Next time," she promises.

Jon's stomach flips.

"Next time," he agrees.

There's a warm silence between them, just listening to each other breathe.

Jon breaks it reluctantly.

"We should probably sleep," he says.

"Yeah, probably."

"Good night, Sansa."

"Good night, Jon."

*

Sansa lays on her back in bed, hands flung out to her sides.

She should get up.

She knows she should get up, do something, but she's tired.

Jon's already up.

She tilts her phone in one of her out-stretched hands so she can see the screen, tapping in her password so it shows her the sweaty selfie Jon had sent her that morning after his run, curly hair damp and sticking to his skin, skin flush with exertion and the cold. His eyes are bright, a smirk curling his lips.

He's shirtless.

Sansa allows herself to admire the planes of his firm chest, the lines of his collarbone, his strong shoulders.

She sighs, rubbing her thighs together.

She holds her phone above her head, flipping to her front camera. She tilts her head just so, the fading bruises he'd left on her skin peeking out of her pajama top. She pouts at the camera and sends the picture.

Sansa: it's too early

Jon doesn't respond immediately and that's fine. He's probably at practice.

He has another game tomorrow.

Sansa leaves her phone behind when she finally rolls out of bed, stretching her arms above her head. She showers and dries her hair and puts on light makeup before getting dressed.

She pretends she's forgotten all about her phone, that it's not in the back of her mind. She grabs it on her way to the living room without checking for notifications, picking up her latest knitting project — a scarf for Arya for Christmas that she really needs to finish — and settles into the couch. She gets three rows done before her phone lights up, stealing her attention.

Mom: Hey sweetheart, are you coming home with us after the game on the 21st?

Sansa chews her lower lip, thinking. It should be an easy 'yes', but now there's Jon.

The 21st is the Battle for the North — Night Watch versus Direwolves — which means Jon will be in Winterfell. They haven't said anything about it yet, but she wonders if they could meet up after the game or the day after.

She has another notification that she checks before answering her mom.

Jon: what do you mean too early? it's after eleven

Sansa huffs but ignores the content of his message.

Sansa: the battle for the north

Sansa: what are the odds we could meet up after?

He doesn't reply immediately so she turns her attention back to her knitting. Her eyes dart from her stitches to her phone every few seconds, waiting. Her palms are clammy, heart beating a little too fast.

He'd been eager to invite her up to Castle Black, but maybe after spending more time with her in person he's less inclined to maintain that eagerness.

Jon: how far do you live from the Karstark Hotel?

Sansa's heart flutters.

Sansa: like 15 minutes

Jon: how do you feel about having very early visitors?

Sansa: gods you're such a morning person

Sansa: i'll make an exception for you

Jon: the 22nd then

Jon: I can check out of my hotel room early and head to your place

Jon: no games 22-26 but my mom's not expecting me until the 24th

Sansa chews the inside of her cheek; her fingers fly across the keyboard.

Sansa: my parents will want me home the 23rd

Sansa: but i'll see if i can't change that

*

"Mom says you're trying to weasel out of Christmas Eve Eve," Arya says idly over the phone.

Sansa winces. She rolls her eyes, phone on speaker on the counter while she folds meringue into her cake batter.

"It's not like we do anything special for it," she says, "I just want come out a day late. I don't see why it's a big deal."

"Hm. And it has nothing to do with a certain defenseman being in town?"

Sansa purses her lips. She remains silent, carefully folding, folding, folding her batter.

Arya snorts.

"Gods, you're so predictable."

Sansa frowns.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She demands.

"You've known this guy like two weeks and you're already squirreling out of family time to be with him."

"It's not the same!" Sansa says, "gods, Arya, it's one day and I see you guys constantly. I feel like I'm under surveillance sometimes the way you all breathe down my neck since— since. You disappear for weeks at a time and no one blinks, but I try to stay in my own apartment an extra day at Christmas and suddenly I'm backsliding?"

Arya is quiet on the other end of the line.

Sansa sighs.

"I know you all just worry. I know the situation with Joffrey was scary, but don't you think it was scariest of all for me? I lived it. I lived with him. I'm trying to move on, but you all hover so much I feel like I'm stuck in a box. Like you want to encase me in amber and not let me just exist."

"Sansa—"

Sansa shakes her head to herself and cuts Arya off.

"Jon is not Joffrey. He actually gets me off, for one." Arya chokes a laugh, "And for two: he's just— he's nice. like genuinely nice to me and I like him and, yes, I would like to see him before Christmas, because otherwise I'll have to wait until January and I don't— I don't want to do that."

"It's only been two weeks," Arya cautions quietly.

"I know," Sansa sighs, setting her bowl down on the counter, "I know that." She licks her lips, "the only way to get to know him better is to spend more time with him."

"I guess."

Sansa sighs. She hesitates.

"I haven't gone out with anyone in almost two years," she says quietly, "I haven't wanted to, really. But I miss it— I miss romance."

"You told mom that Jon is just a friend." Arya says softly.

"Yes, well—" Sansa bites her lower lip, "I lied."

Arya huffs. She sounds amused.

"Obviously," she says, "Miss turtleneck."

Sansa rolls her eyes, cheeks warming.

"We could be friends with benefits," she says.

"Nah, you're too obsessed with him."

"I'm not obsessed with him!" Sansa protests. A beat, "he's just as bad."

She feels a little giddy at the thought, the admission.

Jon likes her just as much as she likes him.

"Good." Arya says tightly. She sighs, "whatever, I'll support your little Christmas Eve Eve detour."

Sansa rolls her eyes.

"Thanks. I needed permission."

Arya huffs.

"I'm trying to be supportive."

Sansa softens.

"I know. Thank you."

*

Jon laces up his skates, stretching his toes inside them. He rolls his neck and resettles the silver chain he wears inside his jersey. Music plays from Tormund's speaker as the guys get ready, time ticking down to game time. He reaches for his phone, telling himself it'll be the last time he allows himself to check it before the game ends. He swipes it open to see the 'good luck' from his mother, then navigates to his text thread with Sansa. They've been texting sporadically all day and she'd sent a short, silent video of herself blowing him a kiss with a grin and a 'good luck!'. He watches it now, a few times, smiling at his phone like an idiot until a shadow falls over him.

"What are you smiling at?" Tormund asks, leaning over in an attempt to see Jon's phone screen.

Jon pulls his phone to his chest, glaring up at Tormund.

"Nothing," he says shortly.

Tormund arches a brow and reaches for Jon's phone. Jon clutches it tighter, leaning back into his stall. Tormund snorts, still reaching. His fingers scrabble at the edge of Jon's phone and Jon puts one arm out against Tormund's chest to maintain some distance, scowling.

"Leave it alone, man."

"No way. You've been glued to your phone for weeks now, smiling like an idiot — I want to see her."

Jon turns sideways, away, still holding Tormund at bay with an arm stretched out.

"What her?" Jon asks, shifty.

Tormund snorts, still scrabbling at Jon's phone. He manages to get a good grip and yanks. The phone slides out of Jon's grasp and Tormund takes several steps back with it, a triumphant grin on his face as he swipes in Jon's password.

Jon glares at him from his stall.

"Red," Tormund smirks at him, "I should've known."

"Give it back." Jon bites out.

Grinning, Tormund steps closer again, holding Jon's phone back out to him. Jon snatches it out of his hands. Tormund stands in front of him with his hands on his hips, looking down at Jon all smug while Jon tucks his phone away.

"What's her name?" He asks.

Jon huffs, ignoring him by checking his gear.

Tormund rolls his eyes, nudging Jon's skate with his own.

"C'mon Captain Crow, don't be stingy."

"Sansa." Jon says shortly.

Tormund hums.

"Pretty name for a pretty girl," Tormund studies him for a moment while Jon pretends he's still checking his gear, "why so secretive?"

Jon arches a brow at him.

"Am I usually yelling from the rooftops?"

"No," Tormund allows, "but you'd at least tell me about her."

Jon sighs. He sits back, hands on his thighs. He looks left and right, but everyone else is ignoring them.

"She's Robb Stark's sister."

Tormund's eyes go wide. He barks a laugh.

"Didn't know you had it in you," he says.

Jon rolls his eyes.

"I didn't know," he says. He hesitates, lips twitching with a smirk, "apparently he hates me."

"Of course he does," Tormund says, amused, "you'd hate you too."

Jon nods, allowing for this truth. He shrugs. He sighs.

"I like her," he admits quietly, "I don't know where it's going, but—"

He shrugs.

Tormund studies him for a moment.

"She lives here? In Winterfell?"

"Yeah," Jon nods.

Tormund smirks.

"You're not coming home with us."

Jon flushes. He scratches the side of his nose and shakes his head.

"Going to hers in the morning," he says.

"Well," Tormund starts, clapping Jon heavily on the shoulder, "lets hope we win so she doesn't have to put up with your whining."

Jon sputters.

"I don't whine!"

"You're right — you brood."

Jon huffs.

*

Sansa took a sip of her seltzer, watching the light show on the ice.

She and the rest of the Starks sit in a line near center ice, a few rows back from the glass, as they always do. The music is deafening in the arena, chatter and cheering loud. The lights are low, save for the strobing and flashing of the light show. Most people have already found their seats, watching as the booming voice of the announcer calls the starters out onto the ice.

Robb isn't among them, but Jon is, standing straight-backed and tall at the blue line a few meters from where Sansa sits.

She tries not to stare. He's too far and it's too dark for her to make out his features anyway.

She wonders if he gets as impatient with the opening ceremonies as Robb does.

Eventually the lights come up and the players on the ice circle the face off dot at center ice.

The ref drops the puck and the clock starts ticking down.

Sansa tries to pretend she's not paying any more attention then usual, but her eyes track number 13 everywhere he goes on the ice, sitting forward in her seat as he catches the puck on his stick — stolen from the passing lane between two Direwolves players — and speeds up the ice. She watches his head swivel, searching for a teammate to pass to, but he's alone in the Direwolves's zone, facing both Direwolves defenseman. He could try to pass back, toward center ice and his own zone, or—

Before the thought has even finished crossing Sansa's mind, the puck is in the back of the net and Sansa has to tense her entire body to keep from leaping to her feet and cheering. She looks up at the jumbotron immediately for the replay, watching Jon deke around the opposing players and sink the puck with a wrist shot to the goalie's left.

She feels breathless just watching it, staring, bright-eyed, at the replay until Arya elbows her in the bicep. Sansa snaps her head around to meet Ayra's gaze, her sister's eyebrow arched high. Sansa sinks a little in her seat, offering a sheepish smile.

He's good, Arya mouths.

Sansa smiles at her, settling back in her seat.

It's a good game, chippy. There are a couple of scrums that Sansa watches from between her fingers and Robb almost gets into a fight with Giantsbane, but Jon is there towing the larger man away by the back of his jersey before any punches are thrown.

The Night Watch are up 3-2 with two minutes left in regulation when Robb gets his chance.

Sansa watches with her heart pounding as he flies up the ice with the puck, just Jon between Robb and the Night Watch's goalie. The atmosphere is tense, everyone in the arena on the edge of their seats, waiting to see if this is finally the time Robb will score with Jon defending.

The jumbotron takes care to flash a graphic: the number of shifts these two have played against each other while Robb remains scoreless.

Robb dangles left, pulling Jon out of position before making a sharp right with the puck and firing.

Jon throws himself bodily in front of the puck.

It strikes him in the shoulder before skittering off toward the boards.

Sansa holds her breath.

Jon scrambles to stand, speeding after Robb and the puck. Their teammates have caught up to them, a battle ensuing along the boards.

Sansa's hands are clasped, white-knuckled, in her lap.

The clock hits zero and the buzzer sounds.

The fight for the puck along the boards immediately disperses as the Night Watch players converge on Jon, throwing themselves at him with cheers.

Robb swings his stick furiously at the boards and it breaks in two.

Sansa swallows hard, torn.

The Starks wait patiently for the arena to begin emptying out, sitting quietly in their disappointment.

"He played well," Ned says, reassuringly.

"Breaking his stick wasn't very sporting," Catelyn says.

"Snow stopped him again," Rickon says with a shrug, "He's pissed."

"Language!"

Rickon rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, settling back in his seat.

"Snow's good," Bran says quietly, "Robb will just have to get better."

"He's old," Arya says, side-eyeing Sansa, "Robb's still young — he's got room to grow."

Sansa bites her tongue.

"Robbie will get him next time," she says.

Robb texts their mom that he'll meet them at the house, so the rest of the Starks follow the stragglers out of the arena toward the parking lot. Sansa is parked a bit away from the Stark van, but she follows the rest of the family to their spot before parting ways, promising her mother she'll be at the house first thing on the 24th and hugging each member of her family in turn.

Arya is reluctant, but lets herself be pulled in, whispering, "tell Snow he played a good game," in Sansa's ear before pulling away.

Sansa swallows hard, smiling at her sister.

Arya rolls her eyes and shoves Sansa in the shoulder. She steps away, saying a final good-bye before turning to head to her own car.

*

It's midnight before Jon makes it back to his hotel room, still amped from the win. He paces in front of the bed, unsure how he's supposed to settle and sleep — how he's supposed to wait until morning to see Sansa again.

He wants to kiss her, hold her, be buried in her cunt.

"Fuck," he runs a hand through his hair, checking his phone again.

12:32am

A.M.

Technically it's morning.

He swipes his phone open and hits call on her contact, listening to it ring.

It only rings twice before the call connects, her sweet voice saying his name.

"Jon?"

"It's morning," he says.

"What?"

"It's morning," he repeats, "technically— technically it's already morning."

there's a beat of silence and then Sansa laughs, a bright giggle. He's buzzing with it, pacing a square in front of his hotel bed, waiting.

"Come over then," she says, "since it's morning."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be there soon," he promises.

He stuffs his discarded clothing into his luggage and shoves his feet into his shoes, scanning the room quickly to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything, and then he's out the door and down the hall.

His leg bounces in the back of the uber, staring out the window at the streets flying by. They pull up in front of Sansa's apartment complex and Jon climbs out with a quick "thanks" thrown over his shoulder. He hits the buzzer beside her name and wastes no time at all pushing through the double doors when the lock clicks open. He drags his luggage onto the elevator and hits the button for the third floor, tapping his foot impatiently the whole ride up. He rushes down the hall to her door and knocks more quietly then he really wants to, mindful of the time, and as soon as the door swings open he's kissing her, hands cradling her face.

She makes a startled noise before melting into his hold, stumbling back a step and taking Jon with her. He kicks the door closed behind them and moves his hands to her hips to turn them and press her back against the closed door.

She giggles into his mouth, burying her fingers in his hair. His hands slide down her thighs and he lifts her. She squeals, head tilted back. She wraps her legs around his waist and he latches his mouth onto her neck, sucking a hickey into the long line of her throat. She whimpers and he kisses the blooming bruise on her skin, trailing his lips up, back to her mouth. She hums against his lips, kissing back fiercely.

They part to breathe and Jon noses at her jaw, lips catching on her soft skin. He adjusts his hands on her bare thighs, realizing suddenly that she's not wearing bottoms, just a big shirt.

"Fuck,," he mutters, kissing her neck again.

"Mm," Sansa grinds her hips against him, "you played so well."

Jon huffs, breath hot on her throat. He bites down on her neck and Sansa moans, tugging on his hair. He's hard in his sweatpants, grinding forward against her clothed core.

"Wanna fuck you," he mumbles into her skin.

"Yeah," she breathes, "yeah, please."

"Here?" He grinds out between his teeth.

Sansa nods, one hands sliding over his shoulders, down his back.

"Yeah, yes, I'm on the pill — I don't care. Please."

Jon groans. He presses her more firmly against the door and moves one hand between them, freeing his cock and tugging her panties aside. His shaft slides along her slick lips and he moans, quickly adjusting so the head of his cock is lined up with her entrance.

"Sure?" He checks, straining against the desire to take her.

She whimpers, rocking down against him. She nods her head.

"Please."

Jon slams home inside her with one sure thrust and she cries "Oh fuck!" hands scrabbling at his shoulders. He presses his forehead to her shoulder, holding still while she adjusts to the size of him. Her quiet little whimpers make his cock twitch inside her, hot and tight and wet.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he mutters, finally rolling his hips in a shallow thrust, "Fuck."

"Jon," she moans, her head rocking side to side against the wooden door. She claws at his shoulders, his back, one of her hands twisted tightly in his hair. She rocks her hips to meet each harsh thrust, whimpering and mewling his name, "oh gods, Jon."

"Sansa," he breathes out against her skin, licking a long line up her throat to the hinge of her jaw. He adjusts his grip on her thighs and sucks another hickey into the skin of her neck, hips snapping into her faster, harder. He can feel an orgasm building, heat in the base of his spine. He mouths along her neck and sucks on her earlobe, gripping her thighs tight. He mutters, "touch your clit for me baby."

Sansa whines, sliding a hand from his shoulder, down his chest, to the place where they connect. She skips over her clit to feel his cock moving in and out of her under her fingers, slick soaking his bare shaft and seeping into his curly pubic hair.

She whimpers.

She slides her fingers back up to her clit and rubs in tight circles into the bud, panting up at the ceiling. Her thighs shake in Jon's grip, pussy tightening around his shaft. He groans and grips her harder, fucking her faster.

"Gods, Jon, yes, fuck. Fuck me harder," she moans, "Want you to come inside me."

Jon moans loudly, lips parting in the crook of her neck. He bites down hard, hips snapping into her relentlessly. She whines, body going taut. She shudders in his arms, pussy fluttering around his shaft as her orgasm rocks through her.

Jon goes still, balls drawing up as he comes, flooding Sansa's cervix with semen. He presses his forehead to her shoulder, panting for breath, gripping each other tight as they slowly come down. He presses a soft kiss to the side of her neck and slowly pulls out, setting her carefully back on her feet.

Her knees give out and he catches her weight against his chest, arms around her waist. There's cum leaking down her inner thigh. She blinks at him, dazed.

"Okay?" He asks, low voice rumbling through her.

She nods her head, still feeling a little like she needs to catch her breath. She places a hand flat against his chest and he grabs it with his own, pulling it up to press a kiss to the center of her palm.

"Need me to carry you?" He asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He holds her hand to his cheek and uses his free hand to tuck his cock back into his sweatpants.

She huffs, but doesn't move from where he set her down, still caged against her front door. She slides her arms around his neck and gives a little hop.

He catches her, one arm in the bends of her knees, the other behind her back. She giggles as Jon turns from the door, facing the rest of Sansa's dim apartment.

"Where to, my Lady?" He asks, gruff.

Sansa rests her head against his shoulder.

"Middle door," she says.

Jon nods and strides through the living room, using his foot to push the cracked door open wide enough to step through. He lays Sansa on the unmade side of her bed and pauses there, hands arms around her, hovering. She bites her upper lip, blinking up at him, cheeks flushing pink.

"What?" She murmurs.

He shakes his head. He presses a kiss to her cheek.

"I think I left my bag in the hallway," he says.

Sansa laughs, a bright giggle. She reaches up and strokes his cheek.

"You should probably go bring it in."

He nods.

He doesn't move.

He kisses her again.

Her laughter is muffled by his mouth, her fingers curling in his hair.

He kisses the corner of her lips, her chin. She sighs softly, sinking into the bed and tilting her face away from him.

"Go get your stuff," she says.

He grunts, turning his attention to her neck. He noses at the line of her jaw, hands wandering from her back to her torso, her thighs.

"Jon," she sighs, tugging at his hair, "someone's going to steal your bag."

"Doubtful," he mutters into her skin.

"Jon," she repeats.

He sighs, finally pulling back.

"Yeah, alright."

He reluctantly leaves her side, heading back out toward her front door. He grabs his luggage bag from the hallway and leaves it in the entryway, locking the door for good measure, before hurrying back to the bedroom.

She's under the blankets when he gets back to her, snuggled down against her pillows. He stops in the threshold, taking in the sweet sight of her heavy-lidded eyes looking back at him, a small smile on her face.

"Turn off the light?" she says, covering a yawn with her hand.

Jon nods. He flicks the light switch and makes his way through the dark to the empty half of the bed, sliding under the covers to curl up beside her. He reaches for her and she goes easy, turning her back to him and scooting close. He hums softly to himself, pleased when his hands meet nothing but soft, warm skin.

"Naked?" He murmurs, tucking his knees into the bends of hers, an arm around her waist.

Sansa makes an embarrassed noise, snuggling back against him.

"I used the shirt to clean between my legs," she says quietly.

Jon swallows hard, holding her tighter. If he could get it up again that quickly, he thinks he'd be hard. He ducks his head and kisses the back of her shoulder before burying his nose in her hair, settling.

"Alarm?" He mumbles.

She shakes her head.

"You?"