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riahchan

cellsshapedlikestars

11h

jons-sansa

The Sweetheart Deal 1

AO3

"He's looking at you again," Jeyne murmurs in Sansa's ear, a giddy smile on her face.

"No he's not."

"He is! He iisss," Jeyne insists. Her eyes dart over to the mystery man at the bar and she sees him stand and head their way, "oh my god he's coming over here."

Sansa's eyes go wide, looking across the table at Margaery's smirk in a panic.

"He must be coming for Margaery," she says.

"I don't think so," Margaery sing-songs with a grin.

A moment later a throat is cleared behind Sansa. She slowly turns her head, heart beating too fast in her chest. The man is tall and well-built with dark gray eyes, dark curly hair, and a thick beard. He has his hands clasped behind his back and an awkward smile on his face that is incongruous with how handsome he is.

"Uh, hi," is his opener and Sansa's finds herself amused and endeared, cheeks hot.

"Hi," she says.

He clears his throat, a hand loosely fisted in front of his mouth.

"I'm Jon," he says.

"Sansa."

"That's a pretty name."

She laughs, face hot.

"Thank you," she says. She tilts her head to the side, looking him up and down, "you sound Northern."

He smiles, quick, and nods his head.

"So do you."

"Where are you from?"

"Castle Black," he says, rocking back on his heels. He shoves his hands into his pockets.

"That explains it."

He arches a brow in question and she smiles at him.

"It's a thick brogue," she says with a quiet laugh, "I'd've guessed you'd be from the far North."

He shrugs, smiling at her. He tilts closer, eyes locked on hers.

"Where are you from then?" He asks.

"Winterfell," she says.

He hums.

"And what brings you south?"

"Ah, it's a girl's trip," Sansa gestures at Jeyne and Margaery behind her. They wave at Jon with smirks on their faces, "celebrating graduation."

"Graduation?" He repeats, hesitant.

"University!"

"Ah," he nods. He looks at Jeyne and Margaery briefly before making eye contact with Sansa again, "I should probably let you get back to your friends then."

"Wait!" Margaery calls before he can turn fully away and Sansa's eyes go wide.

Jon turns back, a furrow in his brow.

Margaery grins at him.

"We don't mind if you steal her," she says.

"Oh Gods," Sansa moans, fingers curled tight in Jon's dark curls.

She bucks against his arm across her hips, holding her steady. He's just pressed two thick fingers inside her wet cunt, his tongue hot on her clit. He sucks the little bud between his lips, crooking his fingers inside her, searching for the spot that makes her sees stars. She cries out when he finds it, writhing beneath him as she comes again. He licks her through it, slowly pulling his fingers out of her and hinging his jaw open to lap at her pussy, licking up every bit of slick and cream he's managed to wring out of her. Her thighs tremble and her legs kick, over-sensitive and wrung out after two consecutive orgasms.

She tugs on his curls, pulling him up her body until he's hovering over her, still buttoned into his shirt and trousers while her skirt is pushed up around her hips, panties flung somewhere on the floor, the top of her dress has been pulled down to bare her full breasts. His eyes are wide and dark, hungry. Sansa reaches down to feel his hard cock trapped in his pants. He groans and leans down to kiss her, taking her mouth. She arches and moans into him, parting her lips to his tongue. He licks past her teeth and she whimpers. She feels his shoulders and back, the way his muscles shift beneath her hands.

Their lips part and Sansa pants at the ceiling, eyes still squeezed closed. Jon's mouth attacks her neck, kissing, biting, sucking at the soft skin of her throat, down to nip and suck at her tight nipples. She moans and writhes underneath him, arching into his every touch. She hears a zipper and she whines, his hands on her thighs, parting her legs further, hitching one up around his waist.

She manages to breathe out the word "Condom?" before he presses into her and he groans, pulling away from her breasts reluctantly to dig in his back pocket for a foil packet. He opens it and rolls it down his length and Sansa opens her eyes finally to look at him kneeling between her thighs.

He's still mostly dressed, trousers pushed down just below his ass to free his hard cock. He's long and thick and she shivers at the sight of him, digging her heel into the back of his thigh to encourage him forward.

He obliges.

The head of his thick cock breaches her and she sucks in a sharp breath at the stretch, lashes fluttering.

"Oh Gods," she moans, clawing at Jon's back.

He presses his face to her neck as he slowly presses in, giving her body time to adjust to his girth. She whimpers as he bottoms out, muttering "oh my gods," under her breath at how full she is, pussy stretched tight around his cock.

He kisses her neck and rolls his hips into her, pulling a low moan from her lips. Sansa runs one hand down his back, the other tangling in the hair at the back of his head. He mouths at her neck, tongue hot and wet on her skin while he fucks her, every roll of his hips dragging his cock along her walls, his pubic bone grinding against her clit.

She's never come like this before, but she thinks she might, her third orgasm building in her core with every thrust of his cock inside her.

"Fuck you feel good," he grunts, lips moving against her skin.

"I'm gonna come again," Sansa whimpers, clutching at him and gasping.

"Good."

Sansa lets out a breathless laugh at the blunt statement, ending on a moan. She squeezes his waist with her knees and his thrusts pick up speed, driving into her and pushing her up the bed. She lets go of his hair to reach above her head, hand to the headboard to keep from scooting further.

Jon pulls back from her neck to look down at her, eyes dark. He's braced on a forearm, free hand on her waist. It travels down to her knee, hiking her leg up and she moans, tossing her head as he fucks her deeper, the head of his cock slamming into her cervix. She whimpers, breath coming in short gasps as she moans and writhes beneath him. Her orgasm builds and builds with every harsh press and she goes taut when it breaks over her, thighs trembling, pussy fluttering around his cock as she cries out her pleasure.

His movements stall, cock sheathed deep inside her. He pants above her where she lays limp and exhausted, catching his breath.

"Good?" He asks and she laughs, breathless.

"Keep going," she says, tightening her legs around his waist, "Wanna feel you come."

He groans and rolls his hips, a slow drag against her over-sensitive walls. He snaps his hips into her, quickly picking up the pace as he chases his release. Sansa whimpers with every thrust, gasping and moaning and letting him fuck her hard and fast until he groans and spills into the condom, burying his face back into her neck. He goes boneless on top of her, panting against her throat.

His weight feels good.

She runs her fingers through his hair.

Eventually he rolls off of her, to the side in the bed, softening cock slipping out of her engorged cunt. He pauses there for a moment before sitting up. He stands and strips off the condom, ambling to the en-suite to dispose of it. He finally shoves his pants fully down his legs and kicks them off before reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

"You can stay," he says softly, looking at her from beneath his lashes, dark curls falling in his face as he slowly unbuttons his dress shirt and tosses it aside, "I have to be out of here by ten though."

He pulls his white undershirt off over his head and now he's completely nude in front of her, broad shoulders, muscled arms and legs, toned stomach, soft cock.

Sansa swallows hard.

"Okay."

He smiles and makes back toward the bed, one knee on the edge of the mattress. It dips and she rolls a little toward him. He tugs lightly on the strap of her dress, pulled down around her bicep.

"That can't be comfortable," he murmurs.

Sansa licks her lips. She rolls onto her stomach, baring the zipper to his eyes. He understands instantly what she wants and pulls the zipper slowly down her back. She rolls back over and wiggles out of the dark blue dress. She lays naked under his warm gaze, breath hitching as his eyes sweep down her body.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs.

Sansa feels a blush fill her cheeks, warm and pink. She rubs her slick thighs together.

"Thank you," she says softly.

A smile quirks Jon's lips and he snaps the bedside lamp off, plunging them into the warm dark. She feels the bed dip as he crawls in beside her and pulls the blankets up over them. She hesitates for a moment before scooting closer, reaching for him cautiously.

He opens his arms easy, letting her snuggle close, head on his chest, an arm around his waist. His arms close around her, warm and strong. She lets her eyes close, sighing in contentment.

"Good night, Jon," she says quietly.

"Good night."

The door of the room Sansa's been sharing with the girls swings open before she can pull the keycard out of the slot. Margaery stands on the other side, grinning at her in a very predatory manner. She looks Sansa over, taking in her rumpled dress and messy hair, gaze catching on her bruised neck.

"Well," she says warmly, "it looks like someone had a very good time."

Sansa blushes and pushes past her, trying to bite down on the smile that wants to overtake her face.

"I need to shower," she mumbles.

"I'll bet you do," Margaery says, amused as she closes the door and follows Sansa further into the suite, "Jeyne's in there now though."

Sansa sighs. She sets her clutch on the coffee table in the sitting area and turns to face the music.

Margaery is still smirking at her.

"Tell me," Margaery demands, "how was it?"

Sansa silently holds up three fingers.

Margaery brow furrows.

"Three?"

Sansa nods, letting her hand drop.

"Like. . . you'd rate the experience a three? Out of five? Out of ten? That's so sad."

Sansa shakes her head vehemently and blows out a breath.

"I came three times," she blurts, "Four, if you count this morning."

Margaery eyes go wide. She laughs.

"I definitely count this morning."

"Gods," Sansa breathes, bringing her palms up to her hot face. She looks around the room then back to Margaery, "He gave me his number."

Margaery squeals, moving forward to grab Sansa's hands.

"He's only two hours from you in Castle Black!" She exclaims. She shakes her head, "Only you would come all the way south to find a Northman."

Sansa laughs. She shakes her head, disentangling her hands from Margaery's.

"I don't know if I should call him."

"Why on earth not?"

"I don't know how to do this," Sansa says, shaking her head again, "you're the one that calls me a serial monogamist."

"With the worst taste in the world," Margaery agrees.

Sansa shoots her a glare.

"Who's to say Jon won't turn out to be more of the same?"

Margaery rolls her eyes.

"No one said you have to date him; just fuck him. He's clearly good at it and Sansa— you deserve that. Someone who makes you feel good. I mean when's the last time you got off with another person touching you?"

"Last night," Sansa says, tilting her chin in defiance.

Margaery purses her lips.

"Before last night."

Sansa sigh, eyes sliding away.

"I don't know — a year? Two?"

"That's so sad."

"Margie—!"

"I'm just saying. You don't have to date this Jon, but you could let him give you regular orgasms if you'd like."

Sansa sigh. She runs a hand through her already mussed hair.

"I'll think about it."

She thinks about little else for the next two days, distracted as she and the girls shop and explore the city together. She thinks about Jon and his mouth and his cock and that low voice. She thinks about his broad, calloused palms and dark, curly hair, the way his body covered hers, warm and strong.

She shivers where she sits.

She wants him inside her again.

She shifts in her seat on the train, pulling her bag tighter to her chest. She's on hour four of six to get home to Winterfell and thoughts of Jon have plagued her the whole way. She knows she's wet just thinking about him, remembering, can feel the slick on her labia, seeping toward her thighs, thankful that the dark pants she's wearing will soak it up.

Her cheeks are warm, eyes down. She grabs her phone and clicks Jon's name, opening a new text thread. She stares at it, thinking, measuring. She types "thinking about you on the train home and soaking through my panties in front of all these people." She means to delete it, to not send it, to hit the little 'x' button as many times as it takes to get rid of the words.

Her thumb bumps the send button instead.

Jon's phone vibrates with a text from an unknown number and his stomach jumps in anticipation. He checks it immediately, ears going red, cock twitching at the words before 'pop' the message disappears, replaced by "this message has been deleted."

He blinks.

Jon: Sansa?

The three dots appear then disappear again a few times before a message finally comes through.

Sansa: oh my gods Jon I'm so sorry I didn't mean to actually send that!

Jon licks his lips, settling back against the sofa.

Jon: is it true?

Sansa: …there's definitely a damp spot in my jeans

Jon groans, palming his soft cock through his sweats. It jumps at the attention, half-hard at the image of Sansa sitting in a full train car, soaking through her jeans at the thought of him.

"Gods," he mumbles.

Jon: wish I could taste you

She doesn't reply immediately. He pictures her looking around furtively, shifting in her seat. He closes his eyes.

Sansa: you're making it WORSE

Jon smirks down at his phone.

Jon: That's the point.

Sansa: you're a bad man

Jon: Only because you want me to be.

He tosses his phone aside, shaking his head at himself. His ears are hot, a blush under his beard. He palms his half-hard cock again, closing his eyes to picture her more clearly. Her long red hair and long legs, her full breasts and pretty pink nipples. Her cunt.

"Fuck." He grumbles, at the memory of licking slick from her lips and clit, the way her wet heat enveloped his cock so tight. His cock grows hard under his fingers and he slips his hand under the waistband of his sweats to fist his shaft, stroking himself tightly once, twice. He fumbles to grab his phone even though she hasn't replied yet.

He hesitates.

Jon: When can I see you again?

She replies immediately.

Sansa: when are you free?

Jon frowns.

Jon: the 12th/13th mostly

Sansa: mostly?

Jon: I have a meeting Sunday morning

Is it stupid not to tell her what I do? Jon sighs. He shakes his head.

Sansa: 12-13 works for me

Jon closes his eyes in relief.

Jon: I can fly you out.

Sansa: don't be silly

Sansa: it's only a 2 hour train ride

Jon You'll catch the 6am?

He's being too eager, he knows. He tosses the phone away on the couch again. He hears the doggy door in the kitchen and cranes to neck to watch Ghost make his way toward the living room, nails clicking on the hardwood floors. His nerves have softened his cock and he sighs, patting the empty space beside him on the sofa to encourage Ghost up.

His phone vibrates.

Sansa: 8

Jon smiles.

Jon: I'll take it.

Three days later, Sansa is up at 6am, a weekend bag packed. She's anxious, pacing in front of the coffee maker in her kitchen, phone to her ear.

"I can't believe you woke me up so early for this." Margaery bemoans over the phone.

"Margie, please, I am taking a two hour train north to meet a man I've known for less than a week! Why the hell did I agree to this?!" Sansa demands, a hysterical edge to her voice.

"Well, you could've taken a twenty minute flight instead."

"Margie!"

"Oh, alright. Look, put on some lingerie under your travel clothes and be ready to fuck as soon as you get back to his — he's clearly as eager as you are."

Sansa sputters.

"I'm not eager; I am anxious!"

"Right, that's why you spent so much time marveling at his girth."

Sansa flushes.

"I've never seen a dick like that in real life!" She protests, "he bruised me! Inside!"

"And you liked it."

Sansa remains reticent.

Margaery sighs.

"If you're that anxious then don't go. Text him that you can't make it — that you don't want to."

Sansa is silent.

"Unless you do. Want to."

"I do," Sansa says quietly.

"That'a girl! Shower and get ready to go — you've got a train to catch."

Sansa sighs.

"Alright, okay, I'm going." She's quiet, "thank you Margie. I love you."

"I love you too! Now off with you — I'm going back to sleep."

Sansa spends most of the train with her headphones in, listening to music while watching the landscape scroll by. Her heart races as the train approaches the station in Castle Black. It comes to a stop and the announcement is made, doors sliding open. She steps out onto the platform with her bag and looks around the small crowd of people for a familiar face.

"Sansa!"

She turns and there he is, wearing a toque and heavy coat, his breath fogging the air. There's a grin on his face and she smiles back helplessly, letting him step up and take her bag without a word.

"How was the train?" He asks, grabbing her hand and leading her off the platform.

Sansa flushes, feeling his warm, callused hand wrapped around her own.

"Boring," she says, "peaceful."

He hums.

"Sounds nice — are you hungry?"

"Hungry?" She'd been too anxious to eat anything before she left, "yeah, I could eat."

"Good," he says, squeezing her hand, "I know a place — it's on the way."

"Okay."

He leads her to a black SUV, opening the passenger door for her before tossing her bag into the backseat. She watches him round the front and climb into the driver's side, a nervous flutter in her stomach.

She doesn't know what she expected, but it wasn't breakfast, wasn't this attentive.

"Do you mind a drive-thru?"

"Oh, no. That's fine."

Jon nods. He pulls out of their spot and starts off.

Thirty minutes later they pull into a driveway, a bag of warm food in Sansa's lap. She climbs out of the car when Jon does, waiting as he grabs her bag from the back with the food in her hands. His keys jingle in his hand as he leads her to the porch, her bag slung over one shoulder. He unlocks it and pushes it open and Sansa can hear the excited click of paws on hardwood. She peeks around Jon and spots a giant white dog dancing around in the threshold.

"Dammit Ghost," he mutters, laughing under his breath. He sighs, turning toward Sansa while standing in the doorway to keep the dog from escaping, "he's excited."

Sansa smiles.

"I love dogs," she says.

"Alright, well," Jon huffs, "okay."

He pushes forward and Sansa follows him into the house.

Ghost immediately butts his head against her stomach, panting happily up her, nosing at the bag in her hands. She scritches between his ears, grinning down at him and then laughs when he jumps up, paws on her shoulders.

"Ghost, down." Jon says firmly and Ghost immediately drops, belly to the floor. He looks at Jon expectantly and Jon sighs, "Bed."

Ghost stands and trots off into the house, toward a large dog bed in the living area.

"Sorry about that," Jon says.

"It's okay," Sansa says, smiling at him reassuringly, "he's very well trained."

"Yeah," Jon runs his fingers through his hair, "I knew he'd have to be so I've worked hard to keep his training up."

"What kind of dog is he?" Sansa asks, following Jon's example and taking her shoes off by the door.

They strip out of their coats and hang them up on hooks to the left of the door.

"A mutt," he says, shrugging.

He gestures for Sansa to follow him further into the house and she does, trailing him to a large kitchen. She sets the bag of food on the table and waits.

"Would you like something to drink? Milk, water, orange juice, coffee?"

"Uh, water is fine."

Jon nods and goes about pouring her a glass, setting it on the table in front of her.

"You can sit," he says, nodding.

She sits.

He grabs the bag of food and opens it, placing the fruit salad she'd ordered in front of her along with a plastic fork. She waits for him settle in across from her with his own fruit and a takeaway container of scrambled eggs and toast before popping the plastic bowl open and digging in.

They eat quietly, peeking up at each other occasionally, smiling when they make eye-contact. Sansa feels fluttery in an unexpected way, a little apprehensive about how little clothes-tearing their reunion had been, a little nervous about how domestic things feel.

He held her hand and bought her breakfast.

He had wanted her to catch the 6am train up.

She peeks at him again as he stuffs a chunk of pineapple in his mouth, humming to himself at the taste. She nibbles on a blackberry and sips her water. She forces herself to finish the full fruit salad then pushes the bowl away, setting the fork aside. She waits patiently for Jon to swallow his last bite of eggs and he smiles sheepishly at her, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Do you want the tour?"

She nods.

He stands and she follows, wending through the small house until they make their way to the bedroom. The furniture is dark wood and the bedding is black, a freshly made bed with what Sansa imagines must be clean sheets. She smiles to herself, imagining him pulling the sheets from the laundry that morning.

"Do you always make your bed?" She asks, stepping further into the room and turning to sit on the edge of the bed, facing him.

He looks caught out, a blush hiding under his beard. He shakes his head.

"No."

"But you did for me?" She asks, looking up at him from the bed, her hands braced behind her.

He licks his lips and steps closer, nudging her knees apart with his own so he's standing between her legs. He reaches out to thumb at her chin, drags his knuckles across her cheek and cups her jaw.

She shivers.

"I did," he murmurs.

"And these are clean sheets?"

"Fresh from the dryer this morning," Jon says. Sansa bites her lower lip. Her heart flutters. Jon strokes her cheek with his thumb, "I have plans for you."

"Plans?" Sansa breathes.

"Plans," Jon agrees, "I want to improve my record."

"Hm?"

"We've got all day," he says. He lowers his voice, "I can do better than three."

Sansa flushes, shifting where she sits as memories of his mouth on her cunt flash through her mind.

"I don't know if I can," she says with an embarrassed laugh.

Jon's gaze remains serious, eyes dark on hers.

"I'd like to try."

Sansa swallows hard. She nods against the hand on her cheek and Jon falls to his knees.

Sansa sucks in a sharp breath.

Jon tucks his hands in the bends of her knees and tugs her closer to the edge of the bed. She slides forward easily, a breathy little giggle leaving her lips. He reaches for the fly of her jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping her easily. She lays back and lifts her hips and Jon strips the jeans off of her, leaving her on the edge of the bed in a sweater and her dark green lace panties.

Jon groans, insinuating himself between her legs where he kneels. He hikes her legs over his shoulders, breath warm against her core.

Sansa twitches. She twists her fingers in the bedding below her, a breath caught in her throat.

The tip of Jon's nose brushes her clothed center and she holds very still. Without warning, he hinges his mouth wide and drags the flat of his tongue up the length of her labia. His tongue is hot and wet and firm against her, soaking through her thin underwear.

She whimpers and sighs, tilting her hips to meet every long lick as he tastes her. He adjusts his grip on her thighs, fingers digging into her soft flesh. He tugs the crotch of her panties aside and his lips press to her clit, eliciting a little whimper from her. He circles it with the tip of his tongue and she twitches, letting out a little gasp.

A smile ghosts across his lips before he sucks the little bud between his lips and slowly slides a finger inside her. She moans, hips bucking, and he groans against her, fucking her shallowly with his finger while sucking and lapping at her clit.

Sansa's breath shudders out of her, tightening her cunt around his finger.

"Jon," she says, a little breathy.

"Hm?" He grunts, not stopping his movements.

"More."

He slips a second finger inside her and she moans out loud, left hand moving to tangle in Jon's dark curls without thought. He groans against her when she tugs, the sound sending shockwaves up her spine.

"Gods." Sansa moans, grinding her cunt against his face and fingers, "Fuck, you're good at that."

Jon responds by crooking his fingers inside her and her back arches off the bed with another moan, squeezing his head between her thighs. She comes apart suddenly, all at once, shaking and crying out. Jon's stills his fingers inside her, but continues lapping at her clit until the shaking subsides. He slides his fingers slowly out of her, slick hand landing on her thigh. He hinges his mouth open wide, a long lick from her entrance and up her vulva to her clit. She lets out a trembling breath, letting go of his hair and letting her hands flop loose by her sides. She pants up at the ceiling while he continues to lick at her pussy, lazily tasting her. She's about to push him away when he sucks her clit between his lips and she whines. His fingers find her again and her second orgasm comes faster, harder, compounding pleasure that leaves her breathless.

She lets her thighs fall open around his head, sliding off one of his shoulders to dangle off the bed while she pants. He finally pulls back from between her thighs, wiping his shining mouth and beard with the back of his hand. She tilts her head down to look at him and finds him watching her with dark eyes. His tongue darts out, dragging across his lips and her breath hitches, pussy clenching around nothing. He places a gentle kiss to the side of her knee, eyes locked on hers. He brushes his nose against her soft skin and places another kiss along her inner thigh.

It trembles at his touch.

She lets out a soft breath and lets her head fall back again, closing her eyes against the sight of the white ceiling.

"Alright?" He murmurs, voice rumbling through her.

She lets out a breathless laugh, twisting her hands in the bedspread. She nods and then breathes, "Yes." when she realizes he probably can't see her head move.

He hums to himself, running his rough palms down the skin of her outer thighs to her knees then back up. He tucks his fingers in the waistband of her panties and tugs. She lifts her hips to allow him to slip them off of her.

He tosses them aside.

He presses a wet kiss to her inner thigh and her breath hitches, whimpering when he sucks the smooth skin between his lips. He leaves a trail of bruises blooming up her leg. She clenches her empty pussy, sighing and twitching her hips as he moves higher.

"Jon," she pleads.

"Hm?"

Sansa sighs softly.

"Are you going to stay down there all morning?"

"Considering it," he mumbles, lips moving against her upper inner thigh, beard scratching against her skin.

She huffs, amused.

"I've never met a man this obsessed with cunnilingus," she muses.

He snorts.

"I'm a connoisseur."

Sansa laughs. She can feels Jon's smile against her thigh. She reaches down, sitting up to pull at his hair, his shirt, his shoulders.

"Come up here," she mutters, "you haven't even kissed me."

Jon goes with a smile. He stands and cups her face, tilting it up toward him, and leans down to press their lips together. Sansa grabs his forearms, holding him close. He tastes musky sweet with her slick, licking into her mouth. Their tongues touch and Sansa moans. They kiss for what feels like a sweet eternity, Jon exploring her mouth with his tongue before retreating, their lips moving soft against each other until Sansa's slick is soaking into the bedding beneath her. They part to breathe, panting in each other's mouths.

"Jon," Sansa murmurs, lips brushing his.

"Hm?"

"Please fuck me."

He smirks against her mouth, kissing her firmly one more time before pulling back. He nods toward the head of the bed.

"Get in."

She lets go of his arms and scoots backward in the bed, stripping off her sweater as she goes. It leaves her in nothing but her lacy green bra. Jon stands there a moment longer, admiring the view, before pulling his sweater off over his head and tossing it aside. He strips out of his jeans and briefs in one smooth motion, left bare, hard cock curling up toward his stomach.

Sansa's mouth goes dry. She swallows hard. She lets her legs fall open, laying back against Jon's pillows and beckoning him forward.

Sansa wakes up slowly, a warm weight at her waist. Jon's breath is hot and damp at the nape of her neck, their legs tangled together in sleep. She smiles to herself. She disentangles herself carefully without waking him, afternoon sunlight shining through the curtains on the windows. She finds the bathroom and relieves herself and washes her hands before grabbing his shirt from the floor and pulling it on over her head. She makes her way to the living room to find her phone and swipes away most of the notifications before opening a text from Robb.

It's a twitter link.

Robb: ignore Snow — they posted me on the ESPN twitter account!!!

Sansa rolls her eyes fondly and clicks the link where it takes her to an ESPN graphic advertising the Westerosi Hockey League's Battle for the North. Robb is on the left of the graphic, readying a shot, eyes focused and to the right is—

Jon.

Sansa's stomach plummets, body going cold. She zooms in on the face on the right, hoping she's mistaken, but even for how short a time she's known him she recognizes his profile, those intent dark eyes.

She straightens without thinking and storms back the bedroom where Jon sleeps peacefully, a pillow now pulled over his face. She grabs the nearest thing to her as she crosses the threshold — a paperback book on Jon's dresser — and beans it across the room so it strikes him in the chest.

He wakes in an instant, confused and bewildered. He looks at the book, rubbing at his chest, then to her, eyes squinted in confusion.

"Did you just throw that at me?"

"Did you fuck me to get at my brother?" She demands, cold fury making her hands tremble.

He appears even more bewildered than before.

"I didn't even know you had a brother!"

"I have three!" She snaps.

The adrenaline slowly drains out of her as she takes in his earnest confusion, hands held up, the way he's shuffled back to sit against the headboard, away from her.

Like she's a crazy person.

She flushes.

"I'm not crazy!" She says.

"Right." He sounds skeptical, "you just accosted me with a book and accused me of fucking you to get back at your brother. Who I didn't even know existed."

She flushes hotter, ducking her head.

"I—" she groans and rubs at her face, "I'm gonna kill Robb."

"Is that your brother?" Jon asks tentatively.

Sansa sighs.

"Robb Stark," she says, "my brother is the Direwolves's Robb Stark."

"Oh," Jon blinks, "what does me fucking you have to do with him."

"Because you hate each other!" She insists.

Jon blinks some more.

"I don't. . .hate Robb Stark. He's a good player, relatively clean."

Sansa stares, slightly lips parted.

"But. . . Robb can't stand you."

Jon's brow furrows.

"I've barely said two words to him," he says.

Sansa's mouth opens and closes a couple times.

"He's never scored with you on the ice," she says, "everyone brings it up every time you play each other — it's like it's personal."

"It's my job to keep him from scoring!" Jon protests, "I'm a defensemen!"

Sansa stares blankly for a moment, mind whirring.

"You really— I mean—? You don't—? oh my gods that's so embarrassing for Robb he's like obsessed with you."

Jon quirks his brows, an uncertain smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Am I still in danger?" He asks.

Sansa can feel her face get hotter at the words. She cringes.

"Oh my gods; I'm so sorry. I totally freaked because Robb hates you so much and I just assumed that it's mutual and I don't even know why I thought you'd know who I was." She rambles, covering her face with her hands.

Jon's smile softens, amusement in the turn of his lips.

"It's alright."

Sansa peeks at him from between her fingers.

"Are you sure?" She chews her lower lip, "I can catch the next train home if you—"

"Sansa," Jon cuts her off. He looks soft and warm, sitting up naked in the bed, sheets covering his modesty, hair a mess, "I want you to stay," A beat, "even though your brother hates me."

She lets out a gusty breath, straightening her shoulders.

"Good," she says sternly before letting her shoulders round and admitting quietly, "I didn't want to go."

Jon smiles softly at her. He lifts a hand and beckons her over.

She goes.

She sits on the edge of the bed by his hip, his shirt riding up her hips. She's very aware of how bare she is underneath it. His hand curls over her thigh, heavy, warm, and callused, thumb stroking her soft skin.

"Hey," he says softly, one corner of his lips quirked up.

Her cheeks are still pink.

"Hi."

"So Robb hates me, huh?" he says, amused.

Sansa groans.

"I'm sorry," she says, "I wasn't— I didn't realize who you were and when he sent me that post and I saw your face I just—" she sighs, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I threw a book at you," she despairs.

He nods his head, pressing his lips together so he doesn't smile.

"Gods," Sansa sighs, putting a hand to her forehead, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Jon repeats. His hand inches higher up her thigh, a smirk teasing at his lips, "I know how you can make it up to me."

She laughs. She puts a hand on his shoulder, sliding it over to cup the side of his neck, her thumb tucked behind his ear.

"Gladly," she murmurs.

They lean into each other, lips brushing, when Sansa's phone starts ringing. She pulls back with a groan and peeks at the screen to see Robb's face. She sighs.

"If I don't answer he'll keep calling," she mutters.

Jon quirks his lips and nods his head.

She picks up the phone, swiping to answer to put it to her ear.

Jon's hand remains on her thigh.

"Hello?"

"Sans! Where are you? I'm at your place."

"Wha-? Robb, I told you to stop showing up without telling me. I'm not even in the city!"

"Where are you then?" He asks, petulant, "I brought you a bagel."

Sansa sighs.

Jon's fingers twitch on her thigh and her breath hitches.

"I'm out of town for the weekend," she says, moving her hand from the side of Jon's neck, back to curl in his hair.

Robb huffs.

"Why didn't you tell me? Where are you at?"

"It was last minute," she says, "I—I'm in Castle Black."

"Castle Black? What the hell are you doing up there?"

Jon squeezes her thigh. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the ball of her shoulder.

She swallows hard.

"They have a lot of museums and stuff I wanted to see."

"So you dropped everything less than a week after getting back from King's Landing to go on another trip?" Robb sounds skeptical.

He should. It's not like her.

Jon's hand creeps higher on her thigh, his forehead pressed to her shoulder now.

"Yeah. I know it's, like, unusual for me," she says with a frown, wrapping one of Jon's curls around her forefinger, "but I have a friend up here who invited me out and our schedules happened to match up now."

A beat.

"A friend?" Robb asks, suspicious, "what's her name?"

Sansa sighs. She thinks.

"I don't want to tell you," she admits.

Robb is quiet. Sansa can picture him pursing his lips in displeasure.

"Sansa Stark are you with a boy?" He demands.

Sansa's lips turn down in a frown.

"He's not a boy," she huffs, "he's a man."

Jon snorts.

Robb twigs it immediately.

"Is that him?!" He asks, "put him on the phone!"

Sansa's eyes go wide.

"Absolutely not!" she says, "You're ridiculous and I'm hanging up!"

"Sansa—"

She hits the end call button and tosses the phone aside.

Jon chortles beside her, his forehead rolling against her shoulder.

"Gods," she sighs, shaking her head, "I hate him."

Jon laughs out loud at that, tilting his head back.

Her phone rings again, a video call request from Robb.

She scowls at it, turning so she's facing Jon instead of having him beside her when she answers.

She glares at Robb's face on her screen.

He glares back.

"What do you want?" She demands.

"Is he still there?" Sansa's eyes snap to Jon's behind her phone unintentionally. Robb's eyes narrow, "so he is."

Sansa rolls her eyes. Robb's gaze focuses on her, looking her over.

"What is he a vampire or something?" He asks.

"What?"

Robb gestures to his own neck and Sansa focuses on her own image in the top right corner of the screen. There are purple bruises on the side of her neck.

She blushes, narrowed gaze flicking to Jon's again.

He shrugs, unrepentant.

"What do you want, Robb?" She repeats.

Robb huffs.

"What I wanted was to celebrate my first appearance on ESPN's official twitter account with my baby sister."

She rolls her eyes, but smiles a little.

"You're ridiculous."

He huffs.

"No congratulations?"

"Congratulations," she says flatly.

Robb huffs again.

"You're so annoying," he sighs, "you should be happy for me — I don't even care that I have to share the screen with that asshole Snow."

Sansa feels a pang of guilt, meeting Jon's amused gaze over the top of her phone.

She sighs.

"Maybe he's not so bad," she says carefully.

Robb scoffs.

"He's got it out for me," he insists.

Jon rolls his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips.

Just doing my job, he mouths.

Sansa suppresses a smile.

"Okay, Robb."

Robb huffs a third time.

"Whatever," he mutters, "I'm giving your bagel to the pigeons."

Sansa laughs.

"You do that," she says.

They say their 'I love you's and 'goodbye's and she hangs up. She tosses the phone away and sighs, meeting Jon's eyes.

"Sorry," she says.

Jon shrugs.

"He really doesn't like me," he says, sounding amused.

Sansa groans.

"He doesn't like not scoring," she says.

"Who does?"

Sansa huffs.

Jon smiles at her. He wraps his hand around the back of her neck, thumb under her jaw.

"I'd probably be pissed off too if there was one guy always in my way," he says wryly, "and people wouldn't shut up about it."

Sansa rolls her eyes, smiling at him.

"Athletes."

Jon grins. He pulls her in, pressing a kiss to her lips. She puts her hands on his bare chest, sliding them up to his neck.

Her phone rings again.

Sansa groans against Jon's lips and he laughs quietly into her mouth. She pulls back, glaring at her phone, to see her mother's face on the screen.

She sighs heavily.

"It's my mom."

Jon nods. He pecks her on the lips and then pulls back.

"Lunch?" He says, her phone still ringing.

She nods, offering a quick smile.

Jon climbs out of the bed and Sansa lets herself admire the view of his bare ass as he walks toward the bathroom before quickly picking up her mother's call.

"Hello?"

"Sansa, sweetheart, Robb says you're in Castle Black with some man." Catelyn says, tone urgent and disapproving.

"Oh my gods." Sansa mutters.

I'm going to KILL Robb, she thinks.

"Is it true?" Catelyn persists.

"Mother, he's not some man, okay? He's literally nice."

Jon emerges from the bathroom as she says it and he snorts quietly to himself, crossing the bedroom to the closet.

Sansa watches him go.

"Well, what's his name? What does he do? Why haven't I met him?"

"Mother," Sansa groans, "Please. It's not—" she sighs. She continues, quietly, "we're just friends."

Catelyn's silence manages to sound skeptical and disapproving.

Jon exits the walk-in closet dressed in a tight-fitting t-shirt and sweatpants. He passes her, giving her shoulder a squeeze, before making his way out of the room.

"What's his name?" Catelyn repeats.

Sansa sighs again.

"Jon," she says shortly.

"Jon what?"

"I'm not giving you his full name so you can have Bran cyber-stalk him." Sansa says disbelievingly, "Mom. . .I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm having a nice time with a friend."

"With Jon." Catelyn says flatly.

"Yes, mom, with Jon."

Silence for a long moment.

"Okay."

Sansa sighs in relief.

"I love you," she says, "I'll see you next Sunday."

"You're not coming to dinner tomorrow?"

Sansa's cheeks warm.

"I'm staying with Jon through the weekend," she says.

"As friends." Catelyn says.

"Yes."

"Hm."

Sansa rolls her eyes.

"I'll see you next Sunday," she repeats.

"Okay," Catelyn says slowly, "next Sunday. I love you, sweetheart. Be safe."

"I love you too."

They hang up and Sansa throws herself onto the bed with a sigh, hands over her face.

Her family is so embarrassing.

She wallows in her mortification for a moment before getting out of the bed, tugging Jon's shirt down around her hips and running her fingers through her long hair. She makes her way down the hall to the kitchen and finds Jon cutting an apple into slices.

"Are you allergic to peanut butter?" He asks, looking at her over his shoulder.

She shakes her head.

"Do you like apples and peanut butter?" He asks, knife paused in its work, "or yogurt. I could do a salad too."

Sansa smiles a little, stepping closer. She steals an apple slice from the cutting board and snaps the tip off the crisp fruit with her teeth. She chews and swallows.

"I like apples and peanut butter. And yogurt."

Jon nods. He turns back to the cutting board and Sansa lingers, watching his forearms and hands flex while he chops.

"Shouldn't you be eating more protein?" She asks idly, eyes trailing up his arm to his broad shoulders then down his back to his ass.

He shrugs and Sansa follows the movement with her eyes. She rubs her thighs together.

"Dinner will be protein-packed," he says.

Sansa hums to show she heard him.

"Do you cook a lot?" she asks, head tilted, watching his face.

He finishes cutting the apple and sets the knife down before turning to face her with a shrug.

"Not a lot," he says, "but I've taught myself a few things. I have a meal prep service but sometimes it gets boring."

He turns back to the counter and places the apple slices on a plate along with a dollop of peanut butter.

"The only home cooked meal Robb eats is when he can make it Sunday dinner at our parents house," Sansa tells him.

Jon nods.

"Most guys can't be bothered; especially young guys," he says with a shrug.

Sansa arches a brow.

"And you're not a young guy?" she teases.

"Not anymore," Jon says, carrying the plate over to the table, "I'm considered a vet now."

Sansa watches him walk to the fridge and pull out a thing of honey Greek yogurt.

"How old are you?" She asks.

Jon looks over at her as he sets the yogurt down on the table too.

"Twenty-nine."

"Ancient."

Jon huffs, amused.

"In hockey terms? I'm getting there," he says.

Sansa nods.

"It's so—" she shakes her head, "it's weird how different it is for athletes. Aging. They talk about thirty-year-olds like they're about to keel over."

"Like women." Jon says.

Sansa barks a sharp laugh.

"Yes — like every year above twenty-nine puts you past some expiration date."

"How old are you?" Jon turns the question around on her.

"Twenty-one."

"Come eat," Jon says, waving her toward a seat as he sits himself.

Sansa obeys. The shirt she's wearing rides up as she does, leaving her bare pussy on the cold wood of the seat. She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose, shifting where she sits with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Jon's gaze flickers from her lips down to her legs, the neat thicket of her pubic hair barely hidden by the hem of the shirt.

His throat bobs.

He grabs an apple slice and bites into it.

"You told me you studied fashion?" He says after a moment.

Sansa nods. She reaches for an apple slice and holds it, cool against her fingertips.

"Yeah, fashion merchandising," she says.

"Did you graduate early?"

Sansa nods, dipping her apple into the yogurt before taking a bite.

"I wanted to be done as soon as possible."

"College not your scene?" Jon asks.

Sansa hesitates. She clears her throat.

"There was a guy," she says, "he wasn't— nice. And after that I just wanted to finish and get out."

Jon frowns deeply at her, brow furrowed, an apple slice halfway to his mouth. He slowly lowers it.

"What do you mean not nice?" He asks, his voice low and dangerous.

Sansa swallows hard. She shakes her head.

"I don't want to talk about it," she says firmly.

Jon studies her face for a long moment then nods.

"Okay," he say softly. He eats his apple slice.

They munch in silence until the plate is cleared and then Sansa bounces up out of her chair, grabbing the dishes and heading for the sink.

Jon tries to protest, but she cuts him off.

"You cooked; I'll clean."

He huffs.

"I didn't cook anything."

Sansa rolls her eyes.

"You know what I mean," she says.

Jon grunts. He sighs. He spreads his knees and puts his elbow on the table, head in his hand, and watches her from his chair. His gaze lingers on her thighs, the way his shirt shifts around her hips as she moves, teasing him with the round bottoms of her ass cheeks. He licks his lips, admiring her smooth skin, the long auburn hair that hangs down her back, the bruises he left on the skin of her thighs. He shifts in his seat, listening to her hum to herself.

It's domestic, strange.

He likes her.

He turns his face into his palm, covering his eyes with his fingers. He sighs deeply, shaking his head.

"Something wrong?"

Her voice startles him into looking up. She's drying her hands on a kitchen towel, turned halfway round from the sink to look at him, a little furrow in her brow.

"No," he says, shaking his head. He holds out his hand to her and she hums, stepping forward to take it. He tugs her closer, until she's standing between his spread legs. He lets go of her hand to place both of his on her waist, her hands landing lightly on his shoulders, "I was just thinking—" he sighs, "I probably shouldn't have invited you here."

She stiffens in his hold, attempting to retreat, expression closing off, but he holds her waist firm.

"That came out wrong," he says immediately. He reaches up to stroke her cheek, "Sansa, I only mean— we don't know each other. At all really, but this feels—"

"Fast?" She offers quietly.

"Intimate," he says. He clears his throat, "domestic. More."

"It's been easy," she agrees, leaning into his hand on her face. She looks into his eyes, studying his face. She says quietly, "I like you."

"You don't know me," he says, soft.

"Then I like what I've seen."

They stare into each other's eyes for a long, drawn out moment.

Jon swallows hard.

"I like you too," he admits.

Sansa smiles. She leans down and presses a kiss to his lips. He pulls her closer by the hips, wrapping his arms around her mid-back, holding her close. She cradles his face in both hands, his beard tickling her soft palms.

They kiss until Ghost's damp, cold nose bumps the back of Sansa's thigh and she jumps at the unexpected touch, squealing.

Jon huffs a laugh, using his foot to push the dog away.

"Go away, Ghost," he mutters.

Ghost huffs and bumps his head into Jon's knee. Jon groans and rolls his eyes, his hands on Sansa's waist.

"He wants a walk," he sighs, looking toward the oven clock then back to Sansa, "it's when I usually take him out."

Sansa bites her lip.

"Want me to come with you?"

Jon drags his up her body, from her knees, past where the hem of his shirt barely covers her, and up to her face.

"You'd have to put on some clothes," he murmurs.

"You don't like that idea?" She teases.

He sighs, sliding a hand down to cup her bare ass cheek. She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose.

"Jon."