#savagearchitect

He snorts at her longing for a shower and then suspends their gear from a strange hook apparatus. “Looks like we’ve got mice.”

“What?!”

“They love the shelters. Some people can’t clean up after themselves properly and ‘leave no trace’ as we say.”

“In that case, I’ll take top bunk.”

“Okay.”  

Will she ever make it back to civilization?!

But an hour later, the mice have crept back into their hidey holes and Sansa’s feeling far less snarky and less in a rush for this night to be over.  

They’ve eaten their meager meal.  And instead of roasted marshmallows tonight, she’s getting a different sort of treat.

Jon’s massaging her feet, the parts that aren’t blistered anyway after he’s treated those blisters with some balm and carefully wrapped them in sterile bandaging.  They feel almost normal again.  And a foot massage is…well, she’ll never say no to a foot massage, especially from a man who knows what he’s doing.  

“That’s sooooo good,” she moans.  She doesn’t miss the way his eyes flash in response.  

She should be embarrassed by this.  She would be if she were stone cold sober.  But Jon had pulled out his flask that he says he brought along for medicinal purposes and they’ve been passing it back and forth ever since he had her remove her boots.

He doesn’t tickle.  There’s a steady pressure but not too much.  He seems to know just the right spots to give special attention to.  Is he a masseuse as well as an EMT?   He sure knows how to treat a lady’s feet.  What else might he know?  

She rolls her neck and relaxes, the liquor uncoiling all that tightness in her shoulders.  She smiles lazily and looks down at him.  Her foot was edging dangerously close to his groin area.  He doesn’t seem bothered by that.  In fact, he’s staring back at her and kind of…

Oh, damn.

She leans forward, her chest heaving.  “You’re really good at that,” she purrs.  

He takes a second before he answers.  “Thanks. Uh…all done.”  

He pats her ankle and scoots away.  She frowns and puts fresh socks on.  The massage is over.  She takes another sip from the flask.

“I’m sorry to keep you from the others tonight.”

“It’s alright, Sansa. I won’t miss Theon making jokes about cuddling for warmth.  I won’t miss Grenn farting either.”

She snickers and nods. “I won’t miss wondering if I’m about to get eaten.”

“Were you in great fear of getting eaten out here?” he asks, his eyebrows waggling mischievously.  

Eaten out?  Oh, don’t give me ideas, Jon Snow, she thinks.

Except she didn’t just think it.  Oh, shit!

“Uhhh…”  He’s blushing and she’s made him uncomfortable.  Great, she’s made herself uncomfortable!

“I’m sorry, Jon.  I’m a lightweight when it comes to straight whiskey and I’ve not had a decent night’s sleep the past two nights and…I’m tired.”

“Yeah, okay,” he says, seeming to give himself a shake.  

They both crawl into their bunks after mumbling an awkward goodnight.  She stares at the ceiling of the little shelter feeling depressed now.  She wishes her feet weren’t blistered and she wishes she hadn’t made Jon uncomfortable. She likes him…a lot.  She always has liked him but spending the past two nights on this trek together she’s realized she likes him in unexpected ways.  But she’s probably ruined that now.  Figures.  

She shivers in her bunk and tries to get comfortable.  She tries not to think about mice.  She tries not to think about Jon and what she might say to make things normal again. She wonders if he’s asleep.  He’s quiet but maybe too quiet to be asleep. It’s hard to say.  

“What kind of ideas?” he whispers in the dark just as she decides he must be asleep.

There’s an edge, a raw sort of rasp in his tone and she knows exactly what he’s referring to.

Her face heats up but that’s not all that’s heating up.  “I could…show you…if you like,” she whispers back.

“I’d like for you to show me.”

She slides out of her bunk down to the floor as he unzips his sleeping bag.  He raises it up to welcome her in.  They’re soon giggling like children but they’re not children.  

He tastes like his good whiskey with the vanilla and caramel notes coming through.  He’s frantically unbuttoning her flannel while she’s shoving his boxers down, licking her lips and so eager.  

“You want on top or…”