Prompt:If you keep looking at me like that we won't make it to a bed.
Being King in the North is never something Robb thought about. He was not a boy dreaming of what could be during his lessons about the Kings of Winter. Never had a second thought about what it would be like to be a king. He was perfectly fine being Lord of Winterfell just like his father and all of the Stark men before him.
He also likes to think his instincts knew something he didn't and never let him lie in the fantasy of it all. His own world shattered so many times over when he Northern Lords sworn to his father crowned him king after the death of that very same father.
Kings are always remembered for something. Aerys Targaryen being the Mad King, Torrhen Stark being the King Who Knelt, Bran the Builder, Benjen the Bitter. The list goes on and on, even still carrying the King Who Lost the North whispered when they think he's not listening. For the way he's been able to turn such things it doesn't change the past, doesn't change the nickname whispered.
But as he sits there with Margaery, his Queen, by his side he finds that such thoughts fall away just by a mere look. The men are clamoring on about something, always something, usually important somethings but he can spare a moment for his wife. A mere moment before he hears Jon's voice talking loudly over the Lords who are questioning him about what exactly he's seen on the other side of the wall.
"You're supposed to be listening, not staring at me." Margaery leans in softly, nuzzling herself against him.
"I've already heard Jon's speech."
"I thought you went hunting."
"We did." Robb glances at those in the room to make certain they haven't taken too much notice of him. "We rode out, decided there was far too much snow for anything real, and he told me of this speech he wished to give them about who is on the other side of the wall."
"Do you think they are listening?"
"Some of them." Robb thinks those of Riverrun and the Vale find less truth in what both Jon and Val are speaking of. Worried more about the winter that has set in over anything else. As long as the Wall is still standing , they say. It's a polite way of saying it's the North's problem, it's Winterfell's problem, over anyone else in the realm. To a certain extent he cannot blame them, knowing that the seat of power that has shifted from Lord to King only makes them all the more willing to do anything but set it in his lap. He suspects they want to get home before the winter fully sets in, another thing for which he doesn't entirely blame them.
His face remains neutral as Margaery shifts away from him and he sits up more in his chair than before. Watching carefully as he looks around and figures out how each will swing. He feels more like his father than knows he needs to show more concern. He's mastered the Stark face that gives away so very little. Stern in nature with true care for those under his care beneath the surface. With winter fully set in, the threat of the Others Jon and Val speak of, and the worry of Daenerys Targaryen in her dragons he really should be paying more attention. He is, in truth, as he listens to all of their words but he knows none of their problems are to be solved in the next coming minutes before they break for the afternoon. Jon still carries on, commanding the room to his presence, causing Robb's eyes to drift to his Queen wife is sitting next to him looking as beautiful as the day he met her. She's covered as the cold washes over all of Winterfell, the peaking of green from her dress embossed in the flowers of her house, to be covered in the darkened colors of his own, the furs layered on top, the Stark emblem embellished on the chest of her coat. A perfect mix of both houses. She's one of them now. Has been since the day they married but as she is mother to their young daughter, Lyanna, living in the North with a grace that even surprises him he sees just how much of the two names she embodies.
Not that he gets to admire his wife for long before his young daughter bursts through the doors. He can't even be upset with her with the way she smiles, slows down her walk as her little hands move behind her, acting ever the little princess she is. A title that she's seemed to use and certainly most of the Lords are wrapped around her little finger.
Sometimes Robb wonders how he survives with her and Margaery.
"Did you outrun your Septa again?" Is all he asks once she finds herself at his side, climbing on top of him as if it's normal to burst in on them.
"No."
"Darling," Margaery says in her warning tone that is still softer than anything he's ever heard come out of his own mother's mouth, "what have we said about lying?"
"Don't get caught."
Val is the first to laugh, "Aye, taught her right."
"Your Grace," one of the Knights from the Vale stands, "perhaps we should continue this later."
"I'll take her." Margaery decides, tugging the girl with long dark hair and Margaery's wide brown eyes off from his lap. "These meetings can only serve to bore the beloved princess."
"Something most of us can agree on." The words come without him thinking much of them.
"I wanna stay." Is all little Lyanna stays, as defiantly as a three year old can.
"There's a lemon cake in it for you." Bribery always seems to work, just as it did for Sansa. Their daughter's face brightens up at the idea and Margaery only smirks at him as she stands. "I'm certain you'll find yourself very entertained this evening."
Robb swallows and gives Lyanna a kiss on the side of her head to not seem as if he's thinking of far different things than what to do about what lies on the other side of the wall. His affection for his wife is well known throughout Winterfell. A fault of his own with his inability to keep himself controlled in environments where a man such as he should not be lifting her skirts. It's not exactly much of a lesson he learns.
Certainly not as his eyes remained glued to Margaery as he leaves and Jon gives him something of a pointed look before they carry on. They don't solve much of anything. All he can do is offer reassurances that if need be Winterfell should be able to carry them through a bulk of the winter, not necessarily a long one. He makes no note that given how longer summer was winter should be just as long, if not longer. The situation on the other side of the wall has been shelved until the morning when they all have clearer minds to make note that Old Nan's tales were hardly just tales. They most definitely do not live inside of a giant, however.
It's well into the evening before he manages to spot Margaery again, this time with no distractions or obligations. There is still another hour or so before dinner and there's something about her more than usual that makes him desire her. If not for the war and the scattering of his family that takes him away from her once their daughter is born at Riverrun, just as he was, he thinks they would have far many more children.
"She's napping and Grey Wind is sleeping at her bedside." Margaery informs him, turning to give him a kiss on the lips. "Sansa caught her wandering the crypts."
"A true Stark."
"Robb." She chastises softly, running her fingers through the furs covering his shoulders. "What if she get nightmares?"
"Then," he whispers, pulling his wife by the hip so her body is flush against his own, "we'll deal with it together as we have dealt with every problem we've come across. Jon and I used to tell all of our younger siblings that the crypts were haunted with ghosts. We've all turned out fine."
"I shouldn't laugh."
"No," he agrees, "you should kiss me instead."
Margaery wastes no time as she leans forward and kisses him, wrapping her arms around her neck. They are hardly hidden away from view but that's never bothered either of them much. Certainly not as Robb's hand slips beneath her furs to feel her through the rest of her layers. A small wish finds him to where it's still summer, where she's wearing the dresses he remembers from early in their days together, leaving just enough to the imagination, over the snows that fall atop of them to leave them both covered in the furs and leathers to keep them warm.
"Your grace," one of the men clears his throat with the words, "I apologize but this raven came for you."
Robb tries not to groan, does it softly enough he's certainly only Margaery hears it. She lets out a soft chuckle, most definitely amused at him. "I'll read it inside."
"Later." Margaery promises with one last kiss before slipping away from him.
Robb allows for his gaze to follow her until she turns around the keep and makes his way to read the scroll. He suspects the only reason she even chose to leave was so she could walk from him, as he'll end up speaking to her about the raven as he does with all of the news that passes through.
He doesn't see her until dinner and even though he wishes to simply take her on the table he doesn't think the sight of her is something his men should be privy to. The only person he wishes to see her is him. Dinner is something he can make it through, even if he spends half of it pushing food around a plate while listening to the Smalljon tell some tale of the war. It's a little dramatized but that hardly hurt anyone.
He glances over at Margaery every few seconds, unable to help himself. She's breathtaking in the glow of the candles.
"If you keep looking at me like that we won't make it to a bed." Margaery whispers as he gets caught gazing at her again.
"That's hardly bothered you in the past."
Margaery's hand finds his thigh, leaning to close the little distance between the two. "That wasn't a complaint, darling."
Robb grips Margaery's hand as he stands from his seat. A few look at him but when he doesn't speak they go back to their food. "Can you keep an eye on Lyanna until we return?" He asks Jon who only rolls his eyes, which is all the agreement Robb needs.
He all but pulls Margaery from the Great Hall and kisses her immediately. There is no one around as the snow falls lightly from the night sky, the moon shining high between the clouds, forgetting for a moment who they are and what they should be doing.
"I need you." Are the only words he manages to get out, finding himself instantly frustrated that the they are both as covered as they are.
"Darling, if you wish for me to make it to your approaching nameday I believe we need to delay this until we find warmth." Her words are filled with a desire of her own as her gaze falls to his lips.
Their chambers are too far for him to wait. It is cold, even he can admit as much, and while his beautiful rose has adapted well even he can see how it would be cold with little clothing on. He tugs her to the sept halfway between the hall and the keep, pulling her inside without thinking twice of it. Oh, if his mother could see him now she would be scolding him for even daring to entertain such a thought.
"You're quite the wolf tonight."
"Aye," he agrees, feeling it within his bones, "the wolf knows exactly what he wants."
"And what does he want?" Her tone is low, dangerous almost, losing the proper Queen exterior and simply being Margaery.
"This beautiful rose."
"Ever so charming."
Charming isn't the word he'd use as he's already finding himself hard within the confines of his breeches just at the thought. It may be winter but he finds there's a fire within him throughout the day, a desperate need that makes him feel ever the boy again for when they did this for the first time, solidifying their alliance. They've been through hell and back since then and he knows how good her cunt feels it's impossible to not desire her.
He finds a seat and ignores as it's front of the Maiden. Something that doesn't apply much to either of them. Doesn't even consider the sept all that warm and yet, there are plenty of ways to keep one warm.
She's glowing as she did in the candlelight as he pushes the furs from her shoulders, letting them fall to the ground. Her own hands moving pieces of clothing out of his way to get to his cock, one desperate and throbbing with need. He has half a mind to rip the buttons on her dress but the last one he did that to it was he who had to explain exactly how they ripped in such a fashion. Saw a more disapproving look than anything.
A low growl comes from his lips as he makes work of them, finally loosening them enough so he can see her exposed skin. Her breasts have always been a sight, ever since he first laid his eyes upon them. He remembers the way she first dropped her dress to the floor. It's different now. They're seasoned. She's had his child. She's different, in small ways, he finds it only makes him desire her more.
"You react as if you've never seen a naked woman before."
Her words pull him from his thoughts that are pure lust and he looks up at her with a darkened gaze, something sharper, more wolfish, within him, "You should take it as a compliment."
"Oh, I do, my king." She whispers softly against his lips, her hand enclosing around him, stroking him lazily, just enough. "Just as I enjoy your eagerness, couldn't wait for the bed, had to choose the sept ."
"I distinctly remember you whispering to me as I fucked you in the godswood how it turned you on." For that he swears the Old Gods could not have approved of. The memory sits with him though, remember the sheer desire, almost as it is now. As he looks at her and sees the flashes of desire, the way her cheeks are red, and her chest pushed out for him. A loan moan slips from him, unable to even pretend to hide that her touch is something he's desired all day. His own hand slips between her legs, pushing the layers of skirts away, thanking the Gods she hadn't bothered with anything underneath. "You're wet, soaked. Tell me, my queen, does being in here turn you on, make it so you feel a rush?"
"Yes." She breathes, rocking herself against his hand, "as it does you."
He doesn't deny it, nor does he confirm it. Instead his body does that for him. His cock pulsing in her hand, his own body moving in a desperate act for more, for anything. He feels ever the green boy getting to see a woman like this for the first time. He won't spend so easily now though. He's learned some control, only able to apply it to certain aspects of his life. His fingers circle her clit as he watches her. It's his favorite part, watching as the desire overtakes her, watching as her lips part just enough to let the moan fill the still air around them.
"I'd keep you like this forever if I could." He whispers as his free hand runs along her exposed skin, not leaving any part of her untouched. "Wet, naked, and so, so willing."
"Perhaps you should." Margaery smirks wickedly, tightening her grip around him, running her own hand against his chest. "Right here in the Sept. Have your men think of you being interested in the Gods only to come and take me at your leisure."
The thought is nearly too much for him when he feels a surge of pleasure inside of him. He removes his hand from her and pulls her by the wrist off of him. The desire to feel her warmth around him is too much for him to hold back.
Margaery takes the hint of exactly what he is desiring, moving herself along him, feeling his cock covered in her, not inside of her, where he truly wants to be. "Say please."
"Please," he murmurs, running his teeth along her jaw, grazing at the skin, hands moving to her breasts, "fuck your husband before he bursts."
"Or I could torture my dearest husband some more."
"Margaery." He tries for it to be a warning tone but it simply isn't. It's more of a plea, hand moving to grip her hip, to keep her there, to have her sink down on him. She does, after a moment, after a kiss to that spot right below his ear that always manages to drive him mad. She drives him mad. Makes him want her more, want her to take him, to use him, to fuck him, to do just about anything.
His breath is heavy and finds words escape him entirely when his mouth finds her. He's needy in the way he kisses her like it's been moons since he last did. He's needy in the way he thrusts up into her. He's needy in the way his hands practically claw at every inch of her.
The cold seems nonexistent as he pulls her so their chests are flush, moving as one, hand barely slipping between their bodies to bring her added pleasure he's oh, so happy to give her. She's perfect. In a million different ways but there, she's totally perfect around him, moving at a pace he barely keeps up with, feverish almost, desperately definitely She seems so controlled during their days he finds himself wondering if she wants this at all, too. Now, she clearly does. The way she's panting harder and his lips suck at her neck.
It'll leave a mark she'll have to cover.
He definitely doesn't mean to bite into her shoulder when he finally spends himself inside of her, unable to hold off any longer, with the way she tightens around him as her own orgasm takes him over.
His tongue runs along the angry, red mark on her shoulder, placing a kiss before his eyes meet her own. Her gaze turns from lust to adoration. Sometimes he doesn't know which he prefers but when her kiss is soft against his lips he thinks he has some idea
"Perhaps we should never make it to a bed again." She whispers after a moment, resting herself against him.
"Aye, I can agree with that."