Theon absentmindedly walked into Robb's tent, where the young king was lying in his bed. His lower half was completely concealed by the sheets but his upper half was exposed and lacking armor. Theon assumed that the rest of him was nude, too. He'd always known Robb to get comfortable after battle, and stripping himself of armor certainly played an important part in it.

"Theon?" Robb turned to him as if he'd expected his company. The man never thought anything of his friend seeing him like this. Before battle, after battle, nude, clothed. No matter how he was in private, he never seemed like he viewed Theon as a burden. Maybe he was just pretending to not seem bothered by his presence, but nonetheless, Theon respected that.

"Your Grace," Theon started. "I wanted to congratulate you on—"

"Theon." Robb interrupted. "I told you that you don't have to say that in private. And you know as well as I do that you're not here for that."

Theon couldn't contain the grin that spread over his face. "My king, you know me better than anyone else."

"Your king." Robb spat out the word with venom that Theon couldn't quite understand. Ah, but what should the reason matter? You enjoy irritating him.

Theon joined Robb on his bed and sat beside him. "The people out there…they don't…they don't like me."

"Nonsense." Robb laughed. "You're not too friendly yourself. You could try harder."

Theon scoffed. "Try harder? They could do so first. They haven't respected me since they laid eyes on me."

"And so you sneak into my tent every night to seek out a friend against all of this injustice." Robb's small smile never left his face. "Well I'm here for you."

"You almost make me regret my decision."

"Oh, and we wouldn't want that now, would we? Maybe then I'd be able to enjoy a peaceful night, Greyjoy." So he's in a joking mood.

"Well, Stark, if you want a peaceful night, you'll have to set up a brothel somewhere near camp. Because even when you won't enjoy my company, at least I know the whores will."

"Only and always the whores, Greyjoy." Robb and Theon shared few seconds-long look before bursting into laughter.

And then there was that moment. That moment when Robb stopped laughing. When he silently kept his focus on Theon, smile still on his face, small wrinkles trailing from the corners of his eyes. It was in these moments that Theon would return the look—proving that he still had the ability to give a genuine smile and not a half-assed grin that resulted from some flippant joke—but eventually reality would hit him and put him back in his place. You're a Greyjoy. Not a Stark. You're only Ned's prisoner, and now that he's gone, you're Robb's. Nothing more. And what if you were a Stark? These unbrotherly thoughts going through your head make you no nobler than a Targaryen. Or better yet, a Lannister. But this time, Theon didn't look away. He didn't turn his head from Robb. He didn't even roll his eyes at that stupid look Robb gave him. No, he did none of the sort. Theon stared back at him with the same expression—and hopefully the same intentions—as his broth—no, his King.

It didn't take long for the smile on Robb's face to fade. His eyelids were slightly drooping as he took his own lip between his teeth. Theon wasn't thinking anymore, so it was nearly impossible for him to know if he had a similar expression plastered on his face. And to be honest, he couldn't care less right now. Robb inched closer. And closer. Gods, he was too close now, but seven hells if Theon was going to back away. It's a good thing that his body knew what to do before his head—or maybe that was the problem—because he couldn't even remember how to think. When Theon's lips finally met Robb's, they paused. It was as if the entire world froze. As if the mere separation of their lips would cause them to disintegrate into nothing, along with everything they ever were or dreamed to be.

Robb was the first to break the contact. "Wha—I'm sorry…I–" he stumbled. "I don't know what happened."

Think of something, you idiot, Theon thought to himself. He couldn't just keep that dumbfounded look on his face. He needed to say something. But what exactly was there to say? In normal circumstances—at least a bit more normal than this—he would've cracked some vulgar joke and laughed the embarrassment away. But isn't laughing what brought them here in the first place? And he's not sure that such a joke would have the given effect in this case. I'll just let the King figure this one out.

After blinking a few times and searching around the room for some idea on how to act, King Robb finally settled upon, "I've had a long day."

Theon snorted at that one. "Oh, have you?" Ah, here's the humor we were looking for. "Well if I was given a kiss for every time you've had a long fucking day, I'd be your whore rather than your prisoner, Stark."

Robb flinched at that one. And then he gave a cold look. At last, winter has come, Theon thought. He almost laughed at his own jest. Almost.

"Well do you have a better explanation for it?" Robb asked. Ah, better tread lightly with this one now.

"Of course." Theon lied. Gods, why the fuck did he have to act so confident when he actually wasn't? "Everyone wants a good fuck after winning a battle. I just happen to be the only one in your bed." Oh, you've done it now.

The glare Robb gave him sent invisible daggers into his chest. If looks could kill. He stood up from the bed and headed to where he left his clothing. Why doesn't he just tell me to leave?

"Robb." Theon tried. But Robb ignored him. Oh Gods, don't let him leave. Don't mess this up. As if you already haven't. Just don't push him away. Not this one. "Robb." Theon tried again. "Don't leave." Fuck, don't make me beg, you prick.

"Please."

Robb stopped. Well, at least it worked.

He didn't turn around. So we're playing this game. Theon left the bed and walked toward his broth—oh, there you go again with that word. Not his brother. Never that. He was his King. The King in the North. And fuck, I've pissed him off. Bold move.

Theon stopped right behind King Robb. "Your Grace—"

"Really?" Robb asked. There was almost a hint of amusement in his voice. Almost.

"My apologies. Stark—"

"Theon."

"Robb." At this, the King finally seemed ready to hear the rest of his words. Ah, he seemed to like that one. He always did, but that's the name you resort to last. You're such an asshole.

"I—I truly don't know what to say." Theon said. He heard Robb let out an exasperated sigh. Of course you don't, he probably would've said if he was talking.

Theon had to act quickly if he didn't want Robb to just leave him standing there. He had to do something. Anything. Oh, fuck it. If kissing is what he wants, it's what he'll get. And he'd be damned if he didn't want it, too…not that he was going to say it. He started with Robb's shoulders. Trailing small, feather-like kisses along them. He ended at his neck, stopping to gently suck on the soft skin until he was sure it was beat red. As red as his cheeks probably are right about now. And then he led his tongue along his neck until he hit his ear, where he nibbled behind the lobe just enough to—there it is.

Robb let out a long, low moan that made Theon shudder until he felt as if all of the blood he held inside of him had rushed between his legs. Such a moan was enough to give him back the confidence that he lost when Robb began preparing to leave.

"Is this what you wanted?" Theon whispered into his ear. Because it's sure as hell what I want. "Is it?"

Robb turned around and pushed him on the bed faster than he could register what was happening. He pinned his arms above his head and slammed his lips into his so hard that he nearly forgot his own name. Please make me forget.

Their tongues battled for dominance and lips pressed against each other as if they were trying to become one. Theon's loud, almost never-ending moans were almost enough to block out Robb's desperate…mewls? Gods, he needs this just as much as I do. If not more. And, again, the young wolf was the first to end the kiss. When he broke from the contact, his cheeks were red and his lips were so swollen that if he were to leave the tent right now—I'll kill him if he does—someone would think that he'd been hit. His curly hair was disheveled, sweat causing certain parts to stick to his face, almost hiding those piercing blue eyes that showed a tad bit more uncertainty than lust. More care than desire. Fuck, he's so beautiful.

"I…I don't know what to do." Robb said. So honest.

Theon snorted. "Wouldn't want the wenches outside to hear that one."

"Stop." Robb sai—no, commanded. Shit, he was serious. Jokes aren't going to get you through this one, Greyjoy.

"You just…do whatever your instincts tell you to do." Theon said. "You just feel it. I can't lie here and give you instructions, your Grace."

Robb ignored the title. What a pity. "My instincts are telling me to ram my cock into you and drive you into the mattress until you know nothing except my name, but I have a feeling that would hurt you, Greyjoy." Ah, so maybe he hadn't ignored it.

Theon shivered so hard that he was almost convinced that winter had really come. The image that Robb gave him was so arousing that it had nearly been enough to send him over the edge.

"Maybe that's what I want." He said, without thinking—or caring—about the immense pain that would bring him.

Thankfully, Robb was there to do the caring for him. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to hurt you like that. Even if you do want it," Robb gave the slightest hint of a smile, "which doesn't surprise me."

Robb rolled his hips against Theon's, causing them both to groan impatiently. "The fuck with these damned clothes."

"You said it." Robb let Theon up so he could undress, not needing to do so himself. Bastard. Always ready for anything as usual. When Theon was finally finished, he pulled Robb back on top of him and settled beneath him, kissing and biting his lips hungrily as if Robb was the only thing he had a taste for.

"Give me your hand." Theon demanded.

Without question, Robb allowed Theon to take his hand and lift it up to mouth. He sucked on his fingers until he was sure they were wet enough for the next step. Robb stared down at him with lustful eyes filled with want and anticipation. Yeah, I bet you're excited. You're not the one whose going to have a cock up the arse. Not that I'm not practically dying for it. Was he even being sarcastic? As much as Theon wanted to believe he didn't fucking craveit, he knew couldn't lie to himself.

"Okay, now just…fuck, you know." Like he said before, he wasn't giving instructions. I know you're not a fucking idiot, your Grace.

Robb took his hand back and hesitantly put one finger inside. Oh fuck, that's weird. That burning feeling in his stomach didn't fade, but he squirmed a bit in discomfort, especially when Robb started moving it around.

"Relax." Robb whispered. Easy for you to say. But Theon followed his king's order and stayed still, closing his eyes and letting out a calming sigh to release some of his tension. He was just beginning to feel somewhat comfortable when Robb inserted another digit into him.

This one wasn't so bad. The odd feeling became a tad bit less noticeable and was replaced by something much more welcome. And then he added another. "It's not so bad n—Oh…" Theon felt as if someone had stolen his words and any more he could've spoken after that. He forgot that he was even talking. When he finally remembered where he was and what was happening, he had to stop himself from begging for more. "Pl—again, Robb. Do that again."

And then, to Theon's unimaginable horror, he stopped. Robb Stark took all three of his fingers out of Theon and looked down at him with a shit-eating grin.

"What the fuck?!" Theon shouted in anger. You are so evil. You're as evil as the Lannisters. More evil. You fucking northern cunt. Of course, Theon didn't mean these words, but fuck he was pissed.

"That's for the titles." Robb answered, grin still plastered on that gorgeous fucking face. I'll rip your fucking lips off, Stark.

"For what?! For saying 'your Grace'? For calling you my king? It's what you are!" No one rejects Theon Greyjoy's demands in the bedroom. Not even Robb fucking Stark.

"In privacy, you mock me. Don't lie." Robb's face still showed undeniable desire and need, but Theon could tell that he was getting a kick out of this nonetheless. But wait. No. No, Theon recognized this look. It was the look he gave after making some dumb jest about fucking one of the girls in the brothel. That look that meant that he enjoyed the sex but hated everything after it. Hated thinking about how that's all it would ever be. Sex. Fucking. Whores. Nothing more because what woman would ever want a fucking ward for a husband? It was the expression he used to have on his face after laughing at the possibility of being killed by Ned Stark if Balon Greyjoy were to ever rebel against him again. Behind the façade, he always knew that he would never be anything but a ward to Ned. A son-turned-prisoner to Balon. A Greyjoy-turned-Stark. Not nearly enough of a Stark for Ned to see him as one, and certainly not enough of a Greyjoy to be accepted by his father. He knows that if he was ever to go back to Pyke, he'd be seen as some pathetic captive whose time with the Starks was too long for his own good. To see this look on Robb's face broke something inside of him that he forgot was there.

And then it was clear to him. These titles. Robb really did hate them. He loathed them. It was why he always reminds Theon that he didn't have to use them in private. Such titles undermined their relationship (whatever that actually was). Robb must have thought of Theon as so much more than just some fucking prisoner. Of course, he had to. He was the only one who treated him as a real person since he was taken captive. Theon thought of Robb as so much more than just his king. But these titles…they contradicted that. Oh fuck, they were hurting him. He was hurting him. He was hurting Robb.

Theon looked at him for a moment. Not talking. No longer infuriated. "I…" No. No, don't go for those three words. You don't know if he wants that. Gods, you know he does. But you can't say them. You can't take it. "I," he started again. Settle for the other three words.

"I'm so sorry."

Robb smiled. That smile. That stupid smile that made Theon repeat those three words in his head. Not the ones he uttered but the ones he couldn't.

Robb leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Theon's lips before grabbing his legs and placing them over his shoulders to get a good angle. Then he lined up against his entrance and took a deep breath.

"Are you sure about this?" Robb whispered. "We can stop. I won't be upset."

"Oh, but I will be." Theon gave him one of his signature grins. Ah, but there's nothing but honesty behind this one.

Robb rolled his eyes and slowly—so fucking slowly—pushed himself into Theon. And seven hells, it fucking hurt. He could feel the tears rolling down his face as Robb inched into him. He tried his best to keep his whimpers down but one seemed to break through the barrier and straight into the ears of the ever-so caring Robb Stark, whose eyes were closed and lip was between his teeth up until this point. So fucking beautiful.

"Theon? You're hurt…" Robb said. No shit.

"Shh. I'm alright. Just keep going."

"I can't. You're crying."

"Greyjoys don't cry." Oh please, you don't even know what it's like to be one.

Robb sighed in defeat. "Okay." He had every chance to make a distasteful comment on that. What the hell is wrong with this man? "Just…please tell me when to stop, alright? You don't have to be the oh-so-brave Theon Greyjoy around me."

Oh but I do, young wolf, Theon thought. You wolves will tear us apart if we're not careful. Robb placed a sweet kiss on his forehead before continuing to move into him. Theon let out a small sigh. But not this wolf. This one likes you. Only the gods know why. Maybe not even them.

Robb paused again when his length was all the way inside. He looked at Theon for a sign to start moving. Theon closed his eyes and took hold of the furs on the bed. He opened his eyes and gave Robb a short nod. It was hesitant, but it did not betray his lust. Robb bit his lip and finally began rolling his hips. It took only a few moments for the pain to start fading to make room for that feeling they were aiming for. But he still wasn't quite reaching that spo—there we go.

"FUCK!" Theon shouted, almost involuntarily.

Robb smiled, lip still stuck in between his teeth, and thrusted deeper into that same shot. And faster this time. Again and again and again and fuck.

"Robb, Robb, Robb…" Theon moaned his name like a mantra. That name that Robb loved to hear spill from his mouth. And now he heard it on repeat. As if that was all Theon knew. All he could think about. Him. Not as his king. Not as "your Grace". Not as a Stark. Just Robb.

Hearing his name so many times from this man—this man who seemed like he was everything to him—was enough to send him over the edge.

"Theon…" Oh, that's when Theon noticed how good it was to hear his own name coming from that perfect mouth. No Greyjoy. Certainly no "prisoner" (not that Robb had called him that since a fight they had when they were just boys). Just Theon. Theon and Robb. It was nice that way. It made sense that way. He wanted it to stay like that.

Theon came shortly after Robb, who was still in the process of recovering from his own finish. Robb carefully slid out of him and collapsed onto Theon's chest, who was too exhausted to express any pain that the unexpected weight gave him.

After a little while of panting and dragging themselves back to reality, Theon tried to make a small movement as a signal that Robb's weight was starting to take its toll on him. He winced and groaned when he felt a sharp pain in his backside. Robb heard him and quickly sat up.

"Shit, I'm sorry. You're really hurt, aren't you?" Robb asked. Always so concerned. Gods, if you were to say those words to me right now I promise I'd say them back.

"Oh, hush. I'm fine, Robb." Theon reassured him. He was hurt, but it was nothing that wouldn't fade within a day or two. Hopefully. And see? I used your name again. Now smile, asshole.

As if he could read his thoughts just by looking at him, the corner or Robb's lips curled upwards, but just slightly. The fucker's still worried.

"After all you've seen me do, you act as if I can't recover from being fucked in the arse." I hope he's in the mood for jokes now.

Robb stared at him for a few seconds before letting out a burst of laughter. Theon couldn't help but join in. When the laughing stopped, he lied down beside his friend—if only that anymore—and gave him the look from earlier. That look. The one that started everything that night. Theon sighed and gave in. I know what he wants. I'll give it to him. He's the king. No, he's Robb.

Theon leaned in and joined their lips. It was lazy, but it got the job done. Robb returned it with the same tired force. They stayed that like for a while, lips moving against one another's, until Theon broke the kiss. Hmm, who needs it more this time? Robb looked at him as if he was the only person in the world. As if he was so much more than he actually was. You say the words first. I can't.

But instead of saying anything, Robb moved closer to Theon and wrapped his arm around his waist before resting his head on his chest. Theon brought his hand up to Robb's perfectly messy curls, and silently tangled them with his fingers until the young wolf finally fell asleep. Theon closed his eyes when he felt the steady breathing of the man lying against him. Yes, Theon thought to himself as he followed Robb into a deep sleep. This one likes me.