A/N: Okay this story line has been driving me mad for weeks. I've toyed with it a thousand ways and finally just decided to post it.
On another note. I like Alfie Allen who plays Theon on the show, but I always imagined from the books that Theon looked more like Jared Letto, haha that's why I made his picture the cover picture- to inspire. Maybe because he is described as being dark, lithe, attractive. Anyhow, this is a total crack ship. Wildly AU. But still… in my mind. I sort of wish it happened, but I respect GRRM and his characters- which he owns.
In this AU world King Robert waits before he comes to Winterfell. This is maybe four years past when the books start.
XX
"Cruel places breed cruel people..."
XX
"Oh please Septa, tell it again." Sansa cried.
"Now, Miss. Hush, young ladies do not make such loud noises."
Placing the twine doll in her lap, the little girl looked up at the boney faced older woman and batted her eyes, "Please, one more time. I promise I'll go to sleep."
"Once more, dear…." She warned before she started again, "When the lady Elya was a small child-"
"No. Please, go to the part about the dragon and the knight…."
"A young lady should not interrupt."
"Please!" The little girl whispered.
Sighing, the nurse maid, motioned to the bed, "Lie down."
Scrambling from her seat, Sansa tucked herself under the heavy furs.
"When Elya was in the castle, a brave knight came to save her from the dragon."
"Was he handsome?" Her bright blues eyes peered out the mass of bed clothes.
"Yes."
"Was he kind?"
"Yes. All knights are kind and chivalrous, dear one."
"Did he love her?"
"Yes, very much."
Flopping onto her back, she hugged the doll to her chin, "I want to fall in love…" she concluded, wistfully.
"And so you may."
"Will he be brave?"
Blowing the candle by the bed, she answered thoughtfully, "I don't know what your Lord husband will be like, Miss."
"Will he love me?"
"Yes, Miss. He will be honorable, kind and handsome."
"Will he save me?" She whispered in the dark.
Septa, hissed in exasperation, "Now what would he be saving you from?"
"I don't know…." Sansa confessed in confusion. Wasn't that what men were supposed to do?
"Enough questions. Go to sleep."
"Will I live happily ever after?"
"I hope so," the older woman answered before she closed the door, leaving Sansa with her girlish dreams.
XXXXX
(Years before)
The dark hair little boy, sat crouched on the cold wet stones next to the fire. "Will you tell me a story, Sir?"
Balon Greyjoy looked down at his young son with a disapproving eye, "No. I don't have time for stories, boy."
Turning from his father, Theon, shrugged his shoulders in disappointment, annoying the haggard older man further, "You're not going to cry, are you?"
"No, My Lord," the little boy peeped.
"Good. Greyjoys don't cry." When the Theon didn't respond, he barked, "Did you hear me, boy? Look at me when I speak to you."
Slowly boy of eight, faced his father and hesitated, "Sorry, My Lord."
"Come here, boy." Tapping his ragged nails against the rough wooded chair, the older man patiently waited until his son was within reaching distance before he grabbed his wrist, pulling him forcefully, "There is no such thing as a fairytale, boy. You hear me?"
"Yes Sir," he whispered.
"You're weak. I question whether you came from my loins." Dropping his wrist he continued, "Ironborn men don't cower. Stop cowering."
Standing up the straight, Theon set his eyes on Balon, in response.
He paused, sizing up the small child, "Say it to me."
If the Theon didn't look so much like his mother, and a shadow of whom Balon Greyjoy was long ago, he would have never believed him to be his. He wasn't like his brothers. He was a soft and easily influenced.
"Ironborn men don't feel, My Lord."
"Yes, and what else don't we do?"
"We don't sow, My Lord."
"And why is that?"
The little boy hesitated, before he stuttered, "We f-fuck, we kill and we'll take, bow to no one, live free, and be die by the sea."
"Do we fear death?"
"No, My Lord."
"Good." Turning in disinterest, he finished, "Try not to be a disappointment."
XXXX
It was unnatural for him to be here. He never forgot that. They could keep him in Winterfell for twenty years and he would always remember that he was Ironborn. It couldn't be beat out of him, trained or even persuaded with love.
He didn't belong here amongst these weak men: those who were ruled by honor and controlled through guilt. A Greyjoy didn't feel guilt. It had long since left the islanders after a hundred years of rape, pillage and eking a life out of a cold, barren land.
He'd never forget his father's voice: the last words he said it him.
"It will not be your home. You are not a man of winter but of one of the sea. Hard places breed hard men and hard men rule the world."
XXXXXX
If it wasn't for her damn mother... Lady Catelyn Stark hated Theon almost as much as she hated Jon. In fact, she might have detested the bastard less. For what reason? Because he was a man and had appetites? What did they expect him to do? Live like a Maester while everyone else around him inherited their lordships, married, DID things with their lives?
If she would have kept her mouth shut. If that red, cold fish, hadn't denied his marriage to Sansa, he'd be back at the Iron Islands now.
"Wench," he muttered to himself under his breath.
What did she mean, by saying he was inappropriate? Was he any less of a match than some southern lord? No. He was Ironborn: at birth, twice the man of any mainlander. If they had realized that and let him marry one of their daughters for an alliance, he'd be home now.
If he was made to stay here like a house dog, he might as well make good on his 'animal' instincts. A pet they wanted, someone to train and pacify? He'd show them how 'trainable' he could be.
It had started as a simple act of defiance. A silent FUCK YOU, to their inflated pride and impenetrable honor. He was so unworthy for a Stark child? What made them so special? What made Sansa Stark so unique? She was just another warm cunt.
These were the thoughts that swirled around Theon's mind when he started his own rebellion months ago. He'd show them what he thought of their northern virtue.
The best laid plans...
XXX
"I don't feel anything." Pushing back on her heals Sansa's mouth quirked in question, "Am I suppose to feel something?"
"No. Not with me. It will be different with a boy."
Jeyne always knew everything. Sansa was thankful to have her as a friend. Without her, Sansa wouldn't know anything.
Septa Mordane would shame them to grave if she knew.
"Well am I doing it right?" Her lips were swollen from their session in the woods.
Jeyne smiled, "Yes. That's how you're supposed to do it. But when it's with a boy, it feels different."
"How would you know?"
Brushing grass from her skirt, Jeyne answered nonchalantly, "Theon kissed me once."
"Theon?" Sansa's face scrunched in disgust. "Ew, why would you kiss Theon?"
"He kissed me," Jeyne stammered in defense. "Besides, he's not so bad. He's handsome."
"But its Theon... He always says the grossest things. He kisses all the girls... and does other things too."
"How do you know that?"
"I overheard Robb once." She could see that she had hurt Jeyne's feelings as the girl hung her head, paying an exorbitant amount of unnecessary attention to her skirts.
"I'm sorry. You're right; I guess he's not that bad. What did it feel like?"
"It was nice..." she answered plainly, then smiled in response.
"Did you do it again?"
"No! I'm not some tavern girl."
Sansa hadn't seen Jeyne so defensive ever. She shouldn't have ever said anything about Theon. He was handsome. It was his mouth that was so disgusting. Jeyne should be saving her kisses for her husband, or some knight that paid her sweet compliments- brought her flowers and poems.
"You don't understand. You've never kissed a boy before."
Sansa hated when she did that. She couldn't stand being talked to as if she were a baby. Why did Jeyne always know more than her?
"Maybe someday I will."
XXXXXX
The first time Theon kissed her, she wasn't ready. He'd found her in the glass gardens, waiting for Jeyne.
"Have you seen Robb?" He questioned as he leered down at her.
"No." Picking roses off the wall, she didn't bother to even look up.
"What are you doing?"
Her fingers slipped down the flower's base, avoiding the thorns, before she pinched her nails into the stem.
"Trying to break it off." She struggled against the plants, tough outer layers.
"Why?"
Looking up, she pushed hair from her eyes and answered, exasperatedly, "To make a bouquet."
Theon rolled his eyes for a moment, "Women," he thought, "had they nothing better to do?"
"You're doing it wrong. Here," reaching into his pocket he pulled out a blade and sliced through the stem, dropping the rose into her lap, "How many do you want?"
"Six." She answered cautiously.
Why was Theon being so nice? He was never nice to her.
Carefully, he cut the roses from the wall and dropped them one by one into her lap.
"Is that enough?" He questioned, stooping over her.
"Yes."
Offering her, his hand, Sansa hesitated for a moment before taking it. When he hosted her up, he left her little room to stand. Practically inches apart, he smiled, "Do I not get one for my effort?"
He plucked the rose she offered him, from her hand and slipped it through the loophole of his jerkin.
"How does it look?" He was almost jovial.
Sansa had never been this close to Theon Greyjoy. His eyes looked less leering then she remembered- his teeth whiter.
Before she could answer, his lips were touching hers. Warm and rough, they felt nothing like Jeyne's. But then again, he wasn't a girl, or a boy... he was a man.
"Incredible," was all he said as he pulled away. He left without another word: her flower tucked into button hole of his shirt.
Touching her mouth, that tingled moments before, she watched him go, "Yes," it was.
That kiss was the first of many secret ones to come. Not even Jeyne knew that Sansa continued to let Theon Greyjoy kiss her in private, whenever he chose.
XXXXX
(Months later)
Fat, thick flakes fell from the sky and covered the ground. It was the first snow of the season. Like the children of winter that they were, the Starks ran through the thin drifts. Red cheeked and bundled, they cupped the white powder in gloved hands, making snow balls and castles.
"Sansa!" Turning to Arya's voice, she caught a wet clump in the face.
"Arya! Stop it!" The wild little girl giggled and ran from sight, as Sansa wiped the cold clumps of ice from her eyes and chin.
"Sansa!" They seemed to be calling her name from every direction as Arya and the stable boy pelted ice chunks in her direction.
"STOP!" Sansa squealed as she ran for cover. Why must Arya ruin everything? She wished Jeyne was here and not in bed. She wished Robb were not too old to do things like this.
Hiding behind the large dark oak, she wiped cold water from her face and shook snow from her hair.
"She'd stop doing it if it didn't displease you so much." She looked up to find, Theon.
"Arya does, as she pleases." She snapped, as she shook ice from her cloak.
"You look cold."
Her face was bright red, from both the ice itself and impact.
"I'm fine." She stammered. He reached out, brushing warm gloved fingers over her wet cheeks.
"Your teeth are chattering. You're cold. Come here." He grabbed her arm pulling her in, under his cloak, before she could think to say no.
"Someone will see." She pressed her nose against his breastbone and bathed in the heat of his body.
"Let them."
Finding her mouth, he pulled her into a hot, dry kiss- his fingers pressing hard against her ribs. It had always been their own game of hide and seek: one of stolen kisses, soft looks, half whispers, amid the threat that someone would discover them.
But in the last weeks, he'd become bold, kissing her in the open, daring to touch her in public. Twice, they'd almost been discovered by Arya. If Jeyne had her suspicions, she hadn't mentioned it. But Sansa sensed that Septa Mordane knew.
"You must be on guard at all times. Young men and their devious intentions come in all forms."
He pressed her against the oak, his hands dropping to her hips.
"Theon Greyjoy has slept with a dozen tavern maids." Jeyne hissed to her one day, when Sansa slipped and remarked on how she wondered if he'd be a good husband.
"Sansa!" They were looking for her. They could hear the crunching of snow, in the distance.
"I have to go." She whispered.
"Not yet," his hands fumbled through her hair.
"Come to me later this evening." She whispered as his lips found her neck.
"I can't. I told Robb, we'd go into the village."
Go into the village?
"You meant go to the taverns?"
"Possibly…."
She stiffed. He meant drink, and allow baseborn girls to crawl into his lap.
"I have to go." Detaching herself from his wet mouth and eager hands, she stumbled away from the tree, followed by his words.
"Sansa. Wait. I'll tell him I can't go."
"The Ironborn are not fit to be husbands… or men. They're a cruel breed." Her mother had once said.
"Come back." He felt a mixture of anxiousness and desperation.
What had started as a solid plan to prove a point had turned into something different. He'd lost control of the situation completely- was aware of it and was unable to stop himself, just the same.
"You promise?"
Theon's face, twisted for a moment. What was he doing making promises?
"No."
"Okay." Shrugging her shoulders she went to leave when he hissed, "Okay, I promise."
Sansa slowly walked back to where he stood, allowing him to pull her in again. "I hate promises," he murmured against her mouth.
"I know."
XXXXXXX
"Have you some new girl I don't know about?"
Pulling an arrow from the stack, Robb raised his bow before continuing, "Does Roslin know?"
"Roslin is not my girl, Robb. She's a whore."
"Who you used to see, more than most husbands do their wives."
Snorting, Theon examined his shot, "It would do you some good to see Roslin."
Robb's face dropped, "Don't change the subject. Something is different…."
"Different?"
He inspected Theon closely, "Yes different. Who is she?"
"Why are you so concerned with who my prick is seeing?"
Smiling, Robb confessed, "Just curious. I've never seen you so defensive. If I didn't know better I would think you were in love…." He teased.
"Greyjoys don't love. That's a weakness only you northerners have."
"Where do you disappear to everyday?"
"What are you my mother?" Theon snapped.
Shaking his head, Robb continued, "Very defensive. I wish Jon could be here to see Theon Greyjoy fall in love."
"I am not in love."
"Hm, whatever you say…. This evening, I was thinking that we could-"
"I can't go." Theon cut in.
"Can't go?"
"I have something I have to do."
Robb lifted an eyebrow, mocking him, "I see…. Is it really worth it?"
"What?"
"Coupling, it must be, because you act like a fool."
Theon smiled to himself, if only he was… if only Robb really knew, "Yes."
XXXXX
"Let's play a game." They had walked through the Godswood, deep into the forest where no one would find them.
"Okay, what is this game?"
The ice had melted, the snow gone. It had been 8 months since their first kiss. Lying on the ground, her dark red hair glowed against the white of the tree.
Picking a leaf, she examined the edges.
"It's called what if…."
"What if?" He reached out his fingers, twirling them around strands of her hair, absentmindedly.
"Yes, you start. Ask a 'what if' question."
Peering up at the canopy of trees, Theon began, "What if we didn't have to hide out here?"
"What if we could kiss whenever we wanted?"
"What if we didn't have to lie?"
"What if I touched you…" her fingers trailed over his face, the crease that sometimes would form above the bridge of his nose.
"What if I let you?" He grabbed her hand, kissing her wrist, and then pulled her down onto him. Out here, there was no one to hide from. They could be themselves.
Against his lips, she questioned, "What if you left someday?"
They never talked about Theon returning to the Islands because it seemed so improbable.
"What you left?"
The same way they never spoke of Sansa marrying someone.
How long could they continue like this? Years? No. He couldn't do this for years. It was too hard. He'd never been forced to control himself so much with a woman. He'd never had reason to.
"What if we felt something more…?" Her words hung between them, ending the game as she laid her head on his chest.
"What if I told you I did?" He thought, but never said and would always wish after that he wasn't too proud and did.
What if it never had to end? What if they could stay in their own little world forever?
XXXX
A month later, King Robert came to Winterfell. Ned's announcement of her engagement, over Robert's reception feast, was met with applause and words of congratulations. Her husband to be, smiled at her with approval. Joffery Baratheon was handsome and pleasant enough. He'd be king someday- making her queen.
A fairytale of her own.
Then how come it didn't feel like one? Finding Theon amongst the crowd, he make eye contact briefly, nodding his head in solemn congratulations, before leaving his seat.
XXXXX
Maybe it was the seven tumblers of mead he'd had at the tavern, or the fact that he was out of coin before he could find a suitable woman to satiate him. It could have been the nagging fact that he was essentially a hostage, no matter how they tried to dress it up. He was four and twenty now. Had they not paid their penance for the rebellion years ago? Must he stay here forever? Never marry, while Jon has left and Robb is soon to wed, followed by Sansa?
Septa's voice flitted through in the back of her mind, "A marriage bed is to be sacred."
Slick lips slipped down her neck, teeth catching on the crest of her collar bone. Fingers wrapping into her hair, at her waist.
He would surely hang if they found him. Lady Stark would ask for his head to be severed and spiked outside the gates. Robb would likely beat him bloody if he had the slightest notion of what was happening. But Theon's never been known for his caution.
He was doing her a favor. A woman without particular skills would never be pleasing to her husband.
He'd been feeding himself these same lines of rationale for months whenever he'd thought of working up the courage to do something more. The same excuses- in a vain effort to pardon the nagging feeling of guilt that had been following him around.
If it was wrong, if he knew that it was wrong…. Then why did it feel so good?
"I'm a creep." He thought to himself, as the shift dropped further off her shoulders, and his teeth scrapped over bare skin.
Lemon and honey, her skin smelled like a tart and tasted like salt, from the sea of his early childhood.
It had been fun in the beginning, but somewhere in-between it had turned into something more. He couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to violate her- willing or not. His rebellion, the mental liberation of Theon Greyjoy, had ended before it began. They had trained him; trained him well, in the art of having a conscience.
What was she doing? She was engaged. She'd be a queen some day. Sansa had only come to make sure he wasn't mad. Then again... what right did he have to be mad? Had he stopped seeing Roslin?
Honestly Sansa didn't know and hadn't asked... too afraid of the answer.
"Gods, you're pathetic", Theon thought bitterly, too many times to count. The damn Starks were rubbing off.
"She's only six and ten," he reminded himself as his fingers looped through the neckline of the thin cotton, pulling it from the other shoulder.
It wasn't her fault. There was no reason for her to apologize. He'd started it. What right did he have, going around, kissing her like she was his first, and treating her like she'd be his last?
Theon Greyjoy was dangerous. There was no escaping him: naughty or not. She could feel Septa's disapproving eyes on her and hear her mother's voice now, "THEON GREYJOY! Sansa... how could you?"
"It was just a kiss," She'd try to explain. But the taste of his lips... a dark and salty poison paradise.
"Look at me, Theon." Her voice was soft and placid as she hovered above him. The kitchen of Winterfell had been abandoned for hours- everyone gone to bed, long before. She'd come from nowhere. One moment he'd been drinking alone, with nothing but the solidarity of his brooding thoughts and the next, she was standing in the door way.
Did she know what she was doing? What they were doing? He hardly knew. Fifteen minutes earlier, he was trying to muddle through conversation:
"Are you drunk?"
"What's it, to you?"
"Roslin busy tonight?"
He smirked up at her from his mug, "Concerned are you?"
He couldn't look her in the eyes, because he knew he'd find guilt. His only response was to pull the shift down further, till it hung against her breasts- threatening to slip to the ground. At any moment she would stop him. She was bound to push him away, blushing in shame.
Then again, she'd come to him.
"Must you always look so pathetic?"She chided, as she stepped in front of him.
Him, look pathetic? Who did she think she was talking to? He was simply having a drink- or 7. Not everything had to be about her.
"Do you always have to be so annoying?" Shouldn't she be in bed, dreaming of her toe headed, baby faced, prince? The sweet, dreamy eyed, Stark girl, was not as mild mannered as he had once thought.
Theon hesitated. If she was going to stop him, he'd wanted it to be now. He'd give her the chance to back out and reconsider what they were doing.
Nothing.
His face was close enough to her chest, that he could feel the heat. Purposely, he breathed against the white cotton, watching as her nipples hardened through the cloth. When she didn't stop him, he leaned forward, rubbing the hardened outline over the bridge of his nose.
She smelled heavenly.
"What the hell am I doing here?" The thought filtered through his mind as her hands found the base of his hair line, scrapping over his skull.
He was losing sight of whose game this was. Wasn't he supposed to be the predator? When had be become the prey?
"You win," he wanted to say, but stopped himself. Instead, he took a chance, leaned forward and began suckling her, through the shift.
"Theon." Her voice was heavy but calm.
Gently tugging on his hair, she drew his head back, till he was looking up at her.
"Yes?"
Was this it? Had she had her fill? Was she done, now that she could run back to Jeyne Poole and whisper how she'd kissed Theon Greyjoy once, too?
Sansa bent, taking his mouth. He hadn't been her first kiss. Of that he was sure. There was nothing fumbling or nervous about her mouth then, as there was not now. But who had she been kissing before?
He didn't want to think about that.
Her tongue danced over his, her teeth biting in his bottom lip, sending Theon over the edge.
Old habit. He wasn't a Stark. He'd had his fair share of women, not bothering himself with the restrictions or scruples of marriage.
This was dangerous. She was young- too young to understand. Maybe this was how Lord's daughter's entertained themselves, between needle point, music lessons and whatever other tedious things filled their long days.
Like clockwork, his hand where slipping under the hem of her shift, running up her calves, over knees, onto bare thighs. When they found the outline of small clothes he stopped.
She was looking at him, her blue eyes questioning what his intentions were.
His intentions?
He knew this was a terrible idea.
Did he do with other girls? His every move was smooth and effortless, reminder her that he was more than experienced in what he was doing, prodding her sensible side to scream, "Yes! Don't be so stupid, Sansa."
But who were those girls anyhow? Where they with him now? Was he looking at them, as he was looking at her? Had he ever looked at anyone the way he looked at her these past nine months?
A breath passed between them: questioning how to continue.
Auburn hair hung loose and scattered over her back and shoulders. Damn Joffery Baratheon! The little prick, prince. Surely he was not deserving of this. Why was it that most undeserving men are blessed?
She may be his future. But he couldn't think of that. That caused feelings that Ironborn men shouldn't experience. And tonight, right now, right or wrong, the Gods were smiling on Theon- for whatever reason.
When he stood, the material hiked around her waist as his thumbs stayed pressed on against the ridge of her hips. At full height, Sansa stood was only inches shorter than him- their eyes almost level, locked in an intense gaze.
He should let go, now. Theon blinked. What was he doing?
He was waiting for her to stop him, to tell him no or even to think of her future husband. But she didn't know Joffery Baratheon. She didn't know if he was kind, funny- honorable.
She knew Theon... He was none of those things to anyone but her. He was a crass lecher that would surely be toxic to her future. Sansa didn't care.
Letting out a shallow breath, she quirked her eyebrow, "Roslin?"
"Roslin? Who cares about Roslin!?" He wondered."No," Theon swallowed hard, "For a long time."
"How long?"
"It seems like forever."
"Good."
Septa's voice, "Be on guard. A young man will say anything to have his way with you."
Clearing his throat, he cautioned, "This could get me killed."
"I know." Suddenly, Sansa felt like the most powerful woman in the world. Theon Greyjoy, the boy that pestered her, throughout childhood, had been rumored to have kissed, seduced or slept with every attractive female in Winterfell, was looking at her like she owned the world.
"Virtue is the most important thing a maid has." Septa.
He wasn't a prince. He most certainly wasn't a knight. If Theon Greyjoy were a character in a fairytale, he would, without a doubt, be the villain.
"We should stop." He may have said the words, but he surely didn't mean them as his hands stayed firmly planted on her hips.
"I won't say anything."
That was all the invitation that Theon needed. If he was going to sin against the House of Stark, possibly piss off his best friend, and get himself skewered, he might as well commit the crime.
Gently he pressed her back against the table, her tailbone rested against the oak for less than a second before her hands grasped the front of his tunic: pulling him slowly back onto its flat surface, with her.
Brushing hair away, he tugged the shift down, exposing her.
GODS BE GOOD.
Her pale, Stark skin, looked like ice and felt like summer. She was curvier than the other Stark girl, her breasts full, her hips round.
His tongue leisurely rubbed against hers before he bent to her breast. Sucking in a nipple, his listened appreciatively to her sharp intake of breath- the soft humming noise she made as he kneaded and rolled the other between his forefinger and thumb.
Grabbing the shift, that had pooled beneath her breasts, he tossing it to the ground.
She was damp through her small clothes. Carefully he removed her small clothes before ducking his head between her thighs.
Theon had seen a great many cunts, in his short life. Many appealing, a few not, but Sansa's was truly one of the prettiest he'd ever witnessed. Pink and swollen with arousal, he parted her outer lips before running his tongue along the length of her.
Against her better efforts, Sansa let out a small moan, rolling her hips into him. Smiling, to himself, Theon quickly kissed the interior of each thigh, before he continued.
"Theon… Theon." She called out to him, making him feel as if he controlled the world.
In less than a minute of him tasting her, her hands had found his head, clutching him closer- her legs shaking. She was close. If he didn't act now, she'd finish- leaving him with nothing, except a memory to inspire months of self abuse.
If he were Robb or Jon, he'd patiently let her finish, then apologize afterwards. Thankfully Theon Greyjoy was not a Stark and therefore not burdened with an intrepid sense of honor or selflessness.
Pulling back, he urged, "Sansa, sit up, dear."
Hazed, she wobbled slightly as she pushed herself up, on her elbows, "I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?"
He smiled, "No. But I need you to do something for me."
"Okay."
Quickly unlacing his britches, he sighed, as the pressure from being erect against the confining cloth, was relieved. Exposed, he looked up to find her staring at him- eyes wide.
Had she never seen a man naked before?
"It won't bite."
"I know that," she answered none too convincingly. "Theon..."
"Don't worry. I won't do that. Give me your hand."
Guided her to him, he wrapped her fingers around his shaft, "Move your hand," he instructed, "Yes…."
His eyes closed in ecstasy, his head rolling back, as she continued. Gods be good. There was a reason he had stayed in Winterfell. This was well worth another year or two as their hostage and the months he had spent in celibacy.
"Am I doing it right?"
"Yeah," he groaned. Opening his eyes, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her forward to the edge of the table.
"Theon..." she looked up at him through heavy auburn eyelashes.
"Yes?" He rasped.
Sansa hesitated for a moment, deciding if she should say what was on her mind, before finally starting, "Do I..." she bit her lip and furrowed her eyebrows together, "Was it…?" Not waiting for her to finished, he inserted two of his fingers inside and watched as Sansa's head dropped back, a moan spilling out of her lips.
Gods she was wet. If he could only put his cock where his fingers were.
"You were saying?"
Her voice shook, as she continued, "Does it look okay? I mean down there?" She blushed.
If he wasn't ready to go at any moment, Theon might have laughed. Sansa was too much. How could someone so sensual, be so innocent? She was rubbing him raw, on the same table they ate their morning meal, and her only concerned was if her sex was attractive or not?
Pinching the nub at the apex of her wet opening, he pulled her in quickly, heatedly kissing her."You have the prettiest cunt I've ever seen," he whispered, with raged breath against her lips.
Thumbing her in circles, she rolled her hips against him, as if it were more than just his hand between her thighs. Soon after, she clenched around his fingers.
"And the sweetest tasting..." he confessed, she as cried out in finish, causing him to spilled his seed over her hand.
Both were a sweaty mix of limbs and fluid, as she leaned against him, face buried in his chest. Now what? This was usually the point, where Theon would gracelessly pull up his britches, deposit a dragon on the bed side table and be out the door, before another word could be said.
"Could you hand me my shift?"
"Hm?" Red, red, red hair was all Theon could see. Lemon and honey was all he could smell, and her last sounds of pleasure had deafened him to all other sounds.
Feelings- a thousand feelings- none of which he wanted.
"My shift, Theon. It's on the floor."
"Oh." Handing her the wadded, heap of cloth, he watched as she calmly dressed herself and slipped off the table.
"You're just leaving?" The words came out before he could think to stop them.
Nonchalantly, she brushed the wrinkles from her shift, combed her fingers through her hair and answered, "Oh, yes, I forgot."
He waited for it, months of this exhausting game between them. His pulse slowed to a crawl as he held his breath.
"Please. Say it. If you would only just say it... then I would too." He thought.
Bowing her head, in a formal address, she finished, "Thank you, Theon. Good night," before she turned and walked away- on shaky legs.
"Take what you want." His mind pandered. Theon could hear his father now, "We fuck, we kill and we'll take- bow to no one, live free, and die by the sea."
But he couldn't take what he wanted. It wasn't his to have and that he understood.
Damn the Starks.
The feeling of brutal exposure had nothing to do with his being physically naked. Thirteen years he'd lived amongst them, here, and not for one moment did he forget he was Ironborn, or wish differently… until now.
It would never work. Her mother would sooner wed her to a prince, her father send her to the Sisters.
"Family, duty, honor." Her mother's voice, in Sansa's ears as she shook on her way back to her chambers.
"We do not sow." Balon Greyjoy sharply warned Theon in the back of his mind, as she watched her leave and wished he had the courage to let himself feel- tell her it was more. It had always been more. That he loved her.
They were from different worlds of different fairytales….
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Another ridiculous ship. I couldn't help myself. Thanks for reading and please review!