Warning Note: I have read a great deal of Theon/Sansa fiction, but never seen anyone explore a post-mutilation take on Theon's potential for sexual sensations after he is tortured. Some men can still feel, and gain pleasure after a mutilation, and I decided to explore it a bit. If this at all offends you, I urge you not to continue. There will also be quite a bit of exploration with the darker events that transpired in Sansa, and Theon's timeline. As well as quite a bit of angst/fall out between them. I do promise it will end happily, as well as explore lighter themes throughout, but if you are easily triggered, then you should avoid this work at all costs.

Part 1; For Iron to Bend to a Wolf.

Our brokenness has no other

beauty but the beauty that

comes from the compassion

that surrounds it

Nights were cold; dark. Every flicker of candle flame, each shadow on the wall, kept her eyes opened. Skin pale as ice, laid silent underneath the familiarity of her furs. Yet, still there was a flicker of fear. A reckoning within the depths of her tortured soul.

Sansa felt stripped, flayed of all humanity by the sickening flesh of Ramsey. Once, she might have believed only Joffrey could be so cruel. So unthinkably hellish.

How wrong she had been.

She had not tasted the seven hells until she met Ramsey. Felt each mark seared into her flesh. Sobbed herself to sleep as night fell. Then there was Theon. Once full of himself. Then, reduced into the blubbering shell of Reek. Now returned; a ghost of Theon Greyjoy.

Once, the kindly ward of her Father. (at least toward her.)

And savior of her life.

Unable to retain the façade, she heard the whisper of trees. Scrape of branches against the walls of Winterfell, and she flinched. As a young girl, she had crawled into the warm furs of her eldest brother's bedcoverings. Laid in complacent, silence in his arms. Had any known they would have mistaken them for lovers. With Robb, it had only been for her comfort.

Until this nightmare she could not seem to awaken from, began.

But the nightmare was at an end. Winterfell was Jon's now. Ramsey was dead. Gone. Fed to the dog's he so loved to lord over others.

Yet, it was the comforting warmth of Robb's arms she sought out. Aimlessly desired. But could no longer have. That complicit innocence of belief that none could ever hurt her, because her eldest kin would die for her. And he had.

May the Gods show mercy—Robb had perished for her.

Still, the need for a warm body to feel safe, refused to permit her rest. Throwing aside the covers, warm feet met the cold of stone. Padding across she flung open the door. Theon stood guard just outside.

A slight startle was made on his part. Bloodshot eyes bore into hers, they softened as he seemed to recall where he was (who he was) and that he remained safe. Ramsey could no longer touch his broken skin.

"My Lady." Theon felt responsible. Of that she was nearly certain.

"Come inside my chambers." Spoken like a command, her slanted eyes held his. Gave nothing away. No telling what spies might lurk within even Winterfell walls—even now.

"My Lady—I do not think—"

"Come."

As though a switch flicked—He obeyed.

Once safely inside, she gave a quick survey of the halls. Then clicked the door shut in silence. Hand on his sword's scabbard, Theon met her gaze for only a moment, realizing she was his better; he glanced down. Suddenly intrigued by the cracks in the stone.

He did not speak. And she felt sympathy in the pit of her stomach for the brokenness he endured. Oh, but she still recalled nestling near to him for warmth in the cusp of the forest. Just like with Robb.

"I wish you no harm, Theon." Her thumb brushed the stubble upon his cheek. Reminded that he was still a flesh, blood man. Even without his most prized part.

He made no move to flinch away. Instead, his back became rigid.

"What is it you do wish, My lady?"

"Sansa." She corrected. "We are equals you, and I. Both broken by the same man. Both half souls that roam this mortal coil."

It was apparent—he could not disagree.

"I desire a companion. In my bed." Bright pink spread to chiseled cheeks. Wide eyes beseeched her not to ask this.

"I do not understand, My L—Sansa." He corrected, rapidly.

"Not many know this, but Robb would offer me a space in his bedchambers. I would curl tight to his side. Know comfort in the warmth. Only you, I can trust to understand. Only you, I wish to fulfill my need." Her voice did not tremble. Nor crack. But held so little emotion. "I see how you stare. How you have always stared. Even before Ramsey—"

She cut herself off. He lowered his gaze.

"I cannot."

"I would have you do me this kindness." His head dipped in respect. And he made no more protests. He stood stoic. Nimble fingers unlatched the rawhide leather of his belt. Let his sword clatter to the floor.

"I am not a man. Not anymore." He persisted, but she paid him no mind.

"I wish to see. I wish to look upon your shame. As I wish you to look upon mine—"

"There is no shame in what you survived, Sansa."

"Nor what you have." She countered.

He flinched. But succumbed. Still, the touch of soft woman's hands on the bareness of his chest, (once his tunic was shed) burned the space where he once was limber. Thick with need. Lustful. Those soft padded things dragged over scars. Raised over his chest. Ribs. Abdomen.

"My Lady…"

"Sansa." She corrected once more.

With careful precision she unlaced the ties of his breeches. Shame overtook him, it was potent. Always meant to be a piece of him. Severed deep inside. Still, only they could understand. Only he could ever understand what she endured. The pieces Ramsey cut into on her. What he took with his knife from her. Dignity. Any remaining remnants of trust.

With the last tie unlaced. She gave one final glance upon his half-darkened features, then let his breeches fall at his feet. Curious—horrified—eyes witnessed the remnants of Theon's once proud, prick.

Balls removed, only a stub remained. Less than an inch long. Only a small rounded protrusion from directly beneath his pelvis. A slit twice the size of a cock-end's must be where he urinated from. His skin pink, clearly smooth the same way a woman's inner cunt lips were. There was enough of him that remained, only to hold between a thumb, and index finger. Where the skin had been sawed apart, was uneven. Leaving jagged (albeit soft) skin behind. Curious questions arose. Was he numb? Could he still feel the cravings of a man, without any way to relieve them? Or had he never attempted to?

Reaching out, he sucked in a breath at the contact of her fingers. Goosepimples arose as he shuddered, but did not speak.

As promised, Sansa unlaced her nightgown. Opened the ties, then permitted the fabric to cascade to her feet. Pooling at her ankles.

It was her turn to refuse to meet his eye. Her breasts held burns, slits where a blade had torn skin. Her stomach was littered as well. And worst of all—her cunt. Scars he might not see, but were there nonetheless.

"Lay down." She instructed. He complied without question. Laid atop the pelts, he had no reason to hide now. She saw the worst of his shame.

She climbed astride him. Kissed the chapped roughness of his lips with the silkiness of hers. She could all but imagine the lapse in time since Theon had been intimate with a proper female. He reacted as one might expect a male to. Tongue pushed past the barrier of her lips, sought entrance into her mouth. Rough, calloused hands felt her up, as though forgetting himself.

Finally, they broke apart. Panting together.

"If it is my humiliation you desire, you have it." He offered.

"Not your humiliation. Never that." They both had endured enough of humiliation to surpass their lifetimes.

"Can you still…Do you feel…down there I mean?"

His jaw tightened, "I still burn with lusts, Sansa. Such will never depart from me. Nor any man who has known the tight heat of a woman's cunt."

Sorrow encapsulated her vision. Without hesitation, she climbed from astride his lap. "Lay still." Another order. He obeyed.

Lowering her digits, she met the stub. Pad of her index began slow circles around the soft flesh. Shock urged her forward, when an almost inhuman grunt collected in his throat. Quick to clench his eyes shut—she proceeded. Slow, meaningful circles around what was once the base of his elongated meat.

"Have you touched since..." She searched his features, uncertain whether he might lie.

"N-No." The word came out as a stutter. So akin to that of Reek, she paused. Was this causing detriment?

"I burn, Sansa. You've no idea how much."

Rather than pleas for her discontinuance, there was the opposite. So, she gave counter circles to the sensitive stump. She witnessed him wither. Arc his back in a perfect arch, to find further friction against slender fingers.

"So, you can feel?" It was geared as more a statement than a question.

Only a moan was punctuated in response. Red fiery color scorched the white skin of his cheeks. A sign of mortification.

Soft, feather-light petals met his pulse-point. "You may touch me, Theon. I do not fear your touch."

Timid at first; he brushed the curve of one supple breast. Thumbed her nipple, gave another moan as she found a particularly sensitive patch of his stub. Most of the nerves down there must be dead—but some remained. Enough to rouse for.

Intentionally, she rubbed over the sensitive spot. Flicked with her index, and was rewarded with his touch to her cheek, drawing her face forward to capture her petals.

Another torrid kiss passed between them. Exploring her mouth, broiling with heat. She could feel it; his heat.

Whenever, Robb would invite her within his bedchambers, they would lay bare. Press warm parts together, until morning came to call. Never, was it sexual. Just an understanding. A need to feel whole, together. Leave no secrets between them. With Theon, she desired the same transparency. No secrets. No shame.

And so, she claimed it.

No more words fell, as he tied her tongue with his. Pushed riled hips up to meet delicate fingers. He could not bed her, the way a man was meant to bed a woman. But there was mutual respect between them. Understanding she had not shared with any other man. Except Robb.

And though there was shame hovering around him—there was also pleasure. Broiling hot pleasure. His stub pulsed to life under firm pressure from her fingers. Blood rushed to fill the length it was once used to occupying.

Pulsing, swollen, the ruined scarred tissue left behind, turned hard with the pressure of forced blood. Protruding from his apex, she witnessed his body's attempt to succumb to what was once, normal.

"P-Please…" She knew not what he might plead for. Her to finish him? Or let him alone?

She decided the former. Steadily, straddling his lower hips. Replacing her index finger, with her warm, wet cunt. Pressed right down on the erect little stub, the sound that protruded from his throat was inhuman. Strangled.

She silenced him with a kiss. Rolled her hips in tight little circles. Made certain his stub brushed her own swollen button with each pass.

Tremors began to wrack his frame. Kisses turned harsher; fingers needier, as he reached for any space on her form he could ravage. It was in his blood to rape. Take as he pleased. Yet, still he was subtly hesitant.

"I may not be able to permit you the ability to rut inside a woman again, but I can oblige your burn to feel one." Whispers tickled his lips. Fingers cupped either cheek, thumbing his stubble with mild flicks.

"S-Sansa—"

Cognizant speech was lost to Theon. And so she swallowed his moans without hesitance. Rode atop his waist until she pulsed with desire. Burned with the same lust as he must.

Having succumbed to the touch of his calloused hands in full, she throbbed in unison with him. Both their moans melded together in rising pleasure. Until—It burst.

Whines that sounded purely animal, parted wet lips, as the swollen stub pulsed as he finished. Though he throbbed, there was no seed to be spilled. Only aches to be satiated. His burning ache.

She came apart, seconds after. Collapsed on his chest, nudged her nose into the crook of his neck as their eager lips broke apart. Suckling up the column of his neck—she preened in satisfaction as the swell of his stub dissipated back to flaccid scar tissue.

She stilled. Nestled alongside of him. Wrapped around the curve of his arm. Listening to the pulse of his heart with each rapid, beat.

Once the thrill dissipated, shame flooded his face. She recognized it on every shadowed edge. Every curve.

"Jon will have my life for this, Sansa." Stunned that it is he, that broke the silence, sleepy eyes peer up.

Not for the first time, it is her heart that breaks for Theon. The agony that monstrous Bolten bastard put him through. His fear of men, of intentions. Did he not see that they were two halves of the same battered coin? One shell? One oasis? That she harbored those same fears of men too, until tonight?

"He would not dare lay a hand upon you." Gentle reassurance departed her petals.

One tear, made a wet trail down reddened skin upon his cheek. He was silent.

Turning his cheek with warm fingers—their eyes meet.

"I promise."

"He will, My L—Sansa." Hopelessness, dulls his eyes. "I have brought shame to you this night. Touched what I've no right to. He will have my head, since there ain't nothing else left."

"You haven't. I ordered you to my bed. And he need never know. But should he come to know of this, I shall tell him that I need you. That you alone can possibly understand what I feel."

"You are wrong. We are not equals, I can never be an equal again. Ramsey took everything from me. My cock, my name. Everything."

"Not everything, Theon. Not me." Low grazes upon the stump, caused a harsh intake of air. Green pooled optics clenched shut. Rasps escaped full lungs.

"D-Don't." The faint traces of touch, retracted.

Stickiness of her thigh, met with the divot of his hip, as she slung it over his side. Let him benefit from sheer heat, built in their moment of rife.

"I owe you my life, Theon. As long as I breathe air, I will protect you. No man, especially not Jon, will ever seek to harm you, again."

"You cannot promise such things. No one can."

"I just have." Her words left no question.

They plunged into silence for a good long while. Each breathing in steady rhythms. Listening to the sounds that struck fear in her, not long ago—now were akin to nuisance. Nothing more.

"I recall as a boy, you would chase after me, on these lands. Attempt to bunch up my skirts when you succeeded in a tackle or two. Do you remember, Theon?" A long winding silence stretched out. The sound of a 'hooting' owl in the night the only sound, apart from his breath.

"I remember." A barely audible response, incurred.

"I used to be so mad, that you muddied my newly sewn dresses. And so often I would feel your cock, poke me when you had me pinned. But I never took into account that you might harbor affections for me."

The muscle in his jaw twitched. "None of that matters now. What is past is past." He defended. "I am no longer a man. I may carry my title, my name, but those formalities will never return what truly makes me a man, to me."

"Perhaps not, but you are still a man in my eyes. And I do not require you to fill me, in order to be content. I do not wish for any other man to touch me, Theon. What I desire above all else—is you."

Slowly, she sought out every mark that filled his belly with shame—and kissed. Chest. Shoulder. Abdomen—anywhere Ramsey left scars. Imperfections. Blemishes.

He winced, each time.

"I would have you for a husband, Theon. Will you have me?"

Shock, etched into his eyes. And risen breaths fell silent. As did he.

Time stopped.