The fire in the hearth crackled and burned, heating the small homely room in an orange glow. Not that the two figures intertwined with each other on the bed needed the extra warmth. The two young men were still sweating, coming down from their post sex high still pressing kisses against each others skin, tasting sweat and dirt but it didn't matter.
Nimble fingers danced down Bran's side, tracing patterns into the smooth skin of his hip. Lips followed the fingers, kissing Bran's lips slowly, tasting them with his tongue, before moving down to his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. Bran was out of breath by the time the kisses reached his hipbone. His fingers gripped the blond hair tight, lifting his face up to look into clouded green eyes.
"If you want me to stop-"
"No," Bran smiled and leaned up on his forearms. He couldn't believe this gorgeous man belong to him, heart and soul. "No. I don't ever want you to stop." Before he knew it he was being kissed again, pushed deep into the fluffy pillows behind him.
"Then I will never, ever stop."
An annoying jingle startled Bran out of his dream before it could go any further. Without looking he disabled the alarm on his phone, his face still pressed into his pillow.
It was six-thirty in the morning and while he might not be able to form coherent thoughts, he definitely could remember that dream in vivid detail. The heat of the fire against his skin, the smell of the sweat that dripped lazily down his chest, the taste of salt and something else, how deep the other man's voice was, how green his eyes were. He could bring up all of those sensations without even trying to. It became a second nature to him.
"Dammit, not that dream again," Bran sighed, rubbing his eyes groggily. Mossy green eyes. Soft pink lips. Sandy blond hair. Bran never knew he had a type but if his dreams meant anything to him...
He didn't know the boy's name-although sometimes the boy was a man, with lean muscles and solemn eyes like he was in the last dream. Every time it was spoken it was barely clear, like trying to listen to someone talk while you're underwater and they're sitting at the surface, even when Bran was the one saying it. It was as if his subconscious didn't want him to know the identity of the man who plagued his dreams at night.
He sat up in bed, combing through his long auburn hair with his fingers, trying to get the recent dream out of his head. To no avail, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He's used to having weird dreams, ones that come true, ones that can't come true, but these dreams...these dreams are taking its toll on him. And his sheets.
He can still taste that mouth, those familiar soft lips, almost like he's already tasted them before. It was all lodged into his memory, permanently there, and he couldn't get rid of it even if he tried. He knew was impossible to know what the person tasted like since he's never kissed anyone in his life. But he knew those lips, they were soft and warm and they kissed him like it was his last night alive. Bran's fingers trembled as they ghosted over his lips, trailed down his neck, and across his collarbone, just like those lips did in his dreams. But it wasn't the same, not even close. He didn't need to go any lower judging from the uncomfortable wetness between his legs.
Sighing forlornly he lay back down, staring up at the chipped white ceiling.
He wanted to go back to sleep. He only felt at peace in his dreams. They gave him comfort when no one else could. He once tried to chase them away with medicine. But he's stopped that now. They were a part of him. Even the ones with the very attractive blond boy felt like something only for him.
But a lot of times those dreams usually end with him aching and messing up his sheets.
Speaking of sheets...he needs to change his. Gods, he felt like a twelve year old who just discovered porn.
He could hear his siblings trampling around above him. Sansa was taking a shower, Rickon was running down the stairs, and Arya was probably still asleep. He didn't want to get up.
It's Friday, he reminded himself. One more day.
Summer had noticed he was awake and had jumped up on his bed, nudging Bran's arm with his nose, whining happily. Bran smiled and playfully ruffled Summer's ears. "Good morning." Summer just looked at him but it seemed like he understood what he had said. Summer was just smart like that.
His large wolf-like dog licked his cheek just as Rickon started to pound at his door.
"Bran! Wake up!" Rickon never opened his door in the mornings, choosing to yell and shout instead of being civilized.
"I'm awake." Bran sat up and pulled his heavy quilts off. He frowned down at his forever still legs.
After the accident that caused him to lose the use of his legs he would to wake up every morning and hope that it was all a dream. He thought that this was another weird dream, like the ones he started getting after he woke up after the accident. But with his mom crying and his siblings hesitant to be around him he soon realized that it wasn't. He let his mom pray for him and Old Nan tell him stories even though he hated it. He felt weak and useless just sitting there unable to do anything but stare out the window. It only got better when he finally snapped and told them all to stop babying him.
Yeah, he didn't use those words but still. (More along the lines of, "If you all don't stop treating me like I'm dying, I'll jump out the fucking window!")
"Bran, are you getting dressed?" His mother's voice called from the other side of the door. He heard her silent Do you need help? and rolled his eyes.
"Yes, mum."
"Okay, breakfast will be ready soon." He heard her footsteps all the way to the kitchen.
Bran started to strip out of his clothes, grimly yanking off his cotton shorts. His legs were so pale and hairless, like a girls. He took his Don't Fight The Music sleeping shirt off, balled it up, and tossed it in the hamper across the room.
Heh, three points.
His school clothes were on his nightstand. He put them on with barely any trouble. He's mastered pulling pants on by laying down by now.
Bran leaned over and pulled his wheelchair over to his bedside. With practiced ease he sat himself in the chair and pulled his afghan over his lap, tucking in the sides. He never had to maneuver around anything in his room. Everything, his bookshelves, his table, and everything else that could be, was pushed against his walls, leaving nothing to get in the way of his chair like he was incompetent.
When he entered the kitchen, his mom was making breakfast. She always made breakfast even though they had help for that. She smiled affectionately at him. "Good morning, Bran. How did you sleep?"
"Fine." He smiled easily. He loved his mother so much, even though she still babied him.
Arya came down as he rolled to the table. She slumped into the table, looking horrible.
Bran elbowed her after some consideration. "I thought you said you were going to get some sleep." Arya had said she wouldn't stay up and play video games all night with her boyfriend but by the looks of it she had done just that.
"I look like shit. I know. But I don't regret anything!" She was about to tell Bran about the new map she and Gendry discovered but their mother interrupted her.
"Language, Arya!" Their mom glare at her youngest daughter, striking the fear of Catelyn Stark into her, with her large blue Tully eyes.
"Sorry..." she muttered but Bran knew she wasn't sorry at all.
Bran smirked at her. Catelyn put food on their plates. Rickon and Sansa sat down. Rickon wouldn't shut up about his dream where he was Spiderman and Shaggydog was his sidekick. And he could talk. But only in Latin.
Sansa rolled her eyes in her princess-bitch way, as Arya called it behind her back. "Well my dream was about Joffrey. We were walking in the park-"
Arya cut her off with a piece of toast to the face. "No one wants to hear about your wet dreams."
Sansa's lovely face turned bright red, matching the colour of her brilliant red hair, as she wiped crumbs off her cheek. "Arya! It wasn't like that! God you're such a pervert!"
"What's a pervert?" Rickon asked loudly with his mouth full. He was only eleven.
Arya leaned forward and stage whispered, "It's someone who kidnaps little boys like yourself and wears their skin like clothes."
"Arya, those are pedophiles; not perverts. Perverts are just creepy men you see staring at women's breasts at the bus stop." Bran informed, not wanting Rickon to go around terrified of every person he saw. He could spare a headache or two now that way.
Or course their mom chose to listen while he spoke. Her eyes were wide and she looked completely shocked to hear him say something like that. He was Her Bran, her lovely little innocent Bran. He just stared back, unsure of what to do at that point.
Well...fuck.
Thankfully Ned came down the stairs, dispersing the awkward tension. "So who's ready for school?"
..o..o..o..
North Winterfell High, home of the Direwolves, loomed ahead in dark stone, looking more like a penitentiary than a high school. It was dark and gloomy as always, no matter what bright new color was painted on the walls. The students hated it, the teachers hated it, fuck, the environment hated it. It never ceased to stop snowing or raining during the day, leaving everyone in a perpetual gloom. 'Depression High' was what other schooled dubbed it. But hey, at least it got national attention for something.
"Goodbye my children, have a wonderful day!" Ned told them as he watched Bran, Arya, and Sansa walk into the building, grinning wide and happy as he waved them off. He knew they thought it was embarrassing and "uncool" but what kind of father would he be if he didn't humiliate them?
Bran wheeled around to the ramp with his sisters behind him. Sansa was complaining about her AP biology test she had today while Arya was trying to ride on the back of his chair and failing miserably. Students in front of them parted faster than a whores legs. No one wanted to get their ankles bruised from Arya's unsafe maneuvering of his chair.
"I'll see you twats at lunch," Arya called and walked in the direction of the art room, throwing up a peace sign.
Sansa walked with him to his locker and to his first hour. She tried to tell him about the new lipstick brand but he tuned most of it out. It wasn't that he didn't like Sansa. It was just that she never said anything that he cared about. The only things she talked about was clothes, her friends, her boyfriend, and makeup. He didn't care about any of that but he didn't want to look like an asshole.
When she walked away he felt like he could breath again.
He sat at the only table located at the far right of the room. All his teachers had to add a table in their room if they didn't have one already. At first he felt awkward about, but now he likes the extra space.
Only him and some girls were in the room. There was still twenty minutes until class. He drew random ugly rabbit things in his notebook. Even as the time passed by and more of his classmates came into the room he sat there by himself. He got over the loneliness a while ago, when none of his friends from school would come visit him and people only wanted to pity him.
He could kind of understand. They were probably all afraid of offending him or making him feel like shit by referring to anything that involved walking. But, honestly, they practically were shunning him. And all Bran wanted was someone to talk to that he wasn't family with. He didn't care if all they talked about was sports or stair climbing; he just wanted someone to acknowledge him...
The bell rang while was lost in his thoughts and drawing the weird face carved into the weirwood tree in his backyard into his notebook. He didn't leave it for long, advanced algebra wasn't all that exciting since he already knew how to do it. During the summer all he did was study, play video games, and jerk off. His teacher didn't even bother to ask if he needed help, he was practically a wheeling calculator.
He went to lunch with tired eyes and aching fingers. Arya and Sansa was already seated with their usual group of friends and sort-of-kinda friends. There was Margaery Tyrell, Jeyne Poole, and annoying Joffrey Baratheon at Sansa's side. Gendry Waters, Hot Pie, and Lommy were practically yelling about Call of Duty while Arya just watched, sometimes yelling with them too. Bran sat at the end of the long table like a king. He felt powerful, but he refused to let it show. Humility was key to being a king, he knew that.
"Hey, can I have your chips? Mom gave me this nasty fruit bar thing." Arya said, already reaching for his chips.
He took the fruit bar with a grimace. "Yeah, sure, go ahead. I don't really know why you ask, you always take them," he deadpanned.
"She's such a bully," Gendry said, his smile making it more of a compliment.
"I'm not a bully. He's my younger brother; I'm supposed to do this," she reasoned, but her smirk was anything but reasonable.
Sansa snatched the chips out of her hand and tossed her the apple. "And I'm allowed to do this, horseface. Since I'm older and all that."
Bran liked Sansa in these moments.
There was about ten minutes left of lunch when Sandor Clegane thundered into the lunchroom, looking like the world just fucked him for all he was worth. No one said anything to him after he sat down. They just watched as he quickly got more pissed from all the staring. It was awkward, to say the least.
"The fuck are you assholes looking at!" he growled like a wild dog, his scarred face hard and mean.
It was safe to say Bran was afraid of him. He once saw the guy punch a kid so hard he literally flew backwards. No one should be that strong. Especially not while they're still in high school. But then again, he was pretty sure Clegane got held back a year or three.
"What's got your balls in a twist, dog?" Joffrey sneered, looking pompous and idiotic. One would think the "dog" was his attempt at being cool but no, he was just an asshole. Bran and everyone else hated the kid but didn't say anything because Sansa seemed to really like him.
Such a stupid prick.
Sandor, commonly know as the Hound, looked like he wanted to smash Joffrey's squished little face into the table, but since he was being paid by Joffrey's mom to guard him he couldn't. "None of your fucking business."
Joffrey just shrugged casually, his thin lips quirked up mockingly. "Whatever, I'm not paying you to bitch your feelings out to me. Hm, I don't even think I should pay you at all, all the good it's done for me."
He apparently didn't know how many times Sandor has had to threaten or punch a kid who would want to beat Joffrey to a bloody pulp. He thinks he invincible but if Sandor ever quit or got fired he'd probably be hospitalized and crying like the bitch he is. Bran pitied him, and he was the one with fucking disabilities.
"Oh Joffrey," Sansa interrupted before Sandor could flip tits. "Do you want to come over after school? I need help with my research."
All hail Sansa and her perfect timing, Bran thought. It was a gift and a curse. Bran of course didn't want to go home after school now. It was bad enough to be in the older boys presence at school. He seriously didn't know what his sister saw in him. He gave Arya a longing look when she asked Gendry if they could go over his house.
Gendry nodded at him. "Bran, wanna come over, we still haven't finished our game." By game be meant their Magic the Gathering duel. It sounded a lot less lame in his head. Okay no it was lame either way.
But oh gods yes. Bran nodded enthusiastically. At least he wouldn't have to bear witness to Sansa's horrible relationship. Death would be preferable than that. Castration would be preferable to that.
The bell rang and they all went their separate ways.
..o..o..o..
When Bran finally got home, sometime after nine, his mother heated him up dinner and didn't say a word about why he wasn't home right after school. She just gave him an understanding look and gave him a kiss on his cheek.
He ate alone; Arya just made two sandwiches and went to her room. But knowing her she was just going to stay up and watch movies until her eyes dried up (or until their mom yelled at her to take her ass to sleep.)
Damn, just thinking of sleep had Bran almost dropping his head onto his plate. He didn't know why he was so tired. Maybe it was this shitty long week and four hours of mindlessly playing video games.
He debated whether or not he should take a shower. He yawned, but it came out more like a howl, and decided fuck no. He always had tomorrow.
Bran locked his door after he shut it and literally crawled into bed. He was wrapping his arms around his pillow when he remembered he was still wearing his school clothes.
He groaned and swore and started taking his clothes off at a snails pace. He pretty much gave up with his jeans after the third try and he couldn't get them off, so now they were wrapped awkwardly around his legs.
Whatever. It's not like I can feel it anyway.
With that morbid thought he fell asleep, never once waking up from his nightmares until morning.