Theon had spent the first part of his childhood in Pyke, the mighty stronghold of the house Greyjoy, where everything was dark and dull. Actually, he never really realized that other colours besides the brown of the ships and the dirty blue of the sea existed.
Even though Winterfell is located in the north of Westeros, there were so many more colours than in Pyke, and Theon loved every single one of them.
The ward enjoyed simply lying in the sunshine and forgetting the world around him. He roamed the Godswood and marveled at the sight of the mighty weirwood tree with its blood red leaves and snow white bark. He climbed the highest towers of Winterfell to savor the sight of the huge, green carpeted treetops of the Wolfswood, and watched pitch black ravens fly in the crystal clear sky.
But no matter, how bright the colours of the northern nature were, not a single one could outshine the colour of Snow.
Skin as white marble, locks as black as the night and lips with the color of a pale rose.
Jon Snow was the most colorful person Theon had ever met. All the other northern people seemed somehow translucent, bitter and boring, but Jon…the Ironborn could see a fiery red, when the bastard defended himself or his beloved, a brightly shining yellow, when he played with his half-siblings and a calm dark blue, when Jon was relaxed and satisfied with himself and the world.
But the thing, that really got him, was Jon's eyes – they were grey. Grey like the walls of Pyke, grey like a raging storm and grey like the sword he wielded.
But it was not only the bastard's eyes – his laugh made Theon dizzy, the sight of his trained torso made the Ironborn's blood burn though his veins like wildfire and every time Snow paused his sword training, drenched with sweat, Greyjoy felt desire and need taking hold of him in a way he never thought was possible.
He longed for the nightfall every day. When the sun set and the sky turned black, Jon snuck to his chambers and Theon's pulse started to race and his heart was pounding.
Snow's lips were so soft, his hands explored every inch of Theon's body and each touch sent a delicious shiver down the Ironborn's spine. He simply gave in to Jon, closed his eyes and relished every second of it. The bastard knew exactly, how to drive Theon mad, to make him squirm beneath him, to whine wantonly and moan Jon's name. He was like warm wax in the bastard's arms, and Jon loved to make the oh-so-proud Theon beg for more.
After sheer endless hours of touching, biting, kissing and licking, Jon was placed at Theon's entrance and time seemed to stand still.
He entered the ironborn with a furious thrust, causing Theon to scream and see thousands of colours bursting like a firework before his inner eye…
Afterwards, the lay together as a breathless bunch under the furs and Theon felt wonderful. Jon's warm arms were placed around him and Theon was just about to drift off into a blissful sleep, as Jon turned him over to face him.
"I love you, Theon," The bastard whispered.
"I love you too, Jon."
And then Theon looked into Jon Snow's stormy grey eyes and he knew that he was lost forever