"I'm stealing you," she whispered, holding the knife to his throat in his chambers.

Jon had taken off his shirt for the night and had just finished folding it over the head of the bed. He stilled.

She held the knife lightly, and they both knew he could break away and come to no harm.

But he didn't.

He turned to her, slightly, his bare shoulder brushing against hers. He hadn't said a word. She was glad the fire was almost out and his room was dark save for the moonlight.

He was almost facing her now, and she could make out the scars on his chest, and feel the heat of his skin. She let the knife clatter onto the bedside table. She curled into him and he rested his forehead against hers. They stayed like that, on the edge.

"I want to kiss you," she said, and heard his sharp intake of breath.

It mattered a great deal to her that the did this willingly, not because he felt he had to, and she was almost sure that was true, his hand wouldn't be at her waist and his face wouldn't be so close to hers if he didn't, but she didn't want him to regret it later. She reached out and traced the scar on his face.

"May I kiss you?" It was a proper, formal question, and she would have thought it would feel out of place, she'd had a knife at his throat a moment ago, but it didn't. It felt right.

"Gods, yes, Sansa," he rasped, and pulled her closer. Finally, something deep inside of her said, finally, and she whimpered in the back of her throat. He opened his mouth against hers, tentatively, then hungry, when she kissed him back. He broke away, panting, trailing kisses down her jawline and tangling his free hand in her hair, and if she ever doubted whether he struggled the same way she did, she didn't any longer.

"Jon," she murmured, her eyes closed, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her head back to give him better access. His name on her lips seemed to spur him and he drew them both down to the bed. She knew she would be cold, if it weren't for the heat of his skin. She wanted more heat, more of him, and slid her dressing gown off her shoulders, and he looked at her in wonder. "So beautiful, Sansa, you're so beautiful," he whispered, and kissed her collarbone.

She pressed herself against him and his hands moved over her back, where she had scars of her own, from Joffrey and Ramsey. She was most afraid of this moment, he'd never seen her scars, and a recklessness overtook her, if he's going to see me, he needs to see all of me, let's see if he still thinks you're beautiful then, when he sees you're ruined, and she knew that was Ramsey's voice. But Ramsey was gone, the Red Wolf killed him, and she was alive and had stolen the man she loved. She turned, her dressing gown pooling around her hips. She expected to wait, for him to get accustomed to the sight. Instantly his fingertips bushed over her back. "So beautiful, and so brave," he whispered against her ear, "I've never known anyone as beautiful and brave as you, Sansa," and still he couldn't get enough of her.

She turned to face him and slipped her hands under the laces of his breeches. "Take these off, please, Jon," and then they were skin to skin, there was nothing at all between them as she sank into the furs. She could taste the ale on his tongue and something else, something that was Jon's alone. His beard grazed her cheek and heat coiled and swirled in her belly, she couldn't stop touching him, and it felt so good it scared her.

"Jon, what's happening?"

"Sansa, are you all right?" His rough hands cupped her face. His pupils were blown and his voice was husky, and she saw lust and tenderness in his dark eyes.

"I've just, I've never, I don't know, is this what happens?" She cast about for the right words but he understood her, thank the gods, he kissed her brow for a long moment.

"It's – it's supposed to feel like this, will you let me show you, Sansa?"

"Yes, Jon, please," and he kissed mouth her again, deeply, taking his time, and the heat in her belly kept building. She thought he'd stop kissing her then, but he didn't, just traced kisses down her belly, his thumbs drawing small circles at her waist, kissed over her navel and lower -

She sat up.

"Jon?"

He was kneeling now, off the bed, between her legs, and he looked up at her, his black hair framing his face. "Trust me, Sansa," he pleaded, and he ran his hands up and down the top of her thighs. "I'll stop, I swear, if you don't like it," and she understood where he meant to kiss her next.

"Is that - is that something you want to do, Jon?" Her voice sounded high and thin to her ears. He kissed the inside of her thigh, and his hands were strong on either side of her hips. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek where his mouth had been. "I dream about this, Sansa," he whispered. "I dream about kissing you here."

She rocked her hips forward without thinking and he groaned. She felt his mouth on her and oh he did, he did want this, he hummed against her and it was too much and not enough at once, she was moving urgently now, all shyness forgotten, on the cusp of something just out of reach and then he sucked there, just there and her whole body shattered with pleasure like it would never stop. She was flying, and he held her to his mouth through her release until she had to pull back, it was too much, she was too sensitive, and he pulled himself up onto the bed next to her and kissed her.

"You taste so good, Sansa, better than any dream I've had, I'd taste you every night if you let me," he murmured and she wasn't entirely sure if he knew he was talking out loud. He was hard against her belly and she was still restless, achy, even now after everything they'd done, and she shifted underneath him and he froze and hissed through his teeth.

"Sansa, we don't, you don't have to -"

"Do you not want to?" It would sound like a tease from anyone else but she meant it, maybe he didn't, maybe she'd gone too far -

"Yes, I want to, Sansa, gods I want to, sweet girl, but...I'm so close, Sansa, I don't think I can stop in time." The muscles in his back rippled under her hands and she knew he was just barely hanging on. He was breathing hard and his eyes were shut tight and she wanted him to let go, to be with her completely, and she knew she'd have to tell him her own truth, just as he'd told her his.

"We don't have to, Jon, we don't, but I don't want you to stop. I want this more than anything, I dream about this Jon, please, stay with me."

The last of his control snapped and he ducked his head and kissed her and thrust up into her and she was so full, the ache eased and he was moving, chanting her name now, how good she felt, how lovely she was. "Stay with me Jon, please," she begged again, and he reached between them and stroked her, and she came apart once more, loving how he gave her everything she wanted, every part of himself.

She woke to the faintest dawn. Jon was asleep, his lips pressed to the crown of her head, and she snuggled deeper into the furs.

She was warm and well-loved and never wanted to leave.

"...Do you want me to go, Sansa?"

What are you talking about, Jon? I'm the happiest woman alive right now.

"Go where?" she managed, sleepily. "We're in your chambers, after all." She smiled at him. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I mean if - you only wanted it to be for a night."

She saw the fear in his eyes, the worry, that maybe he'd pushed her too hard, even though she was the one who'd stolen him. It was dear to her, his sense of honor, but it did make him a bit slow to catch on sometimes.

She rolled on top of him. "Do I have to steal you every night, Jon?" She'd meant to be playful but it came out plaintive, and closer to the truth. Her hand rested on his chest, over his heart. Do I need to convince you, every night, that this is what I want? He sat up, gathering her in his arms, until she was sitting in his lap, and rested his forehead against hers again. Their noses bumped, and she giggled, and he smiled, really smiled, it lit up his face like sunlight.

"No," he said, "you've stolen me forever, you've stolen me for good."

+The End+