Rickon being home had always been a blessing, even when Jon had shoehorned her little brother between them to keep her hands from wandering. She knew it was not so very unreasonable. On winter nights people slept huddled together for warmth. When she was a child, Sansa had spent many a night curled up with Arya, who annoyed her most of the time. And the wildlings in Wintertown stepped huddled next to even more distant kin.
Jon had told her that men would take their women in plain sight of the rest of their clan, beneath their furs. He had been trying to scandalize her, no doubt. To prove how worldly he was, as though she'd been eating lemon cakes and having her hair brushed out by maids the entire time she'd been away. As though she was a blushing maid and not a woman grown, thrice wedded and once bedded.
But they were not wildlings. And though perhaps on occasion the image of him taking her in full sight of others flashed through her mind once he'd put the image there, she kept that thought to herself. It was only because he neglected her anyway. She assumed once he finally bedded her such unladylike fantasies would go away.
In the meantime, she found herself watching him about the castle, going about his duties, nearly drooling.
She'd always thought him a handsome man, and the more she grew to love him the comelier she found him. He'd become comelier still when he'd done that thing with his mouth.
The littlest things stirred her. The way he ruffled Rickon's hair in encouragement with his big, strong hands while helping him learn his letters had been strangely arousing. As was the way he looked at her so softly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. And the way he wore his white linen shirt when it was just the three of them in their private chambers after dinner. The top buttons undone so a little bit of chest hair peeked through. With his sleeves rolled up, she could see the muscles in his forearms flex.
That night, a month after Rickon had returned home, he'd dropped his quill to the desk and looked at the two of them very seriously. "When are you going to have a baby?" he asks.
Rickon had taken Sansa marrying their brother very well. Perhaps because he barely remembered them, or because he was just happy to have any family left at all. The thought of a baby that's half her and half Jon and all Stark always makes Sansa smile. When they'd wed, she'd assumed she'd have one in her arms by now. But that was before Sam's lessons on maternal health Jon had forced her to endure whenever she got any ideas.
"That's a good question," Sansa said. She looked over at Jon and raised her eyebrows.
Her husband looked at her as though she is a misbehaving child and he was contemplating how she was to be reprimanded. She must be very wicked indeed, since their little debates always made her heart race.
"Not for a long, long time," Jon said, and Sansa rolled her eyes. He was talking more to Rickon than to her. "You're the baby of the Castle for now."
Rickon narrowed his eyes, "I'm not a baby!" he growled, and then, softer, said "and I want a little brother."
They don't correct Rickon about how the baby would be his niece or nephew. Rickon missed Bran terribly, and Sansa was not about to tell him they couldn't rebuild his family. She smiled at Rickon, and Jon wrapped him in his arms and kissed him on the forehead.
She had accepted, at long last, that Jon was going to get his way. It made no sense that he should win. After all, before she'd thrown him out the moon doors Petyr Baelish had instructed her in the arts of seduction. Meanwhile, Jon had lived at the wall with a bunch of dirty, smelly boys. Jon had even told her she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, which had made her blush, even though it was hardly a compliment given how few beautiful women Jon was like to have seen.
She made sure to take as much time as possible dressing, taking off all of her clothes before contemplating what to wear for the day. But Jon always averted his eyes.
She had used all of the silk Jon had given her for her nameday to make night clothes, each little dress smaller than the one before. Sure, his eyes would go dark, and he would touch her, coax her till she peaked, sometimes more than once, but though he would sometimes whisper terrible things into her ear, he always fell short of actually doing them.
On cold nights like this, Sansa preferred the warmth of her mother's old chambers. Especially when her husband was not here to keep her warm, as he hadn't been for the past fortnight. She missed him terribly, but he was busy seeing to the refortification of The Wall.
When he was gone she had no use for the silken nightclothes she'd made in her attempt to seduce him. She missed him, so she slept in his shirt instead. And alone in her bed, she touched herself. She really did miss him. His hands, his tongue, his smile. He snored lightly when he slept, and it annoyed her to no end, and she missed that too.
Sansa was not used to making herself come, she hadn't even known it was possible for girls before she'd married Jon. But in the weeks he'd been gone she'd she had gotten quite capable at it. It was not very ladylike, but there were many things she did with her husband that weren't. More still that she wanted to.
She was running her knuckles against her clit when Jon walked in, windswept from the road, right out of one of her fantasies.
"Sansa! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Jon said, just the sort of thing she imagined him saying as she closed her eyes and buried her fingers in her cunt.
Sansa sat up in bed, and leaned against the headboard. "I didn't know you were home, My Lord."
Jon's eyes lingered on her, but she wasn't sure why. She did not look particularly comely — her hair was a mess, for a start. "I rode all day hoping to find you in my bed," he said at last.
"The lord's chambers are too cold without your arms around me."
Jon smirked, an expression that always looked so out of place on his stoic face. "Is that my shirt?" he asked.
"I didn't think you'd need it at the wall," she said, looking down at it. "I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all. It looks better on you."
When Sansa looked up, Jon's eyes had gone dark. She couldn't recall him ever looking at her like this. Not even in her itty bitty nightgown. Jon sat on the bed and pulled off his riding boots.
"Did you have a nice trip?" Sansa asked.
"I suppose," Jon said, but he's distracted, staring at her. He pulled the shirt open with a strong tug, and it burst at the seams, sending the buttons flying. Jon smiled, pleased with his work and kissed her newly exposed skin. "You're so soft," he whispered to her, his head between her breasts.
She couldn't help but grin. She may have become adept at pleasing herself in his absence, but nothing compared to feeling his weight atop her. "You seem to have really missed me."
"I did," he said, running his hand between her legs and finding her soaking wet. "I didn't think about anything but you," he breathes into her neck.
"I was thinking about your right now," she said mischievously.
They just kiss for awhile. She can feel him hard against her, but it's his mouth she focuses on. She could lay like this forever. The kingdom would suffer for it, but she would be deliriously happy. Just intertwined fingers and the gentleness of his fluttering eyelashes against her cheek.
But Jon pulled back and sat on his knees. "I don't think I can wait."
Sansa tried her best not to act surprised as Jon unlaced his breeches. She' d certainly imagined this moment often enough, but she still felt a nervous flutter in her belly. It was all a bit surreal but she was eager despite any nervousness.
It was not the first time she'd seen a naked man, but she still had to stifle a gasp when she saw all of him for the first time. If she thought his chest and his muscled stomach was unfair… well, the curve of his ass ought to be illegal. She was gaping at him, of this she was sure, but before she could conceal her lusty gaze, he was on top of her. His teeth ran down her stomach until his mouth began that horrible, wonderful thing he did with his mouth.
She wanted to take him in hand herself, to finally see him come undone, to have that power over him, but to do so would run the risk of making him stop. Better to give her blushing maid of a husband the illusion of control... he was like an easily frightened fawn...
... except he didn't seem so docile this time. Usually he begun gently, but his tongue was hard and fast, so she came quickly. She was pulling hard on his loose curls, but he still didn't stop. He only looked up when she'd come once more, this time so hard it almost hurt, crying out his name and pulling him by the hair to meet her lips.
She'd barely gotten a taste before he pulled away and began to nibble on her ear. Usually Jon would be urging her to go to sleep by now, or else taking a walk alone. But Jon stayed on top of her, his cock still hand against her leg, his lips sucking on her neck. He was sure to leave a mark, and she'd have to wear her hair down to cover it tomorrow lest the entire castle think her wanton.
When he finally does enter her, three months ahead of schedule, it feels right. She pushes her hips back into his. She can't believe she'd done without it for so long. She's never felt so connected to anyone, so whole. It doesn't last long before he shudders. She is pleased to note that he says her name this time. And she likes the way it sounds when his voice is so low and throaty, moaned into her ear. It's never sounded so pretty. She wants to hear it again. And she does, twice more that night.
Author's Note: you can read more of my writing at theonbaejoys on tumblr.
