A short update, but it moves the story along and toys with their chemistry. Enjoy!
Having learnt the needle, how to sew, repair tears in clothing, Sansa was never one to pick up tools and go hunting.
Her little sister had been the wilder one of the pair, always following Robb and his friends out to the shallow end of the woods for food, searching for deer with bows and arrows and a good aim.
Sansa would much rather sit down with her mother, pick up a needle, a thread, a tattered garment, and start working. It was the inner lady from a past life in her, Mother always said. She had always believed Sansa was a reminder of what could have been if their lives had been any different.
The villagers weren't terribly poor, but prospects were few and the Stark family had suffered over the years. Father simply could not bring himself to do anything, the trauma of something mysterious haunting him, following his every step. Mother was their sole provider.
But Sansa had always aspired to do good, to accomplish something. Even if it was so little as take on her mother's workload. She was helpful, kind, always did as she was told. But this trait, the one that had made her an easy target for a bargain, was her one true fault.
There was only so much one could handle, one could go through for the sake of the greater good, for family and the benefit of so many. Marriages were pacts, exchanges of offerings and people for money or financial aid.
But marrying someone she loathed was out of the question, barely even something she had to think over.
Sansa knew her family needed the Bolton's help and that she was the key to their union, but her own sanity would be jeopardised if she had to spend every waking day with that fetishist, if she had to lie with a man who made her stomach churn like salty butter.
"You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"
"I-" She pauses, takes a second to look down at the rabbit in her lap, the palm of her right hand wrapped back around the knife he gave her, holding it against the animal's throat. "I am sure I can manage."
"Alright." Jon resigns himself, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, and rummaging through her basket. He slips the edge of the cloth over the handle and peaks inside. "Nice to see you stole from me." He smirks to himself, sliding his gloved hand beneath the cloth and retrieving an apple from the bunch stacked at the bottom of her basket, beneath some bread and a bottle of something he daren't ask about just yet.
Sansa ignores him, instead swallowing a breath as she guides her hand down to the rabbit's foot.
"What are you doing?"
"Stop hassling me!" The redhead grits her teeth, grinding them together and feeling an ache in her jaw at the sensation.
"Come here."
Unwilling to move from her seat on the opposite side of the tree trunk, she only straightens her back and wiggles her shoulders to iron out a knot.
"You come here." She retorts, brows raised as she twirls the knife in her grasp.
Truth be told, she wants to blame half of her difficulty to concentrate on his lips. And face. And voice. And his lips.
Having never been so close to a man, a boy even, the ache she had felt in her chest and the longing she currently bathes in eats at her. She had enjoyed it, wanted it.
He was not a brute, was not as rough as she had thought he might be. His calloused hands were somehow smooth against her skin, his pink lips burning hers, bruising her circulation and increasing her strange desire to run her fingers over them continuously.
She would do it again, she wants to. But the reminder of the words spoken between them in that moment keeps her back, stops her from tugging at his curls and making him kiss her again.
She had gone too far, too deep into her exploration, and she had let him divulge, take from her. It wasn't so much the taking that was the problem, but rather the guilt she now feels in the aftermath.
Mother would not be proud. Mother would have never said such things.
"My, what a big cock you have, wolf."
Ladies did not speak like this.
And the dream a small part of her still holds dear, to escape her village and never look back and become someone else entirely, would be dead in the water if anybody ever heard her speak those words.
Wolf. Perhaps this is why he holds no shame, does not seem to regret touching her. Wolves are wild, dangerous.
"You going to stab it in the paw?" Jon is stood in front of her, brows knitted and eyes dark as he frowns. His hair falls in his face from a gust of cool wind, and he moves to kneel at her feet.
"Where do I stab it?"
Instead of answering her, he instead wraps his fist around her own and forces her hand towards the animal's neck again, fingers pressing down into hers and jamming the blade into the rabbit's fur.
"There." Jon nods once, licks his dry lips, "Now slice it open." His gruff voice tells her as she finally looks down from his face, focusing on the knife.
With a pull toward her, the steel of the blade shifts, digging underneath the pet's skin and watching it bleed. She moves the blade so it lies flat beneath the lining of the fur, and tugs, grimacing as the skin slowly peels away.
With a glance up at him, half expecting praise for her accomplishment, she finds him with a mouth-full of shiny green apple, sloppy and practically uncaring for manners. "Did you steal one of my apples?" She quips, yanking on the knife.
"You stole them from me, lamb." He informs her, resting his elbows down on his thighs as he squats above crushed snow, teeth sharply digging into the fruit for another bite. A chunk of the apple rips off, sticky juice running down his chin and she holds back the urge to wipe the liquid from his skin. His tongue traces his bottom lip to collect the lost juice and she feels the muscles in her neck tighten.
"All the better to eat you with."
Sansa gulps. Would you? She refrains the thought, chooses to clear her throat and shift her gaze from his wet lips to her hands, covered in blood.
Fresh blood, she notes. It smells sickly, and she holds the knife back over to him with shaky fingers.
The dark haired man takes it after a second, watching her intently. "You might want to clean yourself up."
She simply nods, standing with a breath and her hands outstretched. "Where?"
"Are we not in the middle of snow covered woods?" He chuckles, more to himself than to her, and walks back around the tree, bloody knife in one hand, half-eaten apple in the other.
Making sure the skinned rabbit is safe on the snowy trunk, she heads off past some frozen rose bushes to find a liquid patch of melting ice. Pushing past the bushes with her shoulders and avoiding cob-web covered branches, she sinks down into a fresh patch of snow in a small clearing.
Kneeling down onto the ground, she keeps her hands elevated to avoid touching her skirts and spoiling it with even more blood.
Granny will surely afford her a clean dress when she gets there.
She feels a shiver run up her spine as her cold hands dive into the snow, letting the white dust coat her skin up to her elbows. It's colder than anything she has ever felt and she regrets not replacing her gloves back on her hands before beginning her work.
She bunches up the snow in her hands and massages it through her fingers the best she can to rid herself of most of the blood, though the now tarnished red snow lies in front of her pitiably.
When her hands are cleaner than before, and all that's left is come scrapes of dried blood on her wrists or beneath her fingernails, Sansa stands back up to retrace her steps.
But upon turning around to head back, she finds the snow littered ground freshly covered and her prints gone.
Her thin boots leave traces in mud, dirt, snow, she knows this, so for her footprints to be entirely gone baffles her.
"Jon?"
After a few moments, with no reply, no voice to guide her direction, Sansa takes a tentative step out to her left.
The clearing is surrounded in rosebushes and twiggy trees. The sky is dark, a royal blue turning black by the second.
"Ghost?"
Pulling up the hood of her cape, she stands patiently waiting for the animal to find her and lead her back to their makeshift camp. The wolf would hear her, surely. She feels a gust of wind blow past her then, her pale skin erupting in gooseflesh beneath the layers of her clothing.
The cold air seems to linger around her for a good moment, trapping her flesh in a dazed freeze and her lips drift open. Spinning around to take in her surroundings, she notes that neither Jon nor Ghost are present, but the cool breeze seems to persist.
Oddly, she takes in, the few remaining leaves on the trees are not blowing, and the snow on the ground remains unmoved. As though there is a small blizzard wrapping around her body, she feels the hairs poking out of her braid tickle her skin beneath the hood of her cloak, until the hood slips away and she is left fresh-faced in the cold air.
Tugging on the hood to keep it up, she forces it over her head and chews into her bottom lip, watching as snow begins to fall again, around her but not on her.
"Magic of the Winter Woods." She breathes.
She had heard stories of such things as a child, when Granny would read to Arya and she before bed, scary tales of awful things that lurked in the dark.
"When the night is dark, and the snows fall freely, the beasts will come out."
"What kind of beasts?" Arya always asked, knowing the answer every single time but wanting to give her sister a small fright.
"Terrible creatures, child. Dark fur they have, covered in scars from those who hunted them."
"Wolf." Sansa rasps.
"What are you doing?"
Her eyes flash open, ice blue meeting steel grey.
"I was cleaning my hands."
She licks her lips to find some moisture, glancing up at the settled sky, noticing the lack of wind or snow.
Jon decides to ignore her obvious confusion for now, "Aye." He mutters, "I should do the same." He looks down at his hands, coated in blood much in the same way hers had been and what could only be animal guts. "The rabbit is roasting."
Had he started a fire? She could do with the heat.
She shivers, runs her dry hands up and down her arms, crinkling her nose. She steps closer to him, unsure if she intends to walk past him or say something.
"Will you feed me one of your apples, wolf?" The words slip out before she can think them over, comprehend them.
"When my hands are clean, I suppose?" He assumes, seems to agree to her strange request.
"If you prefer." She frowns, uncertain about her own desire. What could this possibly lead to?
Jon seems to hold back a smile, his eyes darkened in an already dim moonlight, "Or would you rather I fed you a bloody apple? Would you like that, lamb?"
"Your lamb is quite famished." Her voice lowers and she does not even recognize herself. She steps closer, hands rising to his chest, eyes focused on his lips. "Although for now I could settle for the juices of a fine apple."
He keeps his hands away from her body, blood seeping down his wrist and dripping onto the snow. "I don't think anything could ever taste as sweet at the juices spilt from the forbidden fruit."
"I always wondered why it was forbidden." She pauses, removes one hand from his chest and moves to grab his right wrist. Pulling it up between them, and glances down at the freezing red skin. "You don't happen to know, do you?"
"I don't, no."
"Mother told me it was because a man once ventured into the woods, had only one bite of the fruit, and died the following morning. Perhaps it symbolizes death." She wraps her fingers around his bloody ones, her insides shuddering at the sound of wet skin rubbing together.
Why is she doing this? What is making her cross a line, once again?
"I happen to think your Mother is wrong."
"Well, how would you know? You said you have no idea why such a delicious fruit is forbidden. Did you not?"
"Aye. I said it." He speaks, voice low and eyes focusing in on her own, "But we each have our theories, do we not?"
"Aye. What is your theory then, wolf?"
"The apple is forbidden to eat because it falls on the ground like an innocent is born. It doesn't know anything of the dangers that await in the woods. It's forbidden because we want it, we want to taste it, but it is too divine to look at."
She perks a brow, pulls her lips into a half-smile, "Did you not taste one earlier?"
"I believe I tasted two things of divine beauty earlier, aye. Both forbidden, too. But I only tasted the juices of one."
She pulls at his hand then, yanking it up to her mouth and wrapping her hand around his dirt wrist. "Would you like to taste my juices?"
"Would you let me?" His dark eyes bore into hers, hungry, starving almost.
This is what does it, what stops her from bordering into unknown territory.
He is a wolf. He will harm her. He will ruin her. Even if she finds herself enjoying it.
"Perhaps. But I believe you will be eating rabbit tonight, and not what lies beneath my skirts."
Dropping his hand suddenly, she begins to retreat away from him.
She half expects him to grab her arm and tug her back, grasp at her clothes until there is nothing left of her innocence, and she finds herself almost disappointed when he does no such thing.
Walking back in the direction he had come from, his footsteps clearing the path for her, she finds herself face to face with an overnight campsite. Their belongings at the tree, a small fire crackling with carefully placed twigs cooking a rabbit, his pet wolf guarding their haven from worse creatures.
As she approaches the fire, she spots the meat of the rabbit turning black, burning from the forgotten flames. It's her fault, she thinks. She pulls the branch placed through the animal from above the fire and places it down atop the snow, initially waiting for Jon to be the one to carve it up.
But something tells her to pick up what is quickly becoming her favourite tool and start cutting the meat.
She has somehow managed to carve up small pieces of the meat for them to eat by the time he returns, hands clean and leather gloves back over his fingers.
"Maybe you are no lamb, after all." Jon smirks at the sight of her prepared meal, watching as she twirls a twig around with a chunk of oversized rabbit on the end.
"I'm a fast learner."
He settles down beside her, the side of his leather breeches rubbing against her wool skirt as he settles in, "That remains to be seen.