Chapter Twenty-One

Defraying

Sansa's lips trailed across his shoulder like heated rose petals leading up to the nape of Ramsay's neck. The sound of her leveled breathing coursed a thrill down his spine as her face came within mere centimeters of his; her proximity could be felt in a radiating wave that sent tendrils of eagerness to electrify his every nerve. Each hair prickled alive to stand on end as her breath caressed his cheek and her closeness branded him with her warmth and a flush of desire. Her words drifted to him in a sultry whisper, "You're mine, Ramsay, and now that I have you, I'll never let you go."

Ramsay moaned longingly as Sansa's words stirred a turbulent wave of emotions within him. He wasn't sure what to make of these feelings as the implications of her statement conflicted with the remnants of his still bruised ego, but an even more deprived part of his subconscious heaved in satisfaction at the thought of Sansa wanting him so fiercely that she would be covetous of him.

In this safe place within his mind, Ramsay gave himself over completely to Sansa without hesitation, he wanted to be hers. His ecstasy swelled in a truncated gasp lost in the wake of her domineering kisses that fought to further stake their claim of him and push her own declaration of determination over his crumbling resolve to be in control. Letting go to be swept into her thirst sparked a deep seeded passion to rock through him as Ramsay clung to the wistful craving of fading into Sansa's touch.

He envisioned her ghost hands shifting across the curvature of his body to grope at him in remembered figments of his time spent with Sansa since she'd taken him prisoner. Her hands slid smoothly over him in sensual and explorative sweeps but soon led to cascade into grasps and kisses that sought to wholly possess him with a savageness he'd never felt prior with any other woman. These handlings were laced with an aggressiveness Ramsay never would have willingly tolerated receiving before without equal exchange, but he found himself almost willing and wanting to succumb to what he could only now uniquely identify as Sansa's will.

His mind scattered with fragments of her essence; the smell of orchids from the oils she lathered into her skin, the wispy tendrils of her red locks tickling his skin when they trailed across him, the flush that trailed down her neck when he saw she was aroused, the light quirk of her lip when she was amused, the heaving of her pliable breasts, her taste, her heat, all the things that spoke to Ramsay to be intimately Sansa. These lucid contemplations swirled within Ramsay until he found a solidity of imagining her the night before she'd left, the night where she'd punished him and more so also consoled him.

Ramsay's mind altered onto this new track of reflections as his throat tightened in reminiscence of being brought to tears by her. He didn't like being punished, hated it even, but those tears he'd shed had been a cathartic release. There had been so much pent up anger, anguish, and confusion warring for dominance of his subconscious that he'd never realized prior to her disciplining him he'd been practically drowning in a sea of white noise within his own head.

Ramsay inhaled deeply feeling the moment as if it were happening again then and there. He lay atop her firm thighs as the dull ache and irritation of his swollen flesh coalesced within his fevered thoughts to connect with Sansa's words of concern telling Ramsay how she wanted him to stay safe for her because she hadn't wanted to lose him. No, she had stated she was afraid to lose him, and this statement ratified to Ramsay's heart that Sansa didn't just see him as an object (as he'd feared when this had all started and he comprehended he was becoming attached to her); he knew through this pronouncement to him that Sansa cared about his wellbeing. She worried for him, and she was willing to take measures to protect him from harm (even from himself.)

No one had ever invested that much in Ramsay before, and whereas at the time when Sansa had taken him in hand, it had left Ramsay to feel shell shocked, now the memory of her doing so resonated within him a foundation of shelter that made him feel special to her and more importantly valued. Ramsay didn't recognize it in his own mind yet, but what was formulating within him was more than just a desire to please Sansa; Ramsay wanted to be with her, to be loved by her because he himself had begun to love her as he'd never known love before.

Ramsay's vision shifted, and he was no longer on Sansa's lap. They were coupled, knees flush on the mattress, and sitting upright in an embrace where his face was buried in her shoulder; all that mattered here was her warmth and closeness. In the silence their unified hearts beat a rhythm that thrummed in Ramsay's ears as he cherished the feeling of the way their bodies now pressed into one another timed by the steady rise and fall of their chests. Ramsay inhaled her scent sensing it most strongly in the dip of her shoulder and tangles of her hair. She had been clothed before when this same moment had occurred, but now as the mercurial fantasy altered, Sansa was naked and all the soft parts of her supple body met his like a puzzle piece finding its fit.

Ramsay had not known Sansa's body compacted against his front since he'd been bested by her (although the thought of feeling her pressing tightly against his groin now he wished to incorporate in his lustful fantasy.) He'd been the one in control of their relationship then, but even though this memory had been taken from a point where Ramsay had been the aggressor, those more dominant tendencies that had ruled his sex drive during the act of raping Sansa didn't enter into this fantasy now nor did Ramsay want them to.

In the past, Ramsay's fantasies had only involved him ravishing the woman of his fleeting desire in the most violent of ways where their fear had meant his climax, but now and never before, Ramsay grew heated and rock hard just from the thought of kissing Sansa's parting lips as she returned his passion reciprocally. Intimacy had in no way appealed to Ramsay before, he'd never wanted that from a sexual partner, and from prior experience, he'd had nothing to draw from to wish for it. That wasn't the case now as every experience with Sansa was broadening this new horizon within Ramsay to the point he now yearned for the subtlety of such actions.

This fantasy had become something frighteningly different from anything Ramsay had used to bring himself to a quick release as the flashing imagery of their bodies crushing together drove a burning sensation inside of Ramsay reflecting his growing need of closeness to Sansa. Ramsay wanted to feel every part of Sansa especially those intangible captivating moments that he'd only felt when their lips had locked, and Sansa had poured her avarice upon him like molten lava that he was more than willing to meld in to.

Ramsay held Sansa, no clung to her as she aggressively pulled him by the hip to press tightly against her frame kissing him breathless as her other hand grazed across his heated backside possessively. In this act, Ramsay felt her tenderness with the added reflection of desire, it was the same manner of stroke Sansa had exhibited while he had laid draped across her lap, strapped and full sore; it was as if that fondling from her had been etched into his skin. The pain he felt (and that now merged to make more vivid the imagery in his mind's eye) had been inflicted by Jon, but some part of Ramsay now associated the radiating sting on his ass into a remembered extension of Sansa and their last shared intimate moment. The sensation incorporated itself now into his fantasy mostly due to the friction of the back and forth motion of his blanket sliding across his very sensitive flesh as Ramsay gyrated animatedly against the mattress more than lost to the mental cinema he was creating.

Ramsay's eyes were pressed tightly shut as he jerked pumping against the sheets to his imaginings; his cock throbbing and begging for release. It had been some time after all, and with so much sexual simulation over the past two weeks, (warranted and unwarranted) it had left Ramsay's body more than ready to react on the pent up frustrations he now felt rushing out of this half-conscious dream. Without further provocation, Ramsay's eyes shot open as his face lifted from the mattress with a choked cry, and his climax pulsed out of him spilling his warm seed beneath him and into the sheets. His breath came in shallow pants as the tremors of elation left him to be replaced with a sinking shame for the mess he had made and ultimately the submissive fantasy of Sansa possessing him wholly that he'd just succumbed to.

His head lowered back onto the bed, and Ramsay noted dimly his disheveled hair clinging to his brow wet with perspiration from the exertion he'd just extended. It was hard to digest what exactly he'd just pleasured himself to. It was another unfamiliar occurrence in a string of strange happenings to further grip Ramsay's mind and baffle him on the reasoning why he now hungered for such treatments he'd have never stood for happening to him only weeks ago.

It was as if a switch had flipped within him for a need to relinquish control to Sansa; she would guide him to find the strength within himself to do what was required for him to continue to grow and push forward. Ramsay needed Sansa to make him whole, and some basic part of him knew that he couldn't find that part of himself without her care and affection to trigger it in the first place. He didn't know what she had done, but he knew the change in his perception had altered irreparably, of this he was thankful for even if it made him feel weak and vulnerable in ways he'd never contemplated, it also brought him a far greater understanding that he was no longer an island drifting alone in a sea of shark infested waters living under the guise of family.

He shifted uncomfortably feeling a little more than disgruntled for the fact he was unable to mentally or physically escape what he had just done or the fact that he would remain chained on top of his sullied sheets until he was released to do his daily wipe down with a rag (he could tell from the wetness he felt and how hard he had cum that there was quite a bit of a mess to clean up.)

With the morning upon him and the sun risen well enough that the castle was humming with its daily activity, Ramsay found himself flushing and more than hopeful for it to be a late morning start to give time for his sheets to dry and absolve him of any noticeable evidence lingering under him. It would be horribly embarrassing for any of the help to find out what had transpired and doubly so if Jon were to be there for such a discovery being that he'd already promised to fetch him for breakfast and other activities outside the dungeon once he'd left Ramsay the previous night. The awful notion struck Ramsay then that anyone, guard or servant, could find out his dirty secret if they came now to collect him as there would be no way to avoid it's obvious presence on the sheets without some serious deflection. He could leave his fur blanket to shield the mess, but that would unveil the remnants of marring left on his pale cheeks afforded him from his strappings. It would leave quite a sight to be viewed by all present, and that would be a far more embarrassing a display to undergo over the recognition he'd sullied his sheets with a wet dream.

Luck, for once, seemed to be on Ramsay's side as he remained undisturbed for long enough after the deed had taken place for all proof to dispel well before the guards ventured in with the servants for his morning routine of washing up, dressing, and use of the privy. Seeing Temeric and Cecil again did leave Ramsay quieter than normal still feeling rather humiliated from their last encounter, but the men never made mention of the previous day and gave Ramsay the necessary space he needed to perform all tasks involved with readying himself to head out of the dungeon.

Ramsay had been discreet after being released from his bindings pulling his blankets high over himself shrouding his person from view as he climbed stiffly off the bed to slink over to the rag and wash bucket. He hovered closely in a huddled squat enveloping the bucket into his blankets to quickly and privately clean himself of the filth he'd been laying in for close to an hour. He did his best to let as little of his body become visible as possible while the servants milled about waiting on him to attend to his hygiene needs.

It was a stark contrast to his normal behavior any whom had known Ramsay as a lord or bastard of one would have noticed easily. Ramsay had always been bold and unapologetic in his nakedness around them (often to a degree of rudeness brushing himself against the more attractive young servant women or the prudish ones no matter the age or looks that he could easily fluster and get a lively reaction from), but of course such behavior would surely not be tolerated by him now.

Even if he could get away with it, Ramsay didn't have it in him to try anything discourteous or meant to intimidate as he had done the day before, but then he'd not felt the levied shame upon himself he did now knowing that if not all of those present more than half of them knew what had transpired yesterday afternoon with Jon, and the knowledge that countless others knew of his indignity haunted him now as it had done earlier. He had to wonder if he could ever escape such humiliation to his person. It was enough to thoroughly strip Ramsay of the want for anyone to notice him further than their services required, and if possible Ramsay wished they'd not see him at all.

She noticed him though, the girl he'd taken such joys antagonizing the day before when he'd first gone to meet Jon for their walk around the perimeter. This servant girl no longer wore the veneer of worry that Ramsay had found amusing when he had loomed closely over her just to evoke such a response. She instead stared dumbly at him with wide eyes as if he were a curiosity one would take in from a wandering freak show.

Ramsay scowled at her giving her a fierce glare in an attempt to get the girl to look away, but she surprised him now as the once timid girl did not shrink from his rancor as she'd done the morning before. Her then dull expression of wonder shifted into a devious smile that split her face with its width, a knowing grin that told Ramsay she wasn't afraid of him any longer. It was Ramsay who then turned away; he could still feel her cocky grin upon him without having to look in her direction, and it made his scowl deepen. Her boldness even though he'd not seen her since that particular morning was further affirmation of what Ramsay had already anticipated, too many were now aware of his plight and his punishments. Rumors were always rampant in a keep no matter where you were or whose house you were from, people just liked to gossip. With the winter upon them and little else to occupy those trapped in tight quarters, rumors were even more prevalent to spread. Such a solid disclosure though stung Ramsay's pride greatly to know it wasn't just in his own mind (as he'd secretly hoped) but a reality he'd have to learn to cope with.

Having finished washing, Ramsay stood and stepped away from the bucket to amble over to the new clean outfit that awaited him. It was heavy and reinforced with down in the lining, so Ramsay assumed it also meant another trip around the grounds. Ramsay had mixed feelings about leaving the dungeon now whereas yesterday morning, he was excited to venture away from the excruciatingly boring setting. Today though, he was met with the circulating knowledge of everything that culminated to his and Jon's fight yesterday, his raucous display down the corridor, to Jon's answer of leather on his backside, and his pained screams echoing his humbled defeat for all within earshot to bear witness to. Word would have spread about the keep like an insidious virus (not unlike any other plague) no doubt horribly mutating into an even more scandalous story than the actual truth.

No matter the tale that proliferated, Ramsay knew at the end of it all, he was going to be a laughingstock! (Maybe even more so now if the fact that he was getting spanked regularly became common knowledge. Not that getting raped by Sansa wasn't a ridicule to bear its own weight of shame, but with rape, people saw the act with more empathy and could relate more to his humiliation and maybe feel less glee for him being on the receiving end of it. He doubted anyone would feel at all sorry for him knowing he was getting his ass tanned with a strap, a punishment usually reserved for one's children or wife. Getting spanked took a different demeaning toll as it spoke of not only discipline but a leniency to give a harsher punishment which was tarnishing to Ramsay's ego in its own right and perhaps reason in itself that Sansa had initially introduced it.) Ramsay's mind conjured the catcalls and jeers he was sure to face walking out into the midst of his encamped Wildling enemies; it made his stomach twist and his chest tight feeling stricken with the notion. As these thoughts raced through Ramsay's head, he found himself just staring at his new set of clothing with jaw set in a visible pout wholly unmotivated to dress at all.

Temeric noted Ramsay's hesitance and ushered the few stragglers that still remained in the dungeon out to ensure Ramsay a bit of privacy once the servants had cleaned the quarters and removed the items brought in for his daily grooming. The dismissed servants quickly filed out leaving only the three of them for the part where Ramsay would need to shed his blanket to dress his naked form.

Ramsay swiveled to watch Temeric give the command to the servants before he turned to Ramsay offering a grimace and a short nod for encouragement. Once the room had cleared, Temeric circled to face away from Ramsay to a vantage that Ramsay could be watched through his peripheral but not directly. It was meant as a sign of respect and given solitude sensing Ramsay was more than a little reticent to dress in front of them. Cecil hadn't quite gotten the memo still staring at Ramsay expectantly until Temeric cleared his throat and a surprised Cecil blinked before a dawning recognition flooded across his face as he twisted into the same stance as Temeric to also give Ramsay space (or as much isolation as could be given a prisoner.)

Ramsay took this in with a mild note of curiosity and thankfulness that these two men would be kind enough to afford him a reprieve from further disgrace not only from the staff but themselves. It wouldn't have surprised Ramsay if those servants that had been lingering about after their apparent chores had been tended to weren't just wishing to see what truth lay in the circulating rumors that came from the night prior. Ramsay was silently appreciative that he wouldn't need to give them a show of ridiculously trying to dress and hold up his furred blanket at the same time. As it was, Ramsay was able to shift beside the velvety chair to face his tarnished ass away from the guardsmen to begin the slow painful task of donning pants.

Temeric and Cecil didn't rush Ramsay as he readied himself fully, and the three of them headed quietly from the dungeon and down the busy corridor to a private dining room set off from the kitchens where Jon was already in attendance. Ramsay hadn't noticed Jon's presence until Temeric and Cecil had stopped walking stiffening in respect to their lord's presence. During their walk, Ramsay had kept his eyes mostly on the floor in an attempt to avoid eye contact and therefore any possible confrontation that could result from any hint of mockery he might glimpse on their faces. Ramsay was afraid of his own proclivities towards volatile reactions especially in the challenge of ridicule from those he typically saw as beneath him; physical pain he could handle, but humiliation was not something his ego bore well. The last thing Ramsay wanted was any other form of altercation that could result in further reprimand as neither his ass nor his self-esteem could take another strapping any time soon.

Neither Jon nor Ramsay seemed to be feeling overly talkative as the eggs and bread was served to them, so breakfast persisted in silence (not that Ramsay minded as he wasn't in much of a mood for sharing.) After the meal had concluded, Jon steadied his gaze on Ramsay announcing what was to be their itinerary for the day. It seemed Jon had given Ramsay's future considerable thought, "I think it best if we start off your mornings with a bit of fresh air, and although I cannot always attend you on these walks, I believe no one should spend the enormity of their day rotting in a dungeon. My father didn't believe in it and neither do I; where my father would have beheaded you for your crimes, that's not the course of action my sister wished for. I'll state for the record that I don't wish that for you now either, but I do wish for you to acclimate into a more productive role since I expect that you'll be with us for some time. You're young and able, and I would wish to see more of your time spent doing something active rather than day in and day out chained down to that mattress." Jon's face noticeably soured at the thought, and Ramsay visibly shrank in his chair at the reminder but said nothing in response other than to avert his eyes back to his empty plate as if there were something captivating within the designs of its porcelain surface. Ramsay staying locked away like a damsel in a far off tower was one of the many problems Jon had with Sansa keeping Ramsay as she did that he could still openly discuss with her; she'd shut him down rather quickly when he'd lightly addressed the rumors of her taking Ramsay against his will after the initial circumstance that everyone in the keep and many beyond had been invited to partake in. That ghastly business had turned Jon's stomach, and he'd meant to ward Sansa away from it then if it had not been for Ramsay's malice and disrespect changing his mind when he'd come to confront her, it may not have happened at all. A small part of Jon now bore the weight of that on his conscious chiding himself that he should have been a little more adamant and less affected by the words of a pained prisoner not in his right mind, but what was done was done.

Sansa had been quite passionate telling Jon what she chose to do with Ramsay was none of his business and that regardless of anyone else's perception, Ramsay was still by all rights her husband, and as such, she bore rights to copulate with him as was seen fit by their coupling under the old gods and the new. There was no specification or justification for how copulation between husband and wife was meant to take place making Sansa's stance a semi-justifiable dispute that none would have much claim to argue. As it were, if a man were to take his wife in such a way (even if one didn't agree with rape, marriage was considered marriage and duties in the bedroom were meant to be fulfilled), so Jon had grudgingly ceded to Sansa's argument. Of course in the manner of a husband not treating his wife well, it was also not unheard of that the family of the wife or loyalist supporters for the house being besmirched might take matters into their own hands (not that anyone other than Jon was coming to Ramsay's defense or house Bolton for that matter.)

It had bothered Jon as a state of honor for the Stark name before, but now as he began to get closer to Ramsay, he wondered if he might find need to reengage the topic further if the rumors continued to persist after Sansa's return because the matter bothered him on a personal level too, "I plan to speak to Sansa further about you when she returns; I know she has plans for you to perform acts of retribution, but outside of that, we all need a purpose to fulfill to guide us, and not that it's not a worthy cause, but I believe there is more out there for you than just living to right your wrongs. In the meantime, I plan to spend the next few afternoons with you in the library helping you on your list, and I will join you for at least one meal to keep you company until Sansa comes home. In the evenings, once all matters have been attended to, if you wish it, you can sit at the hearth with me for a shared drink or two to help warm and aide you in sleep."

Ramsay was watching Jon intently now surprised by the last offer and too stunned to reply as all of the man's words and what they held for him were slowly digested. Did Jon actually care for him and want to spend time with him? Ramsay understood the meetings to go over ideas for Sansa's list, but the meals and nightly drink were entirely unnecessary. Did Sansa ask Jon to do this? He found himself murmuring as if in a dream, "That sounds… nice. Thank you." Ramsay was more and more surprised by Jon's benevolence. Jon, like Sansa, encompassed both levels of kindness brokered with stern resolve when dealing with him. He no longer knew how to react as Jon took on this semi-father figure role in his life; if he'd had a loving father, the way Jon was treating him may have felt recognizable, but as it was, the feeling was emotionally awkward. It wasn't unwelcome although it fractured his thoughts leaving Ramsay in a state of wonderment at the possibilities for his future with these Starks.

Just as Jon had decreed, the two spent the next two days getting together to work on his list (where Ramsay was more pliable to take Jon's suggestions!) Jon also made himself present for at least two meals a day (even though Jon had only promised one,) and Temeric and Cecil took Ramsay out and about to wander around the castle as part of their morning routine. Just as he had done prior, Temeric ensured that Ramsay was given solitude when dressing and undressing, and Ramsay was left to wonder if it were a command from Jon the man was following or if the guard was doing it on his own volition.

Either way, it pleased Ramsay. He found himself becoming more socially open to these two men even if he wasn't quite sure what to say to them. Most times he just listened to them talk amongst themselves about their home lives whereas before Ramsay had mentally tuned them out. He didn't have much on average to add to their conversations, but every now and again, their exchanges led to topics he could interact with, and so Ramsay surprised the two guards with his amiable input. Temeric and Cecil were a friendly sort and quickly responded in kind to Ramsay and the next morning had brought a primitively carved version of Alquerques (an ancestor of checkers) to pass the day away since Ramsay wasn't overly interested in reading books from the library as Jon had suggested.

Jon didn't bring up any of the pressing subjects of court with Ramsay when he'd joined him at the blazing hearth fire. The two simply sat in silence as they drank, Ramsay his wine and Jon his ale. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence like that which he'd shared with his father most nights the two had shared a drink. Those nights were spent with either son or father brooding and only responding in sharp quips of negativity where Ramsay typically ended the encounter by storming off to bed rather than pushing his father too far. Roose allowed a certain level of ire in his son because he thought that level of snappish recoil could be a necessary tactic when the need arose to be aggressive in debate with other houses. By nettling his son, he gave Ramsay a spine Roose had always told himself (not that Roose had to worry about that as Ramsay was fearless in most regards to a detriment in some degree.) There were times the two could enjoy a drink as father and son, but it was rare and forever tainted by an expectation that there was more to it than a simple drink. Roose often didn't 'lounge' with Ramsay in that way preferring to keep times where he let his guard down to himself. A long line of distrust that seeped into the fiber of what it was to be a Bolton.

Ramsay had come to know and expect this type of seedy cynicism from all those he interacted with whether so called allies and friends or family, but Jon, Sansa, and even Temeric and Cecil were starting to change this outlook within Ramsay too. They had no reason to treat him justly or kindly for that matter, but they did anyway much to Ramsay's puzzlement. Ramsay was starting to enjoy both Jon and the guards' company in the absence of Sansa even though he still found his mind drifted to think of her quite often and how relieved he would be to see her back home with him again.

The raven arrived the second night the two had been seated at the fire. Maester Medrick stumbled upon them clutching a small rolled paper between forefinger and thumb, "Uh…" Medrick's eyes traveled over to Ramsay and his countenance shifted unreadably taking in the sight of him. The pause in his words was a momentary reaction of surprise to see Ramsay out of the dungeon before Maester Medrick refocused back on Jon with a sudden urgency, "Milord, it would seem the lady of the house has sent you a missive."

Jon was already standing at the man's arrival, and Ramsay found himself standing as well upon hearing the message was from Sansa. As Jon unrolled the tiny piece of paper the worry on his brow relaxed as he took in a long deep breath, "Thank you Maester Medrick."

Maester Medrick fiddled with his iron rings nervously, and as Jon saw he was awaiting dismissal, Jon nodded, "That will be all." Maester Medrick seemed more than relieved as he backed away quickly, "Yes milord."

As the Maester departed, Ramsay could no longer help himself from asking his impatience to know ringing clear in his voice, "What does it say?"

Jon turned back to Ramsay his features subdued, "It says she's made it to her destination. She'll be on her way back home soon."

Notes:

At long last! Sansa has made it to her destination! I hope this chapter didn't seem rushed! I wanted to flush out how Jon and Ramsay were getting along before jumping into this next scene with Sansa, but I also didn't want to drag out the next few days of time in several chapters (we all want Sansa back home not just Ramsay! LOL!) Forgive any typos, it's late, and I've been writing hours to get this out to you tonight! =D I hope you enjoy the efforts, and as always comments are very much appreciated and adored! :P