Part 23; To Build Trust

There is a crack

In everything.

Sansa

"You two! I have had quite enough of your blatant disregard for common decency!" Jon stormed from one end of his chambers to the other. Clearly, disgusted.

Not even making an attempt to hide it.

Stood, in the tattered remnants of her nightie, familiar furs coiled around her bodice. Just above swollen-breasts. Cheeks-flushed. Hair-ruffled—drying snow melted on hair-strands.

Theon was in no better condition. Curls, untamed stuck up on end. Defiance shone in his eyes. This was the very first time, Sansa ever saw Theon openly, stood against Jon.

"Why do you care, where I fuck my wife? She had it coming!"

Jon's face turned bright-red. Stunned, even the snowy direwolf lifted its head in acknowledgement.

"Theon! Let me handle this…" Anticipation swam in Sansa's belly. Excitement at the blatant glimmer inside of Theon that was not there before.

Had he truly been play-acting as his weaker counterparts? All this time…For her?

Pondering the question—Sansa nearly forgot where they were.

Half-bared. Dripping with wetness—and her juices—huddled in front of Jon's hearth. Being told off like naughty-children.

"Oh, No. I have been wanting to have words with this self-righteous prick for a while now." Theon spoke clear, concise words. As though they came naturally to him.

He claimed to be a defender of his weaker halves. Sansa understood now, how that could be.

"Your wife, is also my sister, and she deserves respect! Not to be humiliated in front of the entire courtyard!" Jon blustered; anger surged in blackened-hues.

"Yea? Well she followed me out into that courtyard. Stuck her hand down my breeches, and practically dared me to. So, I obliged." Theon chanced her a glance. A mild-smirk stole over his features. Hauntingly like the one he reserved only for her—in youth.

"You two are worse than a couple of dogs in rut! Do you know that? You should both be ashamed! And you, Sansa! You are a mother now. To a babe. He can not grow, only to find his parents rutting right out in the open, on the grounds of Winterfell! It is disgraceful! And if Father were here to see this—It would break his heart!"

Sansa felt shame rise in her belly. She knew these things—and yet they had not prevented her from pursuing Theon into the cold-damp snow.

Theon's eyes sparked dangerously, but he wisely, clamped his mouth shut.

"It…will not happen…again…"

"See that it does not. Now, off to bed. Both of you!" Jon ordered.

Sansa scurried from Jon's chambers. Theon hot on her trail.

Once, inside. Theon's arms wound round her waist. Grasped her breasts, after he yanked down the furs covering her decency.

She gasped in shock. He palmed her, ravenously. Clearly—he was still insatiable, despite their wanton display less than a half hour ago.

"You ever, tease me that way again—and I will find a harsher punishment than just rutting in the courtyard with you." Chills surged up her spine. Sansa's mouth parted in low pants as she arched back into him.

"I…I am sorry. I merely wanted to help you, Theon…" That was the truth. Despite how wicked her actions had become.

"Frustrating Reek, and Theon will only make them antsy. It will not bring them out, Sansa. Only I can permit that."

"Are they…with you all the time? How can I speak to them, then?" Sansa inquired; eyebrows drawn together.

"They influence me. Sometimes, yes. But I protect them, both. Keep them safe. Theon convinced me we were unworthy of you. That we needed to give up, when you sent us away—but I held out—as long as I could. I restrained this body from taking us away from you. I want you, Sansa. We all do. Even Reek. Perhaps, Reek wants it most." Theon paused. Seeming to ponder.

"He does?" Surprise jolted through her. Reek appeared to be the most child-like. She recalled various instances when he sought out, her permission to follow through on the simplest of acts. Such as sleeping places—and using the privy.

Sansa felt helpless.

How could she help this man? Her husband?

"Will you let me speak to Reek?"

Theon searched her eyes. "He is very delicate, Sansa. You cannot repair him. Neither of them can be repaired."

Sansa relinquished a huff of air. "I know that he is. I would never hurt him. Do you not trust me, Husband? You share a body with Reek, and Theon. But I am married to all of you. I want to know them, Theon. Let me?" Reaching up, soft-fingers grazed over the stubble of his cheek. Brushed over the silken-fabric of his tunic. "I know how your body aches. How many scars you have…How many Reek has. He needs someone to take care of him. He needs his wife."

She stole a kiss from him. Lingered for a moment. Then smiled.

"Please? Husband…?"

Theon huffed, "Fine. But when he pisses himself, and hides in a corner, do not say I did not warn you."

Sansa was unafraid to face his personalities, now. She understood that he would not depart for good. He would return—when he was needed.

Suddenly, she noted the change in his posture. Hunched slightly, Reek emerged. Green eyes jotting over their chambers. Skin paling, as if by mere instinct. She need not feel his pulse to know his heart had sped.

"L-Lady Sansa…I apologize for…for what I d-did. I s-should not have…It was s-shameful." Reek stumbled over his words.

"Shhh, Reek. It is okay. I wanted you to. I asked you to, remember? You are in no trouble, Reek. Everything I said—I meant." Shifting eyes found hers. Disbelief wrote into them.

She could imagine his thought process. The turning gears that told him to survey her for the next trick.

"It is not a trick. Come here, Reek. Sit." Sansa settled on the edge of the bed. Her breasts still hung from the ruined gown. His eyes connected to them—and did not leave.

He crossed over to her. Settling on the rabbit-furs, hesitantly.

"You can touch me, Reek. You are my husband, after all." She gave him an encouraging smile.

His eyes widened—but he made no move to touch. Instead, Reek flushed.

"I am not a h-husband. Not to you, L-Lady S-Sansa."

"Of course, you are, Reek. I love you." Reassurances fell from pink-lips.

She watched as he fidgeted. Wide-eyed with apparent awe. He did not further attempt to correct her.

"What if we take a bathe, Reek? Just the two of us? Would you like that? We can make you clean again? Soothe some of your aches?" Her hand enclosed around his tremor-laden one. Brushed the stub where his index finger once had been.

Tears wet Reek's eyes. Hope lighting up behind them. "Do you…m-mean it? A b-bath?"

Finally, having broken through, Sansa nodded. "I mean it. We both need to bathe, after our little session out in the courtyard."

Reek pulsed with heat; She felt it underneath encouraging-fingertips.

He merely nodded in response.

With a triumphant smile, Sansa drew her nightgown closed, only to set off. Tracked down a servant, instructing her to prepare a bathing tub, for their needs.

Sansa doubted Reek had ever felt the heated waters of bath water. The soothing burn would subside some of his prolonged pain. There were various methods in The Seven Kingdoms for those that had underwent strenuous tortures of the flesh. Although, Sansa had never particularly laid eyes upon one so bad as her husband. She would doubt that there had ever been a living creature more marked up than Theon. It was no wonder his mind had split ways in an attempt to rectify his endurances.

The tub was prepared, whilst Sansa sat, alongside Reek. Fingers joined with his. He was silent, disbelieving his eyes—but she could almost taste his excitement. He was trembling with suspense.

When the servants departed, and it was just the two of them, once more. Sansa stood. Beckoning for Reek to join her.

Awkwardly, wringing his hands—Reek stood. Eyes, hooded. Admiring the subtle steam as it flowed off the surface of the tub-water.

"Reek?" Sansa cooed.

His eyes shifted to her, hesitantly. "Y-Yes, My L-Lady?"

"Come here." She extended her hands to him. He came. "Help me out of my nightgown?" Green eyes gaped. Skin flushed, but timid-fingers found her gown. Guided it (with slight difficulty) over her head. She recognized the little twitches he gave—proof of his painful existence.

Naked before him, Sansa reached for his tunic, coaxing it over his head, in turn.

Every time she gazed upon her husband's form—it made her stomach twinge in upset.

To know his consciousness between Theon, and Reek had endured all of these sufferings—made it all the worse to view. Especially, when Reek was the spirit holding on to the battered frame. He was so delicate. Sensitive.

Her hands lowered. His back stiffened. Beginning to tremble, his flesh pulsed underneath her touch. He squirmed.

"No one will ever hurt you again, Reek. You have my word." Sansa felt it important to remind him. As often as possible. Especially when his face dropped—eyes refused to meet hers.

He was silent. So, she proceeded.

Unlaced tied breeks. Reek's tremble, worsened. Until…

Sansa exposed, scarred privates. Silent tears rolled down, pallid cheekbones.

Sansa's eyes trained on his. "Shh, Reek, focus on my voice. I am going to care for you now."

One nod, was his only acknowledgement of kind-intended, words.

"Climb in." Sansa coaxed in even tones.

Reek wasted no time in sinking underneath steaming waves. Low-inhuman sounds of relief shuttered from his throat. Sansa stood in the heated water, only to nestle down, thighs straddling Reek's lap.

Before Reek could panic, Sansa enclosed her lips over his. In a soothing—tender kiss. Reek moaned, arms snaked around her middle, instinctively. And Sansa, sighed into the sensation.

"Reek?" Sansa broke the kiss, balanced her hands on his chest.

Warm-eyes sought hers. "Yes, M-My Lady?"

"Do you like it here? With me?" Curiously, Sansa searched his eyes for the truthful answer in them. Despite the anxiety that plagued him. She found the truth, readily enough.

"Y-Yes, My Lady. Y-You are…k-kind."

She knew that Ramsey had created Reek for his own sadistic intentions. Used him as an instrument of abuse against Theon, but Sansa saw Reek in a different light. He was innocent. Sweet. Tender. He was still Theon. Still, structurally, in-league with all of the things Theon desired. Merely, unable to reach out—and grasp them on his own.

"Will you ever trust me, Reek? Not to hurt you?"

He seemed to ponder the question. Mull it over in his mind.

"I a-already do…M-My Lady." Sansa could see the trust in green-hues.

Reaching out, Sansa curled long-fingers around his bony-wrists. Guided them up—over her supple-breasts. Without words, proceeded to guide warmed-hands. Reek wracked with tremors the entire time, but made no move to retract. Slight pulses of his stub, warned her of his excitement. Breaths rose—heaved—in his chest. Lips-pinkened with color. Eyes glazed over with lust.

"M-My L-Lady…" Barely an octave above mere whispers. Reek's voice sounded.

"Go on." Encouragement parted from engaging-petals. Wisps of steam submerged them both in misty-heat. He whined.

Hesitatingly, Reek lowered his head. Guided the dusky-bud, between yearning-lips. Sucked—immediately rewarded with a spurt of her body-warmed, mother's milk.

She felt the throb rise from his stub. Instinctively, Reek began to arch his hips up. Seeking out that pleasure. Almost subconsciously. She saw his eyes close. Fingers brush over her skin. And moaned from the sensation. It was surreal to feel, her husband's full-lips around her breast. Almost enticing. It made her throb with need from it.

"Do not be afraid, Husband. Take as you need." Calm, reassurance spouted from red-lips. Ocean-eyes rolled back—hips bucked. And Reek began to lose himself to the invigoration. Rutting up against her, she felt him suck, until the milk ran dry, but still continued—regardless.

Tongue-dragged over the nipples. Mewls came from his throat. Heat flushed over both of their skin—and she felt him tremble. Quiver. Whine.

He came undone.

Squealed with the sensation. Gathered her to his chest. And squeezed her tight.

It was not until the waves of euphoria passed, that Reek's grip loosened. Mouth fell away from her swollen, nipple.

Nearly, apologetic eyes found hers.

"M…S-Sorry…" Breathlessly, Reek apologized.

"You never need to apologize, Reek. Not for seeking pleasure." She promised. Lips grazed the top of his head. Subtly.

"Will you always w-want me, S-Sansa?" Whispered, almost silent words parted.

Her heart cinched.

"Of course, Reek. We belong to each other."

Reek

Ramsey always insisted Reek was unworthy of amenities of any manner. After, enduring such abuse at cruel, unkind hands. Reek knew better than to touch another person.

Kiss. Touch. Love.

But Sansa…She brightened him.

Livened his existence.

Sansa reached for the cloth. Made to bathe, scar-smeared flesh.

Slow at first. Cleaned grime, from quivering skin. Low, subtle rubs brushed against him.

Reek shuddered.

Twanged low in his belly. Even after the ruined-scarred flesh of his stub—went flaccid.

Her tight-heat was still just on top of him. Even though Ramsey had persisted he was no man—Reek still gained those pleasures. Sensations.

He punished himself, mentally, for them.

Even married to this beautiful female—Reek felt undeserving. Shivering—Reek clenched his eyes shut. His skin never smelt so clean. Fresh. Leisurely—Reek returned the favor. Bathed Sansa's porcelain-scarred skin. She too, had suffered. He recalled watching as she was raped. Ramsey was cruel to her.

Unkind.

The same as he was to him.

Reek hated to see Sansa suffer. Did she still feel what that monster did to her?

Reek doubted his marks would ever fade. His genital scars never would. They were seared into him. Part of him.

Finished cleansing her skin. Reek timidly lowered the rag. Felt it fade into warm-water. Satisfied, Reek allowed Sansa to guide him from the tub. Dry him with a fluffy woven-towel—and into a nightgown.

Timidly, Reek rubbed rough-palms over smooth-fabric. Drank in the clean, unfamiliar scent. Shivered in the soft-cloth.

So, enraptured in the sensitive feel—Reek did not notice Sansa's absence. Not until she returned. Babe in arms, stood before him.

Wide-eyes found the babe. Sank within, inviting embrace. Cooing, roused from sleep.

"This is Robb Greyjoy, Reek. Your, son."

Reek was aware of the pregnancy. Watched as that stomach bulged. Grew—Even though he never came into control of their form—Darkness had swept through him. Ramsey's child. Theon named father.

He shivered. "N-Not…M-Mine. R-Ramsey's…" Fear struck in his heart. Yet, Sansa stood proud. Babe cuddled in safe-arms. Soul, glistening. Inbred with light.

"Ours. Our son will never know Ramsey's name. Only what we provide him." Lowered on the bed. Sansa pressed warm. Firm. Against him.

Solemn-eyes searched the babe. Skin crawled. The thought of Ramsey. Firm-hands. Unkind personality. Induced trauma in Reek. He fell silent.

"Do you want to hold him?" Sansa extended the pink-fleshed bundle toward him.

Reek shook. Eyes-bulged. It was a baby. Just a baby.

Reek never held one before. Once…maybe—in another life…

Visions. Swirls of color invaded him. Images of proud-eyes. Supple-skin. Sweat-clung to a round-warming face. Theon's memories. Not his. Kyra—the farmer's wife. Prideful. Holding the bundle—extended towards Theon.

Reek shoved the memory down.

In quiet, contemplation—Reek allowed the bundle to fall into his arms.

Pink-cheeked. Cooing up at him. Tears flooded Reek's eyes.

Sniffling. He descended into sobs.

"See? He is harmless." Soothing-circles rubbed into Reek's spine. Seeking out the crook of Sansa's neck he pushed his nose into it. All, whilst rocking the innocent being in his arms.

Another broke through the barrier in his mind. Theon—Reek could feel him pushing for control. Wavering. Reek gave in—descended back into darkness.

Retracted from her neck. Sea-green optics surveyed the bundle. Theon had only viewed the babe through his protector's eyes.

Now. He felt love, pulse in his heart. Skin enflames.

"You named him for me." Theon whispered. His heart felt strangled.

"Theon?" Sansa pried, clearly unaware of his emergence.

"I am here, Sansa." His skin fluttered. Cleanliness made him feel safe. Cared for.

Wetness rimmed Tully-optics. Theon reached up; swiped one clear from warm-skin.

"Please. Do not go away for so long, again." Sansa made the plea—but Theon knew his body. His mind. How fractured it was. Irreparable.

"I will try, Sansa. I made you a vow." Rocking the tender, little life. Theon planted a kiss to the babe's forhead.

And he meant it.

He always meant it.