Could taste your sweet kisses, your arms open wide. This fever for you is just burning me up inside ...
Sansa was dizzy, her head spinning —spiraling out of control, as Jon's kiss went from gentle to urgent to searing, his lips unleashing sensations and feelings she'd long ago thought dead and buried. But she'd been wrong —perhaps it was just that no man could make her come alive as Jon Snow did.
Sweet Jon, passionate Jon —her husband, Jon.
As he continued to devour her mouth, Jon backed her up against the doorframe, his hands sliding from her hips to her ass, as he scooped her up into his strong arms. There was no hesitation, as Sansa shamelessly wrapped her legs around his waist, her breath catching as she felt his urgent need for her pressing hot and hard against the vee of her thighs, where she found herself burning for him.
Her fingernails raked his skin, digging crescent moons in the naked flesh of his shoulders, as Jon tore his mouth from hers to drag his lips down the gentle slope of her neck, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin of her throat. "Sansa," his hot breath sent ripples of pleasure skirting through her, "my sweet Sansa, how I've missed you, so."
His words sent her soaring, even as they tore at her gentle heart. Miss her, yes ...but did he still love her? It was hard to think straight with his hands and mouth all over her, driving her to a frenzied fever pitch. And she wanted him —Gods, she wanted him, but impulsivity had been their undoing before, and it had taken years to repair the damage to her heart when he'd left. There were no doubts in her mind, Sansa knew she could not survive that pain again ...
"Stop," she whimpered against his heated skin where she'd been muffling her cries of pleasure in the hollow of his shoulder. "Jon stop, we mustn't ...not like this."
The speed in which he released her was staggering, and Sansa clutched at the doorframe just to keep herself from toppling to the floor. Jon's chest was heaving, his face contorted in pain, as he took several steps backwards, putting plenty of distance between them.
"I won't ever touch you again," his words were not a threat, nor spoken in spite —but a solemn vow that cut to her core like the sharp edge of a blade, and Sansa knew that he meant them. And then he was gone, his silhouette fading into the darkness from which they'd collided in earlier.
Her hands tightening into little fists, Sansa fought the urge to pound the wall and weep in frustration. She even considered going after Jon, but instead curled up on the loveseat by the Christmas tree, trying to convince herself that Joffrey was what she wanted, and that accepting his proposal was the right thing to do. But every time she closed her eyes and pictured growing old with someone, it was Jon's face that she saw.
Sansa didn't even remember falling asleep, but the next thing she knew, it was morning, and she was still on the loveseat —her hair plastered to her face, and her neck twisted at an odd angle. The smell of bacon frying —or rather, bacon burning, filled her nostrils, prompting her to investigate, as she dragged herself up from the couch and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
"You have to flip it now or the chocolate will completely melt, you idiot," It was Arya's voice that carried to her ears, as Sansa approached the kitchen.
"Gods, you are viper! I've had Drill Instructors nicer than you. You know, I pity that poor Gendry fellow."
Sansa stopped dead in her tracks, her heart beating wildly against her breast —Jon was in the kitchen, too.
"Blah blah blah, flip the damn pancake, Snow!" Arya shot back, popping a chocolate chip in her mouth, as Sansa rounded the corner. "Mornin' Sans, you look like shit."
"Merry Christmas to you too," Sansa flung back dryly, avoiding Jon's eyes as she headed straight to the coffee maker, and poured herself a mug. "I had trouble falling asleep last night."
Whatever reply Arya was getting ready to dish out was thankfully interrupted by Theon stumbling into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in six different directions and bags under his eyes. "Gods, I am never drinking again."
"Wow, you look worse than Sansa," Arya greeted him.
"Arya, really?" Sansa sputtered through her mouthful of coffee, wondering if she really looked that bad. "You are a viper."
Arya only smiled, popping another chocolate chip in her mouth, while Theon shuffled the same path straight to the coffee maker, as Sansa had. It was only a matter of time before the entire kitchen was filled with the Stark children, all making a constructive effort at Christmas breakfast, with Sansa taking over the pancakes after Jon had burnt the first batch nearly as bad as he'd burnt the bacon.
The kitchen was a disaster by the time her parents meandered downstairs, her mother's jaw dropping straight to the floor at the plethora of dirty pots and pans littering her marble countertops. Her father only smiled, dragging his wife under the mistletoe hanging over the living room archway and kissed her soundly while Rickon and Bran made gagging sounds in the background —Theon and Robb 'maturely' egging them on.
The same mistletoe and the same archway ... Sansa shook the thought from her head as she laid a plate before Joffrey and sat down in the empty chair beside him.
"Where were you last night?" He asked her, wrinkling his nose as he picked up a piece of Jon's burnt to a crisp bacon.
"I ..uh.." Sansa balked, as to her abject horror, everyone's eyes flew to Jon!
"She bunked with me and Rickon last night for some quality bro sis time," Bran offered, without missing a beat.
"She did?" Rickon asked, looking confused with a mouth stuffed full of chocolate chip pancakes.
Sansa sunk deeper into her seat, terrified to look at Jon and wishing the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Thankfully, Joff didn't press the matter, and soon the topic shifted to what activities everyone wanted to do over the next few days of holiday vacation.
Relaxing a bit, and knowing she was forever indebted to her little brother for his quick thinking, Sansa nibbled her burnt bacon, unsure of whether or not she should be grateful that she no longer needed to avoid Jon's gaze, because apparently he'd taken to pretending she didn't exist this morning. On the other side of the spectrum was Joffrey, pretending as if her entire family didn't exist, while his fingers attacked the keyboard of his laptop at the breakfast table.
Sansa rolled her eyes. Apparently even Christmas Day didn't warrant taking a day off from acquisitions and mergers —unless you were hitting the ski slopes, of course.
When breakfast was over and the kitchen cleaned, they moved to the living room and exchanged gifts, as was customary. Rickon was immediately ready to head outside for their annual snow battle the minute he'd torn all his presents open, reminding everyone that it was Sansa's fault that they all had to brave the cold this early in the morning.
"Thanks Sansa," Robb groaned, rolling up off the loveseat, as Joffrey's phone went off and he excused himself to go take the call in the other room, returning almost immediately.
"That was mother. Apparently Myrcella has to catch an early flight out, so she's moving dinner up. We need to get on the road ASAP."
"Already? But we haven't even— "
"Sansa, you promised!" Rickon protested loudly, finishing for her as he burst back into the room, already dressed head to toe in winter gear.
Sansa felt like she was standing before the firing squad, drowning in a sea of accusatory stares —including Jon, who chose that moment to remember she existed.
"Rickon, I'm really sorry, but we promised to visit with Joffrey's family too," Sansa attempted to ruffle her little brother's curls, like her father always did —which he evaded by dodging her hand. "Come on, don't be that way. We can have a snowball battle any time."
"It won't be the same," he insisted, attempting to cross his arms defiantly over the puffy layers he'd encased himself in. "This is a Christmas snowball battle, and Christmas is today."
"Sansa sucks at snowball battles anyway," Theon chimed in —always happy to add to the discord.
"Rickon don't pout," Ned scolded his youngest boy. "Sansa and Joffrey have made a commitment to his parents, and what do I always tell you about how important it is to keep your word?"
Rickon sighed, then recited the words father had engrained in all of them. "Words have to mean something or there are no more answers, and only better and better lies."
"That's right. And now since you are already bundled up, you can help your sister and her guest load their belongings into the car."
"Yes father," Rickon nodded.
As Sansa headed upstairs to get dressed, she knew that her father's words were meant just as much for her as they were for Rickon.
I drove all night, to get to you. Is that alright?
Her heart heavy, Sansa fastened her seatbelt and gave her family a final wave, as Joffrey backed her SUV out of the driveway, and they began the long drive to East Watch. Jon had not been present when she'd said her goodbyes, and as much as it tore at her heart, she understood why. The two of them had shared enough painful goodbyes to last a lifetime, after all.
Sansa watched the scenery pass by in a blur, as she stared out the passenger window. It began snowing shortly after they'd turned onto the Kings Road, slowing up their pace a bit, as Joffrey navigated the slippery terrain ahead of them. The view was breathtaking —the falling snow covering the land like a sparkling fluffy blanket, clinging to the branches of the spruce trees that reached high above for the heavens, some nearly as tall as the mountains in the distance.
Three hours into their trip, they stopped off at the Mole Town Inn and grabbed a quick bite to eat, with Joff rushing her out the door before she'd even had a chance to finish her meal —insistent upon keeping to their tight schedule. "You might have worn something a bit nicer," He criticized her appearance with a pinched frown as he climbed back into the SUV —not bothering to open the passenger side door for her.
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" Sansa asked, looking down at the form fitting brown sweater dress and knee-high suede boots she'd selected for their trip, as she climbed up into her truck, slamming the door behind her. Sure, she didn't look as if she was about to attend a royal ball, but they were headed to a ski lodge for the Gods sakes!
"Just thought you'd want to present a better image than that when we announce our engagement to my family." Digging into his jacket pocket, he dropped the ring box in her lap, then started the car. "Put that on." He demanded, turning the SUV back onto the main road.
Sansa glanced down at the ring box resting on her thighs, "That's rather presumptuous of you, don't you think? I don't recall saying yes."
"Don't be coy," He shot back. "You know you would have if not for that rabid husband of yours snarling throughout our entire meal. Can you believe he actually had the nerve to put his filthy fucking hands on me?" Joffrey let out a maniacal laugh. "He's lucky my parents raised me a gentleman, otherwise I would of wiped the floor with him."
Sansa snorted, wondering what he considered ungentlemanly if he believed his behavior last night to be 'gentle', as Joffrey droned on. "When we get home, I'll have Baelish draw up the necessary papers to start divorce proceedings. Let's not tell my parents about your previous lapse in judgement though, okay? You know my mother isn't terribly fond of you to begin with, and if she knows you're essentially used goods, she'll have a harder time accepting you."
Biting back the sharp retort perched on the tip of her tongue, Sansa watched him from the peripheral of her vision, wondering what in the hell she'd ever seen in the pompous ass sitting beside her? He was nice to look at, sure. He was also rude, condescending, egotistical, controlling ... Had she ever truly loved him? Hell, she wasn't even sure she liked him.
They rode the next two hours in complete silence —except for Joffrey announcing that they'd need to stop for fuel soon. Sansa reached for the stereo dial, twisting the knob and submerged herself in the scenery once more, as the soothing sounds of Ramin Dwajadi's 'Winter Has Come' filled the SUV —its melancholy beauty reminding her of home and all she'd left behind ...mostly reminding her of Jon.
Sweet and gentle, honorable Jon.
I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days ...
Her heart grew suddenly heavy, constricting painfully as it beat rapidly within her breast, and Sansa realized that they were one in the same ... home and Jon, Jon and home —Jon was her home. Wherever he was —that was where she belonged, and wherein her heart would always lie. She loved him still.
And if she was being truthful with herself —something Sansa had not done in a very long time ... she had never stopped loving him. Gods, how could she have been so stupid?
"Ugh, how can you listen to this garbage?" Joffrey scoffed, reaching for the stereo dial.
"Don't touch it!" Sansa snarled at him —shocking herself as much as him, as he quickly withdrew his hand and returned it to the steering wheel.
"Sansa, are you getting your moons blood?" He asked moments later, as he pulled into the gas station, and stopped the SUV before one of the fuel pumps. "Why don't you go inside and get some chocolate, or whatever the hell cures your craziness this time of the month?" He suggested, tossing some money at her as he crawled out of the SUV and began refueling the vehicle.
Sansa took a deep breath and removed her seatbelt, following Joffrey out of the truck. Inhaling the crisp winter air, she took a moment to stretch her legs —preparing herself for the long drive she had ahead of her, before moving to the back of her SUV and lifting the hatch. Her mind was made up.
"Babe, what are you doing?" Joffrey asked, as Sansa hefted his bags out of the back of her truck and tossed them onto the pavement beside him.
"I'm going home," Sansa declared, slamming the tailgate closed, and tossing his money back at him. It hit his expensive tailored coat and bounced to the ground.
Joffrey quickly replaced the gas nozzle, "You're joking— "
"Goodbye Joffrey," Sansa cut him off, as she hopped into the drivers seat and slammed her door, hitting the lock button before starting the SUV back up.
"Sansa! Sansa wait!" Joffrey pounded on the glass of the passenger side window, his face contorting in anger, as he fumbled with the locked door handle. "You can't just leave me here! Dammit, Sansa! Sansa!"
Throwing the SUV in gear, Sansa stepped on the gas peddle and began pulling away, as her eyes caught something in the center console, and she promptly hit the brakes. The truck screeched to a halt, and Joffrey immediately came running, abandoning his bags by the gas pumps, as Sansa rolled down the passenger side window.
"You've come to your senses then?"
"I most certainly have," Sansa plucked the ring box from the center console and tossed it out the window to him. "Merry Christmas, Joff."
Romping the gas peddle once more, she turned her SUV towards home, and prayed to the Gods —all seven of them, that she wasn't too late ...