I drove all night, crept in your room, woke you from your sleep, to make love to you ... Is that alright? I drove all night ...
Sansa. He dreamt of her almost every night. Visions of fiery red hair spilling down over her shoulders, soft ivory skin and long willowy limbs that wrapped around him. She came to him willingly, her arms open and reassuring, her lips sweet with whispers of long forgotten promises. Some dreams were so vivid that Jon swore he could almost feel the heat of her body, taste the saltiness of her skin. Almost.
In his dreams she still loved him.
"Jon?" The sweet melody of her voice warmed him like a blanket, darkness shrouding her beauty from his eyes, but he knew the delicate planes of her face by heart.
"Sansa," he breathed her name into the space between them, his hands pushing into the curtain of her glorious hair, smoothing the silken strands between his fingers, as he drew her face down for his kiss.
Gently, he brushed his lips against the fullness of her mouth, cradling the back of her neck, as he slipped his tongue between her lips to leisurely drink of their intoxicating sweetness. There was no need to rush ...dreams offered him that luxury.
Her soft sighs and moans tumbled into his mouth, a heady elixir of passion that addled his brain, as Jon drew her down onto his body. His hands slid down the slope of her back to pull her closer against his throbbing need for her —surprised to find her clothed. That was a first. No matter, undressing her was a pleasurable task he found that he also missed. She sighed as his hands bunched up the hem of her dress, gliding up the backs of her smooth thighs, to knead the soft flesh of her ass. A flick of his wrists sent her hips colliding with his —a delicious prelude of what was to come. He ached for her, his cock straining urgently against the fabric of his pajama bottoms, demanding release.
Sansa tore her lips from his to cry out, then instantly clamped her hand over her mouth, and Jon chuckled. She could bring down the house with her cries of passion —no one would hear her in the veiled sanctuary of his dreams. His hands continued their exploration of her silken skin, tracing the gentle curve of her spine, and unhooking her bra with skillful fingers. Like riding a bike —some things you never forgot, no matter how much time had passed.
Easing her back up into a sitting position, Jon pushed her dress up over her head, tossing it to the floor as she assisted him in slipping the rest of the way out of her bra, his hands instantly cupping the soft swells of her breasts. Sansa arched her back, pressing them deeper into his palms, a shiver passing through her as he flicked his thumbs over the taut peaks of her nipples. Gods, she was beautiful.
Sansa's hands were gentle, as she traced the contours of his naked chest, lingering momentarily over the scar above his heart. In a show of infinite tenderness, she dipped her head and pressed a kiss to the puckered flesh, eliciting a moan from Jon that came straight from the depths of his soul. Please don't let me wake, he prayed to the Gods —both old and new. Let me stay with her here, where her love still burns for me.
Jon knew it was a futile plea. He'd wake alone, as usual —her absence continuing to tear away at his broken heart until there was nothing left of it, leaving him but a shell of the man he once was. But he'd hear it from her now, where he had the power to shape his fate ... Tangling his fingers into her hair, Jon captured her lips in searing kiss —demanding her love, her loyalty. I am hers, and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days ...
"Say it," he whispered against her lips, resenting the bitterness he heard in his own voice. "Tell me you love me, Sansa."
A droplet of water hit his cheek, then another. They ran down his face and pooled in the hollow of his throat, where he could feel them, warm and wet against his skin.
"I do," Sansa's voice was thick, laced with pain and regret. "I love you still, Jon."
He raised his hand to cup her cheek, swiping at the tears falling from her eyes with his thumb. Wet. Perplexed, Jon sat up, reaching blindly in the darkness for the lamp he knew sat on the end table by the couch, and twisted the knob, bathing the room in soft light, and causing them both to squint.
Sansa raised her hand up over her face to shield her eyes from the abrupt brightness, perched half naked in his lap like a broken doll, she tucked her other arm protectively over her breasts, as if casting away the darkness had suddenly made her self conscious. But she was here. She was real. This was no dream.
"Sansa—" Jon fumbled with his words, the air of confidence he exuded in his dreams abandoning him, as his brain grasped to convey what he was feeling. "But you —you left with your fiancé—" He rubbed a shaky hand vigorously over his eyes to make sure he was in fact, awake.
She cringed at his words, shrinking in his lap, as if she might disappear within herself. "He is not my fiancé. I never accepted his proposal, and as you've reminded us all, I'm still a married woman."
Another tear fell from her eye and slid down her cheek, and Jon reached again to gently swipe it away. "But do you still wish to be, my sweet Sansa? A married woman?"
She leaned into his palm, her hand sliding up his arm to grasp the hand he cradled her face in, as a deep shudder wracked her body. "If my husband will have me."
"From this day until the end of my days," Jon murmured, pulling her into his arms and kissing away her tears, as she folded herself around him.
"Say it Jon," her lips moved against his. "I need to hear it, too ..."
Jon drew himself back so that he could look into her eyes —the two pools of blue wherein he'd drowned more times than he could remember. "I love you Sansa Snow, my beautiful wife."
Their lips came back together urgently, impatient hands fumbling against their remaining clothing, as Jon laid Sansa gently down on the sofa beneath him, and nestled himself between her warm thighs. The feel of her naked skin pressed against him was surreal after so long —so many dreams. He worshipped her body with his hands, then his lips, sliding over every inch of her soft heated skin. His memory was long, but it had paled in comparison to the real thing.
His wife. His love. His Sansa.
"I don't have protection— " Gods, he hated himself so much right now —as Sansa hooked her leg up over his hip and drew him closer— but it was a necessary consideration. Four long years of separation, and they had a lot of pieces to fit back together ... Even if he wasn't sure he could stop himself now —it was not his decision to make alone, and he was helpless to stop the prick of fear that pierced at his heart —that they were treading in the same dangerous waters that had torn them asunder to begin with.
"Oh, do shut up," Sansa murmured against his throat, nipping lightly at the skin. "It's not as if we'll have to run off and marry secretly."
"Be serious," Jon tried to protest, even as Sansa's smooth fingers curled around his heated flesh and guided him inside of her —and all that came out were barely audible sounds as his body shuddered in response.
Sansa moaned, her head falling back, her red hair spilling around her as Jon pushed fully within her. The sensation of being with her again —joined as one, was as emotional as physical, and Jon had to hold himself back, lest the feeling overwhelm him, and he spill his seed immediately.
Slowly —exquisitely, achingly slow, Jon withdrew to the tip, then eased back in —the intense pleasure bordering on pain, as Sansa's muscles clenched around him, driving him damn near to madness. She bucked her hips against him, urging him on, and Jon was lost to the moment —driving into her with all he had ...he could love her all damn night if he so chose, they had a lifetime now, after all.
Sansa wrapped her arms around him, her hands pushing up into his hair, her legs curling around his thighs —molding him to her body, as if she couldn't get close enough. "I love you," she whispered against his lips, his jaw, the sensitive skin behind his ear —over and over, a litany of love, until her body tensed and she peaked, and then it was his name on her lips instead. "Jon ..." a breathy sigh.
Jon shook, his body trembling with intensity as his release came right on the heels of Sansa's, and he groaned her name into the hollow of her throat, then collapsed upon her, his bones reduced to mush. "I love you, too."
One year later ...
"A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, For yonder breaks a new glorious morn" ~ Oh Holy Night
Jon ducked, just barely missing the snowball that sailed over the top of his head and hit Theon square in the chest. They were in the midst of the Stark Family Snow Battle, and almost thirty minutes in, the Starks were dropping like flies —the fallen taking refuge on the back deck with steaming mugs of hot chocolate.
"Dammit," Theon cursed under his breath, flopping into the snow like a wounded walrus, as Jon dodged behind the nearest tree.
"Sneak up on me, will you? Serves you right, Greyjoy!" Jon bent to scoop up a fresh handful of snow, packing it into a tidy ball as he scanned the yard for enemy forces. Rickon was hiding behind the woodshed —his mop of red curls against the white backdrop had given him away almost instantly, but Jon had a bigger target in mind. Just where was that other bothersome ginger hiding?
"Looking for me?" Robb jumped down from the branch above Jon's head, letting his snowball fly just a second too early, and Jon managed to side-step it.
"I was actually," Jon taunted, reaching to smash his snowball on Robb's head, but he spun away and tackled him into the snow.
"Get them!" Arya screamed, leading the ambush, Rickon and Bran right on her heels, bombarding Jon and Robb with their arsenal of snowballs.
"Cheaters!" Robb cried, shielding his head from the enemy fire. "You're not supposed to team up!"
Catelyn emerged from the house with a fresh batch of hot chocolate, scolding Sansa as she grabbed another handful of mini marshmallows and stuffed them in her mouth.
"Hey moose, save some for the wounded!" Theon yelled, finally dragging himself up out of the snow and stumbling towards the porch.
Sansa chucked her remaining marshmallows at him, as Jon dragged himself out from under the dog-pile of his siblings. "Watch your mouth," he growled in a mostly teasing tone. Mostly.
Ned reached for a steaming mug and kissed his eldest daughter on the forehead. "Pay him no mind love, you are as lovely as ever. Eat as many marshmallows as you want. Eat the whole damn bag."
Catelyn laid the tray on the picnic table, as everyone swarmed in and grabbed a mug, getting warm before round two of the snow battle ensued. Jon accepted the mug Sansa offered, sliding his other hand around her waist, his arm not quite able to reach around her swollen pregnant belly —and noted that she had already consumed all the marshmallows before sharing.
"So when do you think you'll break ground, Jon?" Ned asked, wiping off his marshmallow mustache and making Jon envious.
With his fifth year in the Corps coming up, Jon was now officially Reserves, which meant that while still having to travel south once a month for drills, he and Sansa could move back north and finally settle in. Using the comfortable salary he'd squirreled away over the years, they'd purchased a plot of land just a few doors down, where their dream home was going to be built from the ground up —and by Sansa's design. Soon they would be nestled comfortably on Winterfell Lane, permanently. In the meantime, Ned and Cat had generously opened their home to them.
"Mid March, if the contractors can be trusted."
"You mean if your mother doesn't obstruct them in a desperate bid to keep you under our roof as long as she can?" Ned chuckled affably, tapping his wife under the chin when she shot him an accusatory look —as if he'd just outed her big game plan.
"We don't want to impose," Sansa smoothed her hands over her belly, wincing uncomfortably.
"Don't be ridiculous," Catelyn waved off her comment as if it was absurd. "You will stay with us as long as you—Sansa, are you alright?"
Sansa sighed, rolling her eyes. "You are hovering again, Mother. I'm fine," she smoothed her hands over belly again. "The baby is just restless today, is all."
"Probably because it's all geeked out on marshmallows and lemon cak—oomph— " Theon grunted as Arya's elbow connected with his gut.
Jon reached to massage Sansa's lower back —a maneuver he knew to be successful in easing her discomfort. "Are you cold my love? Would you like to go inside for a bit?" Truthfully, Jon was impatient to whisk her away and be alone for awhile —eager to peel off all her warm layers of clothing and feast his eyes upon her glorious curves.
As Sansa's appetite grew over the months, so did his own —finding himself undeniably drawn to the delightful way her belly grew more round, and her breasts more full, as their child grew within her. She'd never been more desirable —motherhood most definitely suited her.
"I'm fine," she knew exactly what he intended, as she side-eyed him coyly, pressing her spine back into his knuckles as she sought relief from whatever odd position their child had taken up at the moment —playing kickball with her organs —usually her bladder.
Rickon scarfed down his hot chocolate as if it were nothing more than cup of cold milk, eager for round two, he leapt off the deck. "Come on slow pokes!"
"Looking to get beat down already?" Robb jumped over the railing and captured his little brother in a headlock, ruffling his curls as Rickon windmilled his arms around, unable to connect his little fists with his insufferable older brother.
Bran joined in the fray, hopping up onto Robb's back and dragging him down into the fluffy snow. "Beat down? We pulverized you!"
"Because you are cheaters!" Robb protested, as Rickon scurried loose and adjusted his hat.
"Smarter you mean," Arya handed her shared mug back over to Gendry. Poor lovesick fool had been her very first victim in the first round of the battle —finding out quickly that her love knew no loyalty, and Arya definitely subscribed to the theory that all was fair in love and war.
Robb and Theon had been right about him. Gendry was an okay guy, and Arya wasn't afraid to be who she was around him —no false pretense, no pretending. Jon sensed that his and Sansa's baby might have a new cousin to play with sooner, rather than later, as the pair planned to tie the knot in the upcoming spring.
"Your father and I are sitting this round out," Catelyn announced, slipping into Ned's embrace. "Our old bones don't fare so well in this cold."
"Speak for yourself woman," Ned pecked her wind-kissed cheek and dove off the deck after his sons. "We are of the north! Come, my children, winter is here!"
Sansa turned her face for Jon's kiss, her blue eyes alight with joy, as their lips brushed softly. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come, husband."
"Careful she doesn't eat you, Jon!" Theon called, scrambling off the deck before Arya could get her hands on him. "If she tastes any trace of marshmallow on you, you're done for!"
"Theon Greyjoy!" Catelyn admonished him, while Robb wrapped him in a bear hug to hold him still.
"Free shot, Sans!"
Jon bent and scooped up a wad of snow, packing it into a tight little ball, and handed it to Sansa. She wasn't able to run as fast as the rest of them, but his little wifey had an arm on her, for sure.
Sansa stepped forward and wound her arm, aiming directly for Theon —and froze, the snowball still clutched in her hand. "Ohhh," her mouth forming and holding the word, as shock registered across her lovely features.
"Sansa?" Her name was a cadence carrying throughout the snowy yard, as everyone stared at her expectantly.
"Oh my Gods, she's leaking! Sansa, you're leaking!" Theon cried, pointing to the puddle forming at her booted feet that was melting away the snow.
"It's her water, her water has broke," Catelyn confirmed, immediately issuing orders as she pried the snowball from her daughter's iron-fisted grip. "Nobody panic," —as everybody panicked— "Robb, go start the truck. Arya, go get Sansa clean pants. Bran, go to the spare room and grab the hospital bag. Theon, a blanket from the linen closet. Ned, lock up. Jon—"
Jon was vaguely aware of his mother-in-law's voice ringing in his ears, as he stared open-mouthed at Sansa.
"Jon! Close your mouth dear, all is well," Catelyn's hand closed around his chin and pushed his jaw shut. "Come, help me get Sansa to the car."
Sansa's warm hand on his cheek brought Jon back into focus. Quickly, he bent and hefted her up into his arms, following Catelyn and Ned around to the front of the house.
"Are you ready to meet your son?" Sansa asked, wincing at the fluttering of her first contraction.
"Very much," Jon couldn't refrain from kissing her again and again, as he carefully set her into the backseat of Ned's Suburban and climbed in beside her, as the rest of the family piled in, too.
Ned threw the giant hulking SUV in reverse and began pulling out of the driveway, as Rickon came tearing around the side of the house, waving his arms in the air furiously. "Wait! Wait for me!"
Catelyn, clutched at her heart dramatically, as Ned stomped on the brakes. "My Gods Ned, we forgot our poor son!"
Rickon scrambled across the yard and climbed into the Suburban, scooting to the very back and flopped into the seat. A frown pinching his lips, he folded his arms across his chest and heaved an indignant little huff.
"Rickon love," Catelyn turned to address him from the front seat, as Ned set off towards the Winter Town hospital. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to forget you."
"That's not why I'm mad," Rickon pouted. "I'm mad because Sansa ruined the snow battle again!"
The SUV erupted in laughter, as Ned turned off Winterfell Lane.
"And will I tell you that they lived
happily ever after? I will not, for no
one ever does. But there was happiness.
And they did live" — Stephen King