Sansa had never been foolish enough to forget Jon's devotion had not been to her but to their father. That they had been bound by blood was the only thing that kept Jon at her side. She was not Arya, the sister he loved, or Robb, who had been a true brother to him. If Jon had ever cared for her, it had been out of duty alone. When he had told her the truth and his plans, she had thought back to Cersei's advice – that her best weapon was between her legs. Perhaps that was true. After all, now he was bound to her for a lifetime. But though she'd tried her best to look comely, when he'd kissed her that very first time she knew she had been the one who'd been trapped.

Sansa wakes before dawn, but she doesn't need the morning light to remind her where she is. Her head is nestled into the crook of Jon's arm. She's shared a bed before, but this is different. She can feel his bare skin against her, rough with scars from battle and death, and it is more comforting than anything she's ever experienced. Lying beside him is so pleasant that she almost wishes her shift had been discarded along with the rest of her clothes.

Sansa looks up at Jon and smiles. She runs her fingers through his hair.

He wakes up with a drowsy, "Sansa?"

Her fingers catch on the knots in his hair. "Your hair is a mess."

"So is yours," he whispers, "you should see yourself."

"It's all your fault."

He smiles and she can't help but smile back. It's not for anyone else this time, just him. Every time she looked at him brought her back to a time before the world had beaten the hope out of her. She'd thought it would be harder, but she knew that he wouldn't hurt her. This was starting over, washing away what had come before. She could begin again, couldn't she?

It certainly felt like it. She feels safe nestled against him. He would never leave her. Not now that she'd been wedded and bedded.

"Should we get breakfast?" Jon asks, and Sansa shakes her head no.

She planned on making it as pleasant as possible for him. She would be a true wife, steadfast and hospitable, and a worthy queen, as she was always meant to be. She wouldn't give him the opportunity to question his choice. She would be kind and dutiful.

But it wasn't duty or kindness that made her hand wander over the taut skin of his abdomen, nor was it obligation that sent a shiver down her spine when she found him already hard. She thought again of being underneath him, his hands between their bodies making her bite down hard on her lip to keep from calling out his name.

"Perhaps we should try again? Before we eat?"

Jon nods and leans in to kiss her. She closes her eyes and sighs. His hand grasps between her legs, running a finger against her cunt as she runs her tongue against his. She's still wet from last night. Suddenly she feels ashamed. She shouldn't enjoy this, and yet she throbs with want. Whatever was between them, it wasn't romance, and she can't help but be surprised his touches are so sweet, almost as though he was the one seducing her.

"You don't have to do that," she protests.

"I don't want you to feel like a brood mare."

She averts her eyes. "Have I made you feel like some kind of stud horse?"

"I don't mind," he says, and when she looks at him she sees lust in his eyes. She is warm in their bed beneath furs and his body but it sends a shiver down her spine anyway.

"Alright. Proceed," she whispers.

He kisses her neck again and it's so terribly lovely. And it makes it easier to avert his gaze as his fingers push inside her and she lets out an involuntary moan. She can feel her cheeks burn. He sucks at her neck harder, with more teeth in admonishment.

There had been times where she'd been so flustered, lying awake at night with something pent up inside her after one of their disagreements. This was what it was. And he didn't seem to mind relieving it. Perhaps this is what husbands were for, a particular duty her Lady Mother had failed to mention.

He pushes a finger inside her, and she bites down on her lip to stifle a gasp. The palm of her hand pushes down on her cunt and the sudden pressure quickens her breathing.

She feels like she needs to be doing something with her hands, which are just lying there. She takes his cock in hand before realizing she's not sure what she should be doing with it. She jerks her head away. A flash of bewilderment passes on his face. "I don't know what to do," she admits.

He opens his mouth and closes it just as fast.

"What should I be doing with my hands?" she asks again, because he's not kissing her neck anymore, he's just staring at her with an expression she doesn't understand.

"What do you want to do with your hands?" he finally asks.

She doesn't know what to say. People really shouldn't speak in the bedroom. "I want to… help you?" she manages to stutter out.

"Oh," Jon says, like he gets it. But he moves himself over her and uses his hands to enter her instead. And while this was perfectly lovely, more than lovely, it was not what she wanted! She'd wanted to affect him the way he so easily seemed to affect her. But she couldn't complain, not when he makes her head spin and whispers her name into her ear like it's a prayer.

At breakfast, Brienne pushes her eyebrows together. "What's that on your neck?" she asks, pushing Sansa's hair off of her shoulder to get a closer look.

Across the table, Tormund laughs. "I see you didn't mind his small pecker."

"That's my wife," Jon warns with a reproachful look, and Sansa has to try hard not to smile.

Author's Note: you can read more of my work at theonbaejoys on tumblr.