In the four days since he'd been wed, Jon had laid with his wife nearly a dozen times. He hated to say they came together like clockwork, for though Sansa had got them onto a routine, when she came to him she stirred a passion that he struggled to keep locked away. When he ran a hand down the curve of her leg dark parts of him yearned to push beyond the boundaries she'd set, to commit every inch of her to memory before he left home once more.

Not an hour before dinner his wife comes to him with a furrowed brow and her needlework in hand. "Jon," she calls into the training yard, "may I have a word?"

"Of course."

"Somewhere more private?"

Jon nods at Podrick and re-sheaths Longclaw at his side.

As they walk into the keep he can't help but notice the tension in her shoulders. Her back is as straight as ever, and her head is almost always held high, but he sees it in her rigid gait and measured breathing. He knows what it's like now to relieve her stress, to feel her body go slack underneath him.

When the reach his solar, Sansa turns to him.

She is the picture of her mother, with that same unyielding stare and the same blue eyes. But there is a vulnerability beneath it, something changed when he took her into his bed. These small smiles belong to him alone now. She is his to protect and his to love. Wonderstruck by her beauty, he does not suspect the words that come out of her mouth:

"On our wedding night, you said you weren't a virgin."

Sansa's tone is unnaturally even for discussing such matters. He doesn't know if this is just who his dreamy little sister has become or if she had rehearsed her words.

"I wasn't."

"And have you laid with many women?"

"Just one. Two now."

Sansa nods. She does not ask who the woman was or if Jon had loved her. In truth, he would not know how to answer – the question had tormented him since he'd left her.

"You and this woman…" only now does Sansa's voice falter, "she… taught you things?"

Jon nods.

"Well, I would like to learn."

Oh gods, how he wants her. Now, against his desk, before the feast. He could show her things. But she didn't know what she was asking. Jon looked down at the floor and hoped his cheeks weren't flushed red.

Sansa took a step forward, "I'd like to please you."

"You do please me."

"In other ways," she said, cocking her head to the side. He loves her best like this, pushing up against the resistance it pains him to give. Wanting things, wanting him. She gets closer still, running her hand up against his chest.

"What do you want to learn, then?" he asks, looking down into her eyes.

"Everything. Anything."

He must still be a crow, asleep and dreaming, because this is surely not real. His wife may respond eagerly in bed, but she did not drag him into his solar for afternoon romps.

"What you wanted to do at first, with your mouth… or what you do with your hands to me… I want to do that to you."

He should be weary. He should turn away, he should remember that she is just a wife trying to do her duty and please her husband. He shouldn't itch to see on her knees. But she's playing with her sleeve, and looking at him through fluttering eyelashes, and he swallows down any reservations.

"Okay," he says, reaching over and looping a strand of her red hair around his finger.

He looks down at her lips and leans over to kiss her. She meets him halfway, her lips eager. They're getting good at this. She lets out a small sigh against his mouth, and the thought that she's affected by the way his tongue moves against hers sends a shiver down his spine. She leans into him, her breasts push against his chest.

It's moments like these he thinks she could love him too, she's nibbling at his bottom lip, pushing for more. Hungry. Despite the fact that her legs had been wrapped around him pulling him closer that morning. Despite the fact that he fully intended to have her in his bed after dinner.

As he breathes her in, her hands come between them and work to untie his breeches. He's already hard and he lets out an eager breath when she runs her hand against him through his smallclothes.

Sansa pulls away from his kiss, and when he opens his eyes she's looking down at his cock in fascination, her hands on him. She bites down on her bottom lip, and he wants to kiss her again, but he doesn't want her to stop either. She gives him a small squeeze and then looks back up at him. They were bedroom eyes. This wasn't his sweet wife. This was another woman entirely. The woman of his darkest, dirtiest fantasies in the body of his sweet sister.

She looks up at him with some trepidation, and brushes the head of his cock with her thumb. It sends a shiver down his spine.

"What should I do?" she asks.

"Whatever you want."

The thought of her wanting to do anything to him, to run her hands over him, to interrupt both of their days because she just can't wait… gods, that's almost enough to make him come itself.

Her hands are gentle enough to drive him to madness. His belly is tight with lust and he's almost whimpering with the agony of it all. He can't verbalize it, he can't say the words, things aren't like that between the pair of them. They don't talk about anything that transpires in the bedroom. But she's looking down at his cock as though it's the centre of the universe and, well, she did say she wanted him to teach her.

He brings his hand on top of hers and tightens it against his cock. She looks up at him and he whispers, "I'll show you."

She nods, and whispers back, "okay."

He moves their hands back and forth together.

After a moment, she pulls her hand away, and he thinks he's pushed her too far. But then she throws him a sideways glance. "Can I watch you?" she asks, and when he doesn't answer right away adds, "I'd like to watch, I think. To see what you to do yourself. What you like."

Jon nods and begins to move his hands. He doesn't do it the way he usually does, when alone. It's slower now, more deliberate.

She sits back against his desk, her head bowed in concentration. He's still half-embarrassed, but his blood is hot and so he forgets about it. He's compelled to keep going by the fixation in her eyes.

After a few minutes, Sansa opens her mouth to speak, and then closes it just as quickly, looking down at the ground.

Jon stops, feeling his cheeks burn. He should have never let this get so far. "We can stop," he says, wincing.

"No!" she says, a little too loud. "I was going to ask…" She looks him dead in the eye, "what I should be doing with my mouth."

His lips part and he exhales a breath of relief. "Oh, well…"

How does he explain this? Her eyes are fixed on him so intently now. "Licking it? Putting your mouth around it and… sucking?" he asks, as though he's not sure.

But Sansa doesn't seem to notice his embarrassment. She nods at him as though he's an expert teacher and gets down on her knees. Her hands are on him again, stroking him before she guides his cock into her mouth.

"No teeth," he remembers suddenly, just as her mouth wraps around his cock.

Her mouth is clumsy, but he's already so aroused it doesn't matter. The visual of her on her knees, the thought of fucking her mouth, is more than enough to speed him along. He'd never thought this would happen, not even after he'd married her, not even after the amount of times he'd lain with her, not even after her enthusiastic response in bed.

It doesn't take long before he spills his seed in her mouth. It takes him by surprise, and as she stands up it leaks out of the side of her mouth. He immediately grabs his handkerchief from his pocket, and wipes it off.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"Not warning you."

"Oh," she laughs, and looks down at the floor. "That's quite alright."

He wraps his hands around her slender waist and lifts her back onto his desk. He kisses her forehead gently before pulling up her skirts. "Your turn," he says, moving to his own knees.

"We can't!" she protests, and then in a more diplomatic tone, "we don't have time for that now. My hair looks nice, and you always muss it up. We don't want anyone to know what we did."

Her hair did look pretty, half of it twirled away from her face. He was always running his hands through it. She did the same thing, liking his hair loose so she could pull on it as she came.

"What if I did want them to know?" he asks, not thinking clearly, imagining his face between her thighs, finally getting a taste of her.

"Jon!" Sansa cries out, her cheeks flushing.

Maybe he's crossed a line, but she pushes her lips together into a small smile.

"After dinner," she says, catching his eye. The two of them exchange a smirk that lasts only a minute, before Sansa turns away. "Now, we must go. We have a duty to our people."

She walks away with a new bounce in her step, and Jon thinks back on how much Sansa has smiled since the wedding. And he realizes, with a start, that he did that. He puffs out his chest in pride. He was responsible for Sansa Stark's sexual awakening. In this moment, he thinks that might be his most impressive achievement.

Author's Note: You can check out more of my work at theonbaejoys on tumblr.