As she walks to dinner, Sansa knows she must look foolish. But she doesn't know how to hold all of this soft hearted joy in, so she lets herself smile and fiddle with her hair.
What had just transpired in Jon's solar was unexpected and she feels at once wicked and powerful. The look on Jon's face, shuddering as he came into her mouth, stirred her blood in a way she hadn't realized was possible with her clothes on.
She'd thought that finally getting to touch him like that would relieve the tension that had been building in her all day, but it had the exact opposite effect. It is improper, she knows, as the eyes of the castle are upon her, to long for Jon's hands. They had no time for it, she knew, and she would have him in bed before long, but she couldn't help but think of of how he could always clear her mind, stroking her until she murmured profanities under her breath.
She is blissful for another reason too, something different entirely.
She had doubts before. For if her kind and honourable brother could slip into another skin to kill and maim she supposed he could slip into another one to fuck his sister. She was just a body, after all, and one who came to him eagerly at that. Men had needs, and she was a means to an end. But she'd seen the desire hidden behind his reluctance. She'd trapped him beyond duty, she knew it.
Brienne appears at Sansa's side with a weary brow and hair full of snow.
"My lady, I looked for you before dinner," Brienne says, clutching oathkeeper tightly at her side, "I was worried when Lady Karstark said you abandoned your knitting in a rush."
"Embroidery," Sansa corrects her, squaring her shoulders and attempting to erase the giddiness from her manner.
"I shouldn't have left you."
"It's quite alright. You had something you needed to take care of," Sansa says, turning to her and smiling, though she cannot quite meet Brienne's eye. "As did I. Now, let's enjoy Lord Manderly's farewell feast."
Brienne looks as though she wants to say something, but Sansa doesn't want to be questioned about how or where she'd spent that lost hour of the evening any further. Instead, she takes her seat at the head of the table beside her husband.
An hour has passed and Sansa is well into her cups when she leans over and kisses Jon on the cheek.
It's still quite a wonder that she's able to do so, and for the crowds to cheer or smile rather than be repulsed. Though the Targaryens were above the laws of men and gods, Starks were not and she had only wolfsblood. It still felt a little illicit to take him inside her. She would never admit it, but she liked the depravity of it. She came harder when she thought of him as her brother.
Under the table, her hand grasps his inner thigh.
"I've been thinking about what I want you to do to me," she whispers.
She feels his jaw tense beneath her lips and delights in this small power she has over him.
"And what's that?" he murmurs back.
"I want you to bend me over your desk and pull up my skirts -"
He pulls back to look at her and his jaw clenches, "you couldn't have expressed this thought an hour ago?"
She smirks, "perhaps I delight in torturing you."
She moves her hand further up his leg and it gives her goosebumps when she finds him hard beneath her touch. Here, in the Great Hall, in front of half of his bannerman and Baelish to boot.
"An unwise decision, seeing as I'll have you at my mercy after dinner," he murmurs.
There is a flash of violent lust in his eyes that would scare her if it was anyone else. Instead she becomes aware of the heat between her own legs as she rubs the palm of her hand against him through his breeches.
"You're always merciful, though," she says, biting down hard on her lip.
He looks down and laughs softly, and before she can say anything else, Lord Manderly takes his attention. Though Jon is attentive to the Lord who is soon to deploy to Eastwatch on his orders, Sansa's eyes focus on the way Jon's fingers tap against the wood table. She wonders how much her husband's politeness pains him. She lets her fingers mimic the way Jon's drum on the table. His back straightens against his chair, and she smiles.
Lord Manderly evidently thinks her smile is directed towards him, and he repays it in kind, "and what does our fair Queen think?"
Sansa's body tenses and she struggles for words that do not come. When Jon whips his head around to her, his smirk does nothing to help. Sansa looks down at her plate, her food half-finished. "I'm so sorry, my Lord. I'm not feeling well, I'm going to go to my chambers."
"Do you need me to come with you?" Jon asks, the concern in his voice surely feigned for the heat in his eyes makes her cheeks flush. He knows what he has done to her as much as she has done to him.
"I'll send for a maester," Lord Manderly says, gesturing to one of his men at the lower tables.
"No, no," Sansa assures them, "I think I just need to lie down."
As she leaves she hears Jon make excuses for her, and though she'd half-expected he'd follow her she is alone when she reaches the Lord's chambers. No matter, he would be there soon enough. She'll find a way to quell her disappointment herself.
She sits on his bed and begins to unlace her dress, and rids herself of all of her clothes except the corset she'd need Jon's help to unlace.
Not a day has passed since the last time she'd had him, but still she misses the way his hands felt running down her legs and up her back. She misses the way he felt on top of her, and the way his soft caresses always turned into selfish desire.
She lies on their bed and remembers the desperate, low sound he makes as he finally gives in and pushes inside her. His lips sucking on a nipple, teeth on her neck, trails of kisses between her breasts. She tries to imitate the feeling, one hand runs up her stomach and loosens a breast from her corset, while the other reaches between her legs. She relaxes.
She doesn't hear the door, but all of a sudden she sees him out of the corner of her eye. She jumps and pulls her hands away. She'd known he would come for her, and the thought of him catching her with wet fingers had thrilled her, but his looming presence in the doorway makes her feel like a skittish maid.
"Don't stop on my account, sweetheart."
He walks over to her, sits on the edge of the bed and stares into her eyes, smiling at her. His smiles are so rare and genuine that they always send jolts of electricity through her body. She gives him a pleading look. She's mortified. "You didn't leave Lord Manderly for me, did you? He seemed quite interested in talking to you about his sums."
Jon raises an eyebrow, "troop movements."
"I do hope you weren't rude."
"Everyone is very concerned for their Queen, it's my husbandly duty to tend to her," Jon replies, his eyes lingering on her breasts. She finds she likes feeling like an object of desire now, something she never thought she'd want again.
"Would you like to help me out of my corset?" she asks, sitting up and turning her back to him.
He obliges. Over the past few days he's mastered the mechanics of such contraptions and his fingers are practiced as they work to unlace her of her corset. Once she is free, she lays back down. She realizes, with a start, that this is the first time he's seen all of her. Any urge she has to cover herself in furs is gone when she sees the hunger in his eyes.
He doesn't say anything, just takes her hand in his and brings it up to his mouth and sucks on her fingers. She relaxes slightly as she feels his tongue on her skin. When he finally pulls her fingers out of his mouth, he kisses her forehead and puts her hand back between her legs. "I'll just watch."
She can't decide if she's mortified or enthralled - perhaps both.
She pauses, but the way he looks at her with affection such affection makes her desperate for friction. "Whatever pleases my king," she says, not expecting the words to have more of an affect on her than they do on him. Her legs fall back open, and she plays with her clit for him, forgetting any apprehension.
He seems to be pleased with this diversion, but she still aches for his hands. She grabs his wrist and pulls him to her.
"You're so cold," she sighs. But it's nice, she's warm, hot with desire and he cools her down.
He takes one of her breasts in his other hand and brushes her nipple with his thumb. She shivers.
"I wanted this all day," she says, unable to do much else at this point but lie back and simply feel .
His fingers enter her easily, she's wet and ready to take them.
"I can tell," he says in a low voice.
She laughs.
Its nice to get to be obvious after spending these past days in bed trying to pretend. There's something about loving and being loved in return that lifts the burdens from her shoulders. She feels his love even if she doesn't hear the words.
His fingers are bigger than hers, and longer. They feel good as they fill her. They are rough with callouses, creating a pleasant friction against her soft walls.
He lays beside her and kisses her. His thumb rubs her clit in soft circles. His mouth is on her neck. He's hard and soft, rough and gentle. She squirms beneath his touch.
"Do you still -" he starts.
"Yes," she says in the most pathetic of voices, eager as she knows exactly what he's asking.
He nods and moves between her legs. She braces herself, hitching her breath. He lowers his head and sucks on her, strokes her with his tongue, and she wonders why she'd ever stopped him from performing such an act.
When he looks up at her from between her thighs, beautiful and wild, she can feel her heart flutter. She's let herself fall before and promised herself that never again would she be such a fool. But then he smiles and reaches for her hand. Their fingers intertwine and he rubs his thumb against the back of her hand. She decides this is worth any heartache, and she lets go.
Her thighs tighten around his head as his tongue moves up and down in a way that is at once sinful and miraculous to her, over and over again. Her free hand clutches at the furs and she almost asks him to stop, because it's just too much -
But then it comes. Warmth cascades through her body and her muscles relax as she sinks into the matress. He kisses her. His lips are wet with the taste of her and though there was a time her delicate sensibilities would have been put off by it, she finds herself licking his lips, eager for more.
Afterwards, he lies beside her looking uncharacteristically smug.
She won't have it.
"You're tired?" she asks him with a smile.
"No. Don't you need a break?"
"No. Do you ?"
He laughs. "Okay then."
She watches as he pulls of his shirt. She makes no moves to help him with his breeches, instead she enjoys the sight of his muscled shoulders. She likes the sight of him naked before her, but she wants his body on hers more that she wants to admire the curvature of his chest.
"Come here," she says, and he obliges.
Jon is nothing if not a giving lover, and his mouth moves to her breasts once more. He sucks on a nipple, softly until the suction builds and she moans.
He stops immediately, "did I hurt you?"
"No, it's just…"
"It's just…?"
"I want your seed," she responds a little too desperately. She corrects herself and averts her eyes. "For the babe."
"Oh of course," Jon says, and he guides himself into her. He groans into her hair, finally getting some relief from the torture he'd endured during dinner. He is no longer gentle, but she is wet and eager for the quick rhythm of his thrusts.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, my Queen?" he asks, almost sarcastically, but not quite. When they are abed he is always eager to please.
She pauses, considering it.
She rolls over and pushes him onto his back, resting her hands on his chest to steady herself as she straddles him.
He leans up in to kiss her and she lets him. She's still and focuses on his lips, putting all her energy into sucking on his bottom lip, biting it. His hands move to her hips and he urges her to go faster.
"Are you regretting being so nice now?" she asks in a soft voice which is anything but innocent.
He groans.
She laughs as she pushes him back down onto his back, resisting his guidance and opting to torture him instead. She barely moves, delighting in the agony of anticipation, the reward of the gentlest friction.
She remains capable of this for a few minutes, feeling victorious at the arduous look on his face as he stares up at her breasts. But these slow movements have her aching for release once again.
"Jon?" she says, her voice now weak.
"Mhmmmmm?"
"I don't want you to be nice anymore."
So he's not. He flips her onto her stomach and takes her from behind, just like she'd asked him to do at dinner. It's better than she'd imagined. It's rough in a way that hits the spot after his light touch. She's almost there, and it doesn't take much before she tightens around him and moans into the bed.
He doesn't stop, his pace only gets faster, giving her no time to catch her breath. When he comes inside her, his breath as ragged as hers.
Afterwards, pulls her onto her side and holds her against him. Neither of them speak, and he doesn't move except to pull furs around them. Exhausted, she falls into a dreamy sleep.
A/N: you can read more of my fic at theonbaejoys on tumblr.