6x09 - Holy seven hells- Vengeance is sweet- my babies are home, and the next promo a kiss on the forehead. I just hope Petyr doesn't influence Sansa anymore, I hope to say she knows he can't be trusted, he killed her aunt and a man who helped her out of kings landing (this she is aware of) I think it might be fear that keeps her with him (It's established in books she knows he's dangerous. But I don't want petyr to put a wedge between her and Jon. I hate Georges and D&D masterplan of turning her into the new littlefinger.

"We should play sometime." Jon craftily suggested while they ascended their stairwell to the main bedchamber.

"No, after getting that little surprise I think I will pass up the opportunity." Her dress was wrecked, a new project loomed for her, on top of her story. "Anyway if you can sense my presence- you'd have an unfair advantage."

"Hm, I suppose, that's why I wandered back, I wanted to look under that bed again...and instead I found you and Podrick."

"Doing nothing!" She warned, so as to not start the argument again. "Anyway, that's the worst room to have done such things in..." She had already revealed this before they left the confines of that chamber.

"Which I'm sorry about, my love." They returned to the sanctuary of their chambers. "I didn't know." Jon said with unease, wanting to finish the argument. "It explains the white dress in the wardrobe, your wedding dress...it's a very nice dress."

"And it'll never see the light of day again." Sansa gave him a final sweep over glance before perching prettily on her hope chest to kick off her shoes. "Plus it's torn all the way down the back."

A sobering comment, that made her husband look very grave and pained. "I see." It was good she was talking about it so casually. He collapsed on the bed, spreading himself out with an exhausted sigh. "Can we just spend the rest of the day in here?" His wife was just about to answer, when – "Or our entire lives? Anything."

She contorted to look at him. "We really shouldn't." Sansa saw his hand at the end of the bed, rapping upon the sheets. She leant back off the hope chest, so her top half was lying on her bed. Her body lay along the length of his arm, and her head fit into the space above his shoulder. Sansa heard his chest rattle as she got comfortable. His hand moved to finger the side of her dress. Jon's head turned slightly to the side so he was nudging against the top of her head, he could smell her.

Sansa's hand came up enquiringly, quite close to his face- but it wasn't seeking him, she was investigating the warm moistness on her parting- that was due to him sniffing and exhaling on her crown. "You're like a dog."

"I like smelling things, I'm sure you have a few smells you like..." He waited, staring at the canopy- he hated that canopy- he'd rather look at something else. She didn't speak, so he filled the void with the actual question. "Do you have a favourite smell?- Like lemons, lemon cakes...?" He was thinking about her mouth latching onto his tummy like a leech, her tongue caressing his stomach, then dipping and swirling around his belly button. Maybe the memory would reoccur to her as well? "Are you feeling peckish?"

"Not really no."

Figures. He turned to her hair again, sniffing a little more carefully. "You're starting to smell like me, that, and roses." He commented followed by a satisfied hum. Good.

"I smell like musk and leather?" He heard her melodic voice retort.

"Is that what I smell like to you?" It was a genuine query, and he wanted to know if it was a pleasant smell to her. She made no comment. He frowned. "Are you pissed?"

"I smell of piss?!" She misheard and was appalled, she sat up to get away from him.

"Nah yer' daft sod, I asked if you were angry with me." He tried to yank her back down, the side of his face was getting cold. "Seven hells Sansa, it's like you want to start a fight."

"Look who's talking." His wife lay back down, she shuffled to get back into her position. After a moments silence, he slowly- and by slowly- he intended to be subtle, he began brushing his beard against her head. "Now what are you doing?" She said.

"I wasn't doing anything."

"You were rubbing." She sighed. "You are... like a dog." Sansa repeated. "You just want everything to smell like you."

"Better than somebody else..."

She rolled her eyes- he was never going to let his first suspicion slip. She shuffled away so she could roll onto her side to look at him. "What about me, can I smell like myself?"

He stared up at her, smiling only with his eyes. "I want to smell like you." He used his index and middle finger to walk the gap between him and her, she watched it with apprehension- and it stopped just below her face. She blinked as it moved up to toy with her bottom lip. "And taste." He fingered it down and released, so it pinged back into position. "You taste like lemons."

Sansa didn't respond right away, how do you reply to that? She couldn't even comprehend what he tasted like, she never actually savoured him- oh wait. "You..." She remembered. "Taste like ale, and copper."

Jon looked at her inquisitively. "That sounds...weird." He propped himself up on his side to be level with her. "This displeases you?"

"It isn't displeasing, or pleasing, it's just a...flavour of the day." Sansa countered, she didn't see the point of discussing tastes. "I'm sure if everybody didn't eat, they'd all taste the same, if they shared food, they'd taste the same. Kissing isn't about the taste."

He blinked. What an odd conclusion. "It is though really."

"No. It's about contact, and texture." She spoke like it was gospel, and she finalized. "You can work out a man's status, and chivalry from the feel of their kiss."

"And?" Jon added, hoping she would understand what he was asking.

She seemed to stare off to the side, evaluating. He waited on baited breath. "To plunder..." She was being careful. "-Is a clumsy way of kissing, it's forceful and... lowers a man's social standing." She put eloquently.

Phwoar so many words. Jon tugged at his tunic huffily, trying to smarten himself up. "Aa...I see, I can take a hint, sweetheart." Not liking or agreeing with her evaluation of him. "I kiss like a poor man." The word bastard came to mind. Just great. "You realise that is a normal northern kiss." He pleaded his case. "We're not supposed to peck at each other like southern birds..." She acknowledged the word birds with discomfort, and he continued. "But devour, like wolves."

Sansa was absorbed, he could tell by her silence, and by that need to stare off into space pensively. "It's like you're scavenging for food in my mouth."

He laughed heartily. "Gods woman! You describe the slightest hints of passion as something ugly and obscene."

"That's because you think force equals passion." She had a lot of south in her, but she hoped it was her inner 'Tully'. "Whenever I caught mother and father kissing, they weren't like wolves."

"They didn't peck either." Jon added bluntly, falling back onto his back, he watched her think- she looked almost cocksure and arrogant, her hand that wasn't propping up her head, was curling a lock of her hair. It made his mouth wet, and eyes dry from prolonged staring. Gods woman. She was curling the long strand idly, looking very aristocratic and beautiful. He thought about that perfect face, becoming flushed, overwhelmed with desire. Gods-

"Kiss me, Sansa." He rasped, and the lock of hair fell from her finger. "Kiss me how you see fit." He was always hopeful. There might be a day she would do as she was asked without hesitation, or do on a whim, out of curiosity, or because she wanted to."I'll follow the one rule..."

She was probing him, and now he knew how it felt. He felt naked. Jon self consciously tugged his tunic again, and placed his hands either side of himself in complete submission. He heard her petticoats rustle as she inched closer, and his gullet clunked as he swallowed in angst. This was happening. He wasn't sure whether to remoisten his lips, or air dry them. What would look more appealing to a woman?

Her shadow loomed over him first, then his compliant wife. Sansa tucked her hair behind her ears, and he balled his fists up in the sheets to prevent himself untucking it. The king liked red hair, he wanted it in his face. He got her lemony breath instead. Even better. Jon noted she didn't wet her lips, there was a small chance they would fuse together, which wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. She descended and her lashes rested upon her cheeks. Her nose made contact first with his cheek, and finally her lips caressed his own curiously, and he automatically closed his eyes. Sansa's mouth barely opened, but wetly pinched his mouth as a whole, delicately raking- like she had done with his knuckles earlier. It was tentative and soft, like rose petals. He promised himself he wouldn't move his mouth, but that was forgotten, he parted his lips, and puckered ever so slightly, to work with her enveloping caresses. Her hand was under his chin, stroking his beard. Bliss. He felt her hair suddenly curtain his face, it had fallen from her ear. Jon would certainly smell of her now. Sweet Sansa. They breathed through their noses against each other's cheeks, flushing their faces.

This was a kiss, it was intimate, there was still a devouring aspect to it, just without the plundering. Sansa might be on to something here. He was just waiting for her to slip him the tongue, even if it was just the tip. The silence was finally broken by a little smack click of a moist kiss, and the other kisses that followed. Warm and leisurely, soft and slow. He allowed her to do most of the work, he was the receiver, occasionally pinching her lip to remind her he wasn't dead.

Sansa's hand suddenly but gently descended down his neck. It smoothed over his leather collar, and over his chest cavity, which was rising and falling steadily. As it descended, Jon could feel the blood diverting down his body, he was rising. His breath stilted, and his chest spasmed. The pelvis started to fidget, and roll, his legs became restless. He felt her hand settle on his stomach- warming his belly through the leather. His knuckles were white around the crumpled up sheets, refraining from touching anything. Mercy mercy. Her hand was a tease, remaining low enough it could easily slip to his crotch, but high enough to not supply any of its heat to his...pillar. Come on, down...down. His hips were on the verge of bucking. He could easily lift her hand and place it where it was needed.

Meanwhile above the neck, Sansa was kissing him more confidently now, still no tongue had come out to play, but there was really no need, their faces were touching and she was tasting him- what more could he ask for? Erm...

The Queen was unaware of the dormant volcano in his trousers, it was probably best if he kept it that way. He just had to prevent himself from doing anything with it, sure he could probably bust a nut in his braies – but the servants will see it in his braies, gods no! He couldn't spill it anywhere near his wife without her falling out with him. It was deemed unholy to spill the King's seed on the ground, so he couldn't stand up and finish himself off. He ceased moving his mouth and focused on willing his sword down. Fighting, castle black, snow, Robb, Arya, Rickon, Bran. Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. Needle, Sam, Craster. Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss. Karl Tanner, Fooking Karl Tanner, Mormont, Longclaw, Ghost. Kiss, kiss, kiss. Lunch, stew, gruel, Lemon cakes...That seemed to undo his work, he was rising again.

Sansa separated from him with a 'click', and his head nearly followed, mouth pursed and red, his eyes bloodshot. "Done." She said in her melodic voice, tucking a strand behind her ear. She appeared pleased with herself, until he smiled stiffly at her, and her responding smile wavered. "You didn't like it." She said it as if it was a confirmed fact, her hand dropping from her ear. "Too tame?"

"No, that-" His voice was none existent, he grunted. "That was good." He retorted looking at his bulge craftily. Sansa sat up higher, and he got worried she would see it, so he pushed himself up- he had severe arm ache, so it was quite a fete. Jon tried to get up from the bed quickly to make an escape. Soon as he set his foot on the floor he knew he was about to collapse in a heap, so he sat to disguise it, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Very good." He put his hands on his knees to brace himself. Too much of a good thing.