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The way he whispers is always dark, like the red wine he drinks. “I said, come here.”
When Theon comes, he crawls.
When Theon leaves, he runs.
He struggles in his mind, he paces for what feels like an hour even though he knows only moments have passed. Can he leave? Does he dare? What if he comes home just as he’s walking out the door? What would Theon say? Would he give Ramsay a weak smile, try to act like he was going out for a walk, like he needed to go out and get a cigarette? Oh yeah, hun, please don’t mind the bags.
Theon can almost imagine the way that Ramsay would look at him. His light eyes would hold an unpleasant shade of amusement, but only because he knew Theon was lying to his face and was thinking up ways to punish him thoroughly.
That smile. It was like the beast inside of Ramsay was trying to disguise itself, yet instead was splitting Ramsay’s face at the seams in an attempt to appear human.
Resolve solidifying, Theon leaves their bedroom and creeps down the stairs. He can still smell Ramsay’s cologne lingering in the air. He pauses to breathe it in, he loves how it smells, but God he would be happy if he never smelled that cologne again. He knows it is now or never, because if he waits any longer he’s going to lose his nerve. He leaves a messy note on the whiteboard on the fridge, “I’m done” and darts out the front door, into the rain, only his backpack and duffle bag in tow. He doesn’t have time to take much else.
Not that much is actually his anyway.
The night air is sharp and biting against his skin, but Theon embraces the way the cold burns. He is soaked before he even gets a block, he’s running as hard as he can, trying to put as much ground behind him as he can before he catches his breath. He ducks into a park and squats down for a moment, shaking not only from the cold, but from shock. Numbly, he fumbles for the phone in his pocket. For a moment, a horrific moment, he contemplates calling Ramsay and begging him to bring him home, contemplates telling him please, I don’t know what I’m doing, please don’t be mad.
Instead he flips past Ramsay’s number and goes to the one he hasn’t been allowed to call in a painfully long time. Trembling, he raises the cell to his ear and waits as it rings. It keeps ringing and Theon fears that he truly has been wiped from everyone’s lives. And then-
“Theon?”
He chokes on his heart and tries to get the words to come out of his mouth, but he doesn’t even know where to start. “Robb,” Theon rasps out, as if he hasn’t spoken for years, “I need help.”
“I’m on my way, just tell me where you are.” Still always playing the white knight without an ounce of reservation.
Theon tells Robb and can’t believe that after all the shit they have been through together that Robb is still willing to come rescue him at the drop of a hat. They had parted on terrible terms, with blood, tears, and black eyes all rolled into one.
“I’d rather go deaf than hear his fucking lies slip from your throat ever again. What he calls love, others call hate,” Robb had sneered, his voice a storm.
He wants to sob when he sees the headlights show up fifteen minutes later. The driver side door snaps open and his best friend darts out, into the rain. Theon can’t see his expression, but within moments he is wrapped up in warm arms. “Theon, what-?”
“Can…can you help me with my bags? I’m sorry, they are soaking wet.”
Robb’s eyes widen in shock and he looks down at the duffle bag and backpack. “Uh…yeah, of course I can help. Does this mean…?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.”
Robb’s house is still his childhood estate, the one his dear parents had left him. Theon feels his emotions well up in his throat upon the sight of the old brick home, surrounded by ancient trees that loomed across the flat land and hills surrounding the home.
They wind up the long path and come to a stop, both Theon and Robb slinking in through the front door. Robb raises a finger to his lips and whispers, “Everyone should still be-”
“Is that Theon?” Sansa yelps loudly, peering around the corner at them from the kitchen. Her red lips are slightly agape as she stares at Theon intently, surprise and dare he say it, happiness in her eyes.
“…sleeping…” Robb finishes lamely, glowering at his sister.
A door creaks open loudly on the second level, echoing off the vaulted ceilings. “He’s alive?”
Ah. That croaky voice has to be Jon. Theon grins weakly despite himself.
Sure enough, Jon appears at the upstairs railing, resting his forearms on the top rail. He looks down at Theon with his typical serious look, too serious in fact. “Should I just call the cops now? Should I tell the security manning the front gate to just open the gate instead of letting it get smashed by a car this time?”
Theon’s immediate reaction is to defend Ramsay and the words almost leave his lips before he forces them back down into his chest. He was going to say, He overreacted. He was worried about me. He paid for the damage, didn’t he?
Theon can also conjure up what Robb’s response would have been to those words. Oh please. He barreled in like a hot revolver because he suspected foul play. He’s so scared you’ll find something better he can’t bear to have you out of his sight.
So, instead Theon says, “He doesn’t know where I am. I left.”
Those piercing black eyes continue to stare intently at Theon. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Sansa enters the entryway with quiet footsteps, bodily examining Theon, hands, arms, and face. Checking for bodily harm, no doubt. “You left? As in, left for the day or…?”
She smells of lavender, the scent of her calming Theon’s anxiety. “I left, as in I’m homeless now.”
Sansa gazes up at him with her gentle eyes and he can’t read the emotion in those azure depths. “He’s not going to like that. Are you sure he won’t-”
“Ram our gate down again?” Jon offers sarcastically.
Sansa scowls up at him. “You’re not being helpful.”
Jon’s gloomy expression only deepens. “Fine. I’ll make the Bloody Mary’s, we are going to need them.”
Robb only shakes his head in faint disbelief. “It’s six in the morning.”
“That never stopped anyone before,” Sansa says pointedly, looking at Theon.
“Ah ha, very funny. We all can have a laugh at how I used to be a lush,” Theon mutters, rolling his eyes dramatically.
The very act of rolling his eyes feels strange. He almost feels like glancing around guiltily, just in case Ramsay saw him being fresh.
They go into the kitchen and reminisce over shared childhood memories, laughing and bickering like old times. As he sips on his drink, Theon thinks he feels almost like he did before, only the old him wasn’t very happy to begin with.
“Your smile is so broken, I can’t believe you haven’t thrown it away yet,” Ramsay had said when he first met Theon.
Instead of finding the words insulting, Theon had found it endearing that someone else had recognized how hollow he felt inside, that his smile covered up his own self-loathing.
Theon vaguely laughs at something Robb says and feels remorse for even thinking about Ramsay. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t think about him. As far as Theon is concerned, Ramsay is dead to him.
“I’m crazy about you. You know that, right?”
Theon had snorted, looking around the bar languidly. “Aw. Crazy in love with me? I didn’t peg you for a sap.”
Arctic eyes blinked slowly. “Crazy as in, I would fucking kill someone over you.”
Too drunk on alcohol and peering out of rose colored glasses, Theon laughed.
Theon should have run screaming…but he didn’t.
Now look where that got him.
When night fell, everyone gave a sigh of relief. “Your room is still how you left it,” Sansa says, offering to help Theon with his bags.
The stairs are long and spiraling up into the second floor. Theon’s knees ache the whole way up, so many more stairs than he has been used to lately. He’s spent a lot of time on his knees these past two years and his kneecaps are probably worn through.
Robb pokes his head into Theon’s old room when Sansa leaves, bidding him goodnight. “No calls? Texts?”
Numbly, Theon parses through his backpack and duffle bag, looking for his tooth brush. “Nothing.”
It doesn’t feel good to say it. In fact, it felt like a knife in his heart. “Why don’t I feel okay?” Theon whispers, “I should feel happy, shouldn’t I?”
Doesn’t he want me don’t I belong with him why isn’t he taking me back was all the pain for nothing why why why why
Robb gives Theon his typical lordly look, resting his hand on Theon’s shoulder gently, noting how Theon flinches. “This is a big step for you. I never…understood…or accepted…your ‘relationship’ with that bastard-”
Theon shudders at the word and his shoulder faintly hurts with the recollection of Ramsay pulling it right out of its socket in a fit of rage over Theon calling him a bastard. Seemed like a lifetime ago. Theon knows not to call him that now.
“…but you left him. That’s a victory. This is you taking control of your life again. I couldn’t be more happy to have you back,” Robb finishes, wrapping his arms tightly around Theon in a close embrace.
Close enough that Theon can smell that it isn’t the man who has the only right to hold him this close. He shuts his eyes tightly and wills his traitorous mind to shut up. He left Ramsay and he doesn’t want him back.
Jon leans against the door jam with his usual doom and gloom expression. “He’s literally a Whitney Houston song.”
“Which one?” Theon snaps, flipping him the bird with his remaining middle finger. Ramsay took the other as punishment for the exact same gesture being thrown his way.
Robb snorts into Theon’s neck and pulls away as Jon gives them a slow smile. “I always pegged him for a Gloria Gaynor song actually…”
“You blokes suck. Piss off,” Theon growls good naturedly.
Their gentle ribbing was exactly that; gentle. He was used to much worse.
“…I will survive…” Jon and Robb leave the room singing loudly, cackling in between lines.
Theon slams the door shut behind them, finally alone for the first time since arriving at the Stark’s home. He flips his phone open and looks at it blankly. Nothing. Absolutely nothing was there. Instead of feeling liberated, he feels like a lost child wondering why his parent haven’t come looking for him yet.
His own parents had been train wrecks. Theon’s mother had gone mad and his father had never had interest in his youngest son. Theon’s throat closes up a bit when he thinks about how he acted out as a child, trying to get his father’s attention. The first time he had run away from home, he had done it expecting to be missed, expected his family to come looking for him because they cared about him.
Only, they never did. He spent a few days on the streets, causing trouble and occasionally crashing at the Stark’s house, much to Catelyn’s dismay.
He had finally gone home and his father only shook his head at him with disappointment. That disappointment cut as deep as any blade.
Somehow…this feels the same. Theon begins to scroll through his contact list and stops at Ramsay’s name and bites his lip. His finger hovers about the dial button. He just wants to hear his voice, wants to know that someone wants him, that he belongs with someone, somewhere…
Theon throws the phone away from himself like it’s a burning coal. “Fuck,” he rasps, burying his head in his hands.
He’s useless. He’s nothing.
Another day and night pass Theon by. Life seems to continue for the Stark children, but Theon finds himself wondering why he is stuck standing still.
“I’m losing my mind. It’s damn boring here,” Theon whines as he flips through the channels of the tv.
He needs something to keep him occupied. He needs something to take his mind off of everything. Theon needs something to anchor him here, away from Ramsay or else he will drift back into his center of gravity.
“You could get a job. Ever think of that?” Jon says flatly, scrolling through his phone idly.
A job? Theon hasn’t had a job in nearly two years. Well. Not that he had a good job before that anyway. He wasn’t very good at holding down office jobs and his love for trouble seemed to follow him everywhere. His loud mouth wasn’t very helpful either, it never ceased to get him in trouble with whomever his current boss was.
“Oh, leave him alone. He could use a break, he’s had such a rough time. Don’t you have any sympathy, Jon?” Sansa smacks her brother on the back of his head as she walks by.
“He did this to himself,” Jon growls out.
"Why do you make me do this to you? You drive me fucking mad, Greyjoy. It’s almost like you want it. Well, do you?" Ramsay says as he buries his teeth deep into Theon’s shoulder, hot blood streaming down Theon’s arm and back. Theon can’t hold back the scream that tears from his throat.
"You know it kills me," Ramsay hisses, his tongue running up Theon’s neck viciously, smearing blood everywhere. His fingers dig so deep into Theon’s hips that he knows there will be marks there, bruises to prove who he belongs to.
Theon blinks the memory away, feeling disgusted with himself as his groin fills with heat.
You’re disgusting, he thinks to himself, but hears his own thoughts in Ramsay’s voice.
“Theon? Hey…you went blank there for a moment. Scared me. Jon, stop being such a jerk. You’ve upset him!” Sansa says, pulling Theon out of his thoughts as she grips his face, trying to shake him out of his momentary lapse.
He gently pries her fingers off of him and smiles wanly. “I’m fine…just got lost for a moment. I think I’m going to go to bed if that’s alright.”
Jon sets his book down and looks at him suspiciously. “It’s only seven.”
“So, are you saying it’s not alright?”
“No, I’m saying are you going to go cry and slit your wrists while we aren’t watching?”
Theon chokes on laughter. Ramsay hid all of the razors in their home. Ramsay even had to shave Theon himself. He didn’t trust Theon with razors. Theon didn’t trust Theon either.
“Don’t give him any ideas,” Sansa yells with exasperation. “really, Jon.”
“I’m not going to kill myself. Just stop fighting,” Theon says as he walks away from the siblings. “I need space.”
When he gets back to his room, he lays down on his bed and stares at the ceiling, wondering how he let himself fall so deep off the rails. Was he always such a despicable human being? Or did Ramsay only make him that way?
Theon hears a distant beep and frowns. It couldn’t be. He rolls over, his heart pounding. His phone is still under the bed where he left it. He rarely ever got texts before…but…he picks up his phone and flips it open, staring in shock at the message there.
Can you talk? I’m worried about you.
Theon’s eyebrows rise drastically. He was not expecting Walda to reach out to him…he thought…he hoped…well, nevermind what he wanted. Theon’s brain is a scrambled mess.
Sure, I can talk, he texts back hesitantly, watching the screen intently. Is it a trick? A test?
Her call comes through shortly after. With his hands trembling, his lifts the phone to his ear and answers, quickly stumbling out onto his balcony outside.
“Theon? Oh my goodness, where are you? I didn’t see you at dinner last night and panicked.” Walda’s voice is soft and painfully sweet, filled with motherly worry.
Her voice reminds Theon of all the times she came to pick up the pieces whenever he was down. All the times she saw him as just a man and not Ramsay’s possession. He doesn’t define you, she had always said with sorrowful eyes.
“Hey, Walda,” Theon responds weakly. “I’m…well, I’m sure you know by now.”
Really. How could she not?
A pause. “Theon, please just tell me honestly. When Ramsay showed up for dinner at our home on Friday without you, I lost it. You aren’t in the hospital again are you? I’ll advise Roose to-”
Shaking his head wildly, Theon says, “No…no definitely not. I…uh…I left.”
Another long pause. “You…left?” The skepticism in her tone was so thick Theon could have cut it with a knife. “As in, for a vacation?”
The urge to roll his eyes was so strong that Theon clenched his free hand into a fist. Why did no one believe him when he said he left Ramsay? Why did everyone assume it couldn’t possibly be that? Oh, how dare Theon fucking Greyjoy leave.
“I left, as in I don’t live with Ramsay anymore.” How many times does he have to say those words? The hollowness in his chest expands as his heart remembers how Ramsay slept, always with his arm tight around Theon, as if afraid he might disappear in the night.
“I suppose that would explain why he was so...fresh,” Walda says with clarity, as if finally seeing the bigger picture.
Fresh. What a way to describe Ramsay. Only Walda could come up with such a term to describe Ramsay in such a demure way. Theon smiles despite himself. “What did he do? He didn’t get in trouble with Roose did he?”
Walda scoffs on the other end. “I simply asked him where you were and why you weren’t there with him. He turned red, you know how he does, then he snapped and said he’d done…well he swore at me, it was dreadful…he said he’d done fuckall to you…so I slapped him right in the face.”
The way she whispers ‘fuckall’ into the phone has Theon smiling widely. He always thought she was too sweet for the Bolton family. “You actually slapped him? How did he react? What did Roose do?”
Inquiring minds must know.
Theon can almost see Walda blushing. “Well. He stood up and he cursed me out good, screaming right in my face. He’s truly beastl- ah, sorry, Theon. Anyway. Roose just sat there sipping his scotch, just like he does every Friday dinner and cool as a fish told us we were both welcome to get out of his house and squabble in the street like a couple of ill paid whores.”
Roose wielded words the way Ramsay wielded a blade. “I’ll bet Ramsay took that well.”
“Not really. He left.”
“How…how do you think he is doing?”
Walda sighs loudly. “I couldn’t say exactly. You know he and I are not close by any means. He seemed off that night though, even before I asked about you. More gloomy and sullen than usual. I think he was putting on a brave face for his father. There was something in his eyes, something dangerous. He didn’t want anyone to talk about your absence.”
Perhaps Ramsay cared after all. Theon doesn’t want to dwell on the idea, it’s a dangerous idea, but he can’t let it rest at that. “Walda, did you think I was crazy for being with him?”
She goes quiet for a few moments, most likely trying to figure out how to speak her piece without offending Theon. “I never liked how he treated you.”
Theon swallows audibly, feeling like a rock had settled in his esophagus at her words.
“But,” she continues slowly, “there’s something to be said for the fact that he acted like you were the only thing he saw in the room. It’s not your fault he is how he is. That blame rests with Roose.”
“Thanks for being honest,” Theon whispers, trying to not think of Ramsay’s eyes and how they swallowed him whole.
“I’m always here for you, Theon. Even if you stay far away from us for your own good.”
Theon bids her goodnight and ponders her words. He should stay far away, but deep down he doesn’t want to. He’s lost amongst the Stark’s, a Greyjoy floating along with the wolves. His self-identity has been broken down and destroyed so many times he barely knows how to wrap it around his bones anymore.
He tries to play at being self-sufficient, but it ends up feeling like he’s a child playing at being an adult. Everything he does never turns out right, even now, even here. Robb gives him those hopelessly disappointed looks now and again, like he wishes Theon were something more.
Only he doesn’t know, Robb doesn’t know that there isn’t any more to Theon. There never was, aside from the sad boy that hid behind a too wide, too fake smile.
The memory hits Theon painfully and he wishes he could push it away.
“The first time I saw you, that stupid grin was on your face. I’d never seen someone try so hard to hide behind a smile. And you tried so hard, didn’t you?” Ramsay pins him to the bed, his hands holding Theon’s down into the bedsheets.
He’s on all fours, looking down at Theon with a sly grin, his white teeth glinting in the dark. “That’s how I knew I had to have you,” Ramsay says, “That look on your face. It reminded me of something.”
“What do I remind you of?” Theon asks, his heart pounding in his chest out of excitement and fear, a heady combination.
“Tragedy,” Ramsay breathes into his ear.
His fingers idly caress the x carved into Theon’s shoulder, lined with teeth marks.
Swiftly, Ramsay lowers his body to line up with Theon's. His mouth devours Theon's like nothing Theon has ever felt. There is no comparison to how Ramsay tries to consume him, the way he hungrily grinds his cock against Theon's, gasping into his mouth. They still have both of their clothes on, yet Theon has never felt so needed in his life. Ramsay's fingers make their way into Theon's mouth roughly and Theon sucks on them diligently, loudly. Ramsay grins that monster grin and presses his throbbing cock against Theon even harder, slipping his hand into the back of Theon's jeans. Theon feels the fingers slip between his cheeks and he inhales sharply as Ramsay thrusts them inside.
Theon winces and Ramsay snickers cruelly as he thrusts against Theon in time to his fingers. At first it hurts, it's rough, but eventually Theon opens up under Ramsay's aggressive ministrations. When he is near boneless under Ramsay, he hears the clink of Ramsay's belt as he takes it off and wraps it around Theon's neck. Nervously, Theon grasps at it, but Ramsay only pulls it tighter as he lowers his own jeans to reveal his aching cock, curling up towards his belly button. It's hard to breathe, but the sensation of Ramsay's large cock head pushing into Theon drowns out his fears.
That is until the belt gets even tighter and things go dark.
Robb and Theon go out to dinner to one of their old favorites. Robb’s work has been so hectic that he hasn’t had too much to hang out with Theon the way he would have years ago. They sit in their booth sipping whiskey on the rocks, clinking their glasses together.
The silence is comfortable and Theon can almost pretend nothing ever changed between them. They talk about things that don’t matter, certainly not about things that would lead to dark conversation. Robb wants to walk on the safe side, that much is obvious.
Theon, well. Theon never walks on the safe side.
“What if things had turned out differently?” Theon asks, swirling the whiskey around in his glass, eyeing it intently.
Robb stiffens visibly. “What do you mean?”
Theon shrugs his shoulders. “What if we had, you know, ended up together.”
Robb looks at him from under lowered lashes and sips his drink. “Theon, you know I’m going to marry Jeyn-”
Waving him off, Theon shakes his head. “I know. I’m just saying. What if?”
Sighing, Robb looks elsewhere for a moment before allowing his blue eyes to drift back to Theon. “We were brothers, Theon. I don’t have what you are looking for.”
Not liking the answer, Theon snaps, “You know so well what I’m looking for then, do you?”
“I know what you’re not looking for. I’m safe. You always liked the thrill far more than being safe,” Robb says finally, looking ill. “I’m what you wish you wanted.”
His words strike deep and Theon rubs his eyes anxiously. Leave it to Robb to brutally honest. Theon thought that was Jon’s job, but apparently both brothers have the same brand of bluntness. “I guess you think I deserve what happened and that I brought it on myself too, huh?”
Downing his drink, Robb signals the waitress for another. A double this time. “I think you became the obsession of a dangerous man and you liked how that made you feel.”
Robb isn’t wrong.
He’s shopping with Sansa when it happens.
They go farther into town than usual, Theon holding all of Sansa’s bags as she flits from store to store happily. She buys him a few things too, new sunglasses, sneakers, and a nice watch to boot. She is far too generous, but Theon likes being showered with affection.
When they round the corner a block from the ice cream parlor, Bolton steps out of his black Mercedes at the curb and strides towards the bank. His pale eyes catch Theon by surprise and all the air in his lungs evaporates.
Frozen in place, it takes Theon a few moments to actually realize that it isn’t Ramsay, but rather his father.
Stupid, Theon thinks to himself, you know Ramsay drives a nightfall gray Camaro that’s louder than sin.
“Theon. You look…well.” Roose doesn’t look pleased or displeased, in fact he looks simply cold and emotionless, per the usual.
When one met Roose, one could begin to understand why Ramsay was such a fucking nut.
“As…as do you, Sir,” Theon stutters out, drinking in those light eyes, so similar to Ramsay’s.
It’s almost as good as looking at him…but not quite.
A dark tilt shapes Roose’s lips into a tight smirk, like he knows exactly what Theon is thinking. He steps past Theon, close enough to brush his sleeve, and nods politely to Sansa. With that, he enters the bank, the door shutting behind him softly.
“Good grief, that man gives me the creeps,” Sansa whispers, staring after Roose as she hugs herself.
All Theon can think about it how similar Roose’s cologne is to Ramsay’s. It has to be the same brand, it was so similar, yet had a small difference to it, more musky rather than spicy. A cold scent, rather than hot.
“You’d fuck my father, wouldn’t you? You unfaithful slut,” Ramsay growls as he thrusts into Theon from behind, his eyes mad with envy. “I saw how you looked at him tonight. Do you think he’d treat you better than me?”
“I…I…ugh…mhn…think no such thing,” Theon moans, reaching down to grasp his own cock.
Ramsay groans into his ear, his heated breath bathing Theon’s neck. “You’re mine and if you let him so much as touch you, you’d best start digging your own grave.”
Theon orgasms hard, biting hard into the sheets to try and hide his surprised scream. Ramsay chuckles darkly and drapes his whole body over Theon’s form, taking them both flat down onto the bed, grinding his hips hard into Theon’s rear as he pants loudly.
“Don’t fucking bite the sheets,” Ramsay snarls, “I want him to hear you.”
“Ramsay…” Theon whines in dismay, he face turning bright red with shame.
“That’s better, now say it louder,” Ramsay hisses, thrusting hard enough to make the solid wood headboard hit the wall, adding to the sound of their flesh slapping together wetly.
When Theon doesn’t say it again, Ramsay reaches around and grips Theon’s balls hard, squeezing. Theon can’t help crying out from the pain. “Ramsay, please, don’t-”
Ramsay is an animal in bed. It was one of those things that kept Theon wanting more. He’s loud, he’s got a loud filthy mouth that could put any porn star to shame. “You make me so fucking hard, your tight ass so hungry for my fucking cock…fuck…Th..Theon. I want fill you up with my seed and watch it drip down your legs when you walk around my father’s house…”
“You’re disgusting,” Theon yelps, feeling his cock begin to fill again against his better judgement.
Ramsay grabs Theon by his hair roughly, forcing his head back. “And you belong to me. Only me. Forever. I ought to chain you to this bed and just fuck you all day long, every day. Just…uhn…like…this!”
With a loud groan, Ramsay stills, pressed hard against Theon’s rear as he empties into him. After a moment, he pulls out slowly, pausing to spread Theon’s cheeks to look at his twitching hole. He grins as his cum drips out slowly and then sinks his teeth into Theon’s left cheek hard.
The memory is so vivid that it leaves Theon’s stomach heating up. Theon closes his eyes, because by now he is scared that he is ready to fall off the wagon.
It’s been a few weeks now.
Like an addict, Theon’s hands are trembling desperately. He wants, oh how he wants. He knows Ramsay is poison in his veins, but he needs this drug to take him away from reality.
He never seemed to fit in anywhere else anyway.
Feeling like a criminal, Theon takes his phone out onto the balcony from his bedroom. He can’t afford to have anyone hear this call, although he knows they will all know soon enough.
Guilt eats at him, but his need outweighs the guilt.
Theon dials the number and breathes out shakily, waiting to hear the voice he has been aching to hear again. The ringing stops abruptly and Theon holds his breath. There is a stern silence and then, “Why are you calling me?”
The voice is guarded, almost flat and clear of emotion. Theon knows that isn’t the case at all. Theon knows enough to know that those flat words really mean ‘why haven’t you called me?’ The voice is enough to make his heart beat faster than it has in ages.
Theon feels his throat tighten with emotion, he promised he wouldn’t give in, he promised Robb, but like an addict he can’t stay away any more. He speaks only two syllables and he feels like his heart is breaking all over again.
“Ramsay.” Theon’s voice cracks horrendously and he hears the other man inhale sharply.
There is a moment of silence on the other end, and then, “I’m waiting for the answer to my question.”
“C-ccan I c-ccome home?” Theon stutters, terrified and exhilarated all at once.
I don’t know who I am without you anymore. I don’t have a home without you. Give me purpose again, please, I beg you. Make me hurt, I don’t even care anymore.
There is a sigh and Theon can almost imagine how it would feel against his neck, the curve of that sharp shark smile.
“Are you mine?”
The answer surges out of Theon’s mouth like a wave. “Yes, of course I am!”
“Until when?”
“Always,” Theon gasps, because he’s never been so sure of something in his life.
“Then you have your answer. If I were you, I wouldn’t keep me waiting.”
The tone of voice of is light and playful, but Theon can feel the razorblades behind it. Somehow, he still finds himself leaving the Stark’s home, eager to have that sharp tongue dragging a line down his spine.
It feels like losing, but damn, Theon is willing to self-destruct in the fire of his own making.
x