Chapter Text
One of his hands is in her hair, tangled in the messy curls he has freed from her braid.
The other hand is right by her head, palm flat out on the surface of his apartment’s door.
They are just looking at each other.
His eyes are hungry.
A wolf watching his prey.
Tender.
A man watching his woman.
She almost laughs at that.
His woman? Who does she think she is?
– almost.
She can’t chuckle or scoff or smile at her thoughts.
Not when his hand slides from next to her ear to her jaw, fingertips trailing down her neck, his palm on her collarbone and then down to her breast.
She sighs, cants her hips forward, she’s searching, demanding, pleading, begging.
For something.
For him.
The intensity of his gaze is almost enough to make her moan but she whimpers instead when he stops touching her through the fabric of the dress.
He tugs her locks a little, hard enough for her chin to jut forward but delicate enough that it doesn’t startle her. It just turns her on even more.
The sound that escapes her lips is almost obscene. Her blue eyes closed.
His arm is now circling her waist, she thinks he might kiss her.
She wants him to kiss her.
Oh, so desperately.
It’s impossible for them to get closer together, his leg is between her own, her hands have been moving rhythmically (chest, shoulders, neck, cheeks, hair) for the past ten minutes and she is completely at his mercy.
He finally – finally – leans closer.
His lips kiss her forehead first, unexpectedly soft. He presses a kiss to her temple next. Then her cheekbone, under her eye, the corner of her mouth.
She moves her face, chasing his touch but he pulls back. Not too much but enough to avoid contact.
He smirks and tuts at her, his words barely a whisper.
“What was that about classy girls?”
She steps out of the taxi, legs pressed together as to not flash anyone.
The dress she’s wearing is not sinfully short – she is meeting her siblings, after all – but it wouldn’t be Catelyn Stark approved and that might be enough to grant her some free drinks tonight.
The evening is chilly and she regrets not having brought a jacket until she enters Hot Pie’s.
It’s warm, all the tables are occupied and the chatter is loud.
The place stinks of beer and cheap liquor and the floor is sticky but she feels strangely comfortable.
She spots them in the back, drinks already in their hands, Robb signaling for her to join the group.
She hasn’t seen her family in months, a bad breakup had led her to pack up and leave town. She had traveled a lot, coming back with her head clearer and less marks on her skin.
She beams at her big brother who is now engulfing her in what could only be called a bear hug.
“I missed you so much, Sans. So much,” he mumbles in her hair.
She thinks about the fight they had just before she decided to book a flight to Italy.
She thinks about herself, crying on the phone, accusing him and their father of not caring enough about her.
She thinks about how desperately she had wanted Robb to burst through the door and break Joffrey’s nose.
Her family had learned then, during the phone call, how much she had suffered.
The selfishness that came with dropping everything without warning had felt incredibly good, necessary, cathartic.
In the months after her outburst Robb had reached out, to mend their relationship.
They had started talking again and now she brushes away the stray tear on his cheek, laughing.
“I missed you, too. I missed all of you,” and it’s true. So true it feels incredible to say out loud.
A confession.
An olive branch.
Peace.
Arya and Bran are next, the former all but throwing herself in her arms and the latter giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek.
They don’t need to say anything, the tenderness in their eyes and touches stronger than any word.
It’s then that she sees the other people at the table.
The first to catch her eye is Myrcella Baratheon, a carbon copy of her mother. She knows her and Bran have been dating for a while now but her green eyes unsettle her for a second before the girl smiles and everything about Cersei disappears in her features – the smile is too genuine, her eyes too soft. Sansa smiles back.
Then a man gets up, he is tall. Good looking. Gendry, she remembers his name from some of Arya’s Instagram photos.
To her surprise he blushes a little, shaking her hand while introducing himself. He doesn’t call himself Arya’s boyfriend but it’s obvious in the way her little sister looks at him, exasperated by his gentlemanly act but oh, so full of love.
A pang of jealousy hits her because she had always been the one who wanted the swooning romance. She had wanted to be swept away by a knight. Instead, she is the one that got hurt the most, the one who is now single and at times lonely.
It hurts too much to think about it so she focuses on how happy she is her little sister has found love because Sansa is nothing if not a big sap.
Jeyne tries to get up, shutting down Robb’s complains but Sansa comes closer to her instead and puts a hand on her belly with her permission.
Six months pregnant and glowing, her sister-in-law looks tired but happy and Sansa is grateful she came back when she did, she wouldn’t dare miss her nephew’s birth.
Sitting next to the only free chair it’s a man she barely recognizes, he’s wearing glasses and has now a beard that suits him perfectly but it’s the curly black hair that gives his identity away.
Jon Snow is looking straight at her, smirking and..
When did he get this hot?
When did Robb’s childhood best friend become a man worthy of her wildest sexual fantasies?
She tries to remember him at Robb and Jeyne’s wedding. So long ago now.
She had been so preoccupied with Joffrey, he had been so angry when she had had to go back North for the ceremony, that she had not paid much attention to anything but her phone for the whole weekend.
She vaguely recalls Jon, arm in arm with his girlfriend. Ygritte. A redhead.
The thought comes unbidden and she tucks it away for later consideration.
She takes the seat next to him, her cheeks a little red.
“Hey, how do you do?” she asks.
He chuckles, fingers playing with the label of his half finished beer.
“I’m good, Sansa,” he looks at her, “how have you been?”
It feels intimate, the way he is speaking to her. Heads closer to hear each other better, his eyes fixated on her.
She feels almost compelled to tell him that she still cries out when a man she doesn’t know lifts his arm too abruptly, that she still has nightmares, that she refuses to open up completely to her therapist, that even though she has forgiven them, she can never forget how her family accepted her distance without questioning her motives. Instead she nods, as if to say that everything is fine and starts talking about all the places she has visited during her months away.
The others join in the conversation too but she finds herself speaking to Jon the most.
He is a good listener, laughing at the right time and contributing to the conversation. It feels liberating.
They get closer, as the night goes on.
His chair is now completely turned towards her and their legs touch, the table is relatively small and there’s not a lot of space so when she basically finds herself with one leg over his knee she blames it on that and the beers they are having.
Very shitty beers.
The logo has a kangaroo on it and when he points out how much he hates kangaroos she laughs so hard she cries.
When the music starts the whole table – except Jeyne – is tipsy enough to match her own excitement when she stands up and demands they dance.
She twirls around with the other girls for what feels like hours. She fails to remember when she has last felt this carefree.
She dances with her brothers too, she makes Bran’s wheelchair spin and it probably annoys the other people on the makeshift dance floor but they don’t care.
Jon puts an arm around her waist when the others are all coupled up and she giggles when he starts slow dancing with her.
“Jon?”
They are swaying left and right and he is holding her against him.
“Mh?” he looks at her, cheeks rosy and a grin on his face.
“Why are we slow dancing to Britney Spears?”
He starts laughing so hard it’s contagious, soon they are both giggling like mad but still in each other’s arms.
When they stop and the song ends he doesn’t let go so she just puts her head on his shoulder and enjoys the rhythmic lull of his breathing.
She wonders if he does it a lot, if he is used to going in bars and flirting with random pretty girls but it doesn’t seem like something Jon would do. And she’s not a random pretty girl, not to him.
When they get back to table, Jeyne and Robb are getting ready to go home and Sansa hugs them both with the promise of lunch some time next week.
When Bran and Myrcella call it a night too Jon is showing her his half a dollar ring, which is actually pretty fucking cool and it gives her an excuse to focus on his hands.
Then, Arya and Gendry decide to call a taxi and they leave but not before her little sister raises her eyebrows suggestively at them.
Once they are alone she fears the atmosphere might break but he just gets more comfortable in his chair and lifts her legs, putting them fully across his own. He strokes her calves up and down while he talks about uni and work and his ex-girlfriends and life in general.
She’s completely enraptured by him, the way he pushes his glasses up and the way he ruffles his hair making it even more messy.
She wonders what would have happened if she had given Jon a chance before today, if she had noticed him earlier but dwelling in the past is never healthy so she focuses again on how funny and smart and extremely pretty he is.
The crowd has calmed down by now but they are still sitting with their heads close and when he leans in for a kiss she’s not surprised.
She’s the one that surprises him by turning her head down, instead of meeting him halfway.
“Why?” his voice is hoarse and when she looks at him she expects anger or disappointment but what she sees is concern, confusion.
She understands then what kind of man he is.
She should’ve known, Robb and Arya would never be friends with a terrible person, but she’s so relieved she can trust him completely she feels like crying.
She beams at him instead, so incandescently happy he can’t help but smile back.
“Oh, Jon,” she tuts at him, jokingly. “You have done nothing wrong. It’s just what it is”
His hand is on her thigh, high enough but way too low.
“Classy girls don’t kiss in bars like this” and he laughs.