Chapter Text
Walk of shame
Sansa wakes up abruptly. Her shirt was gone, maybe lying somewhere around the corner of the room on the fuzzy carpet, her shorts hanging on dresser. Her underwear was gone for good, somewhere between the fold of sheets or hidden by the doorway. She couldn't exactly remember when she took them off or if that was even her doing. ‘Maybe he undressed me,’ she thought.
Her neck heats up as she takes a quick peek at the sleeping beauty, some guy with golden hair and a scar along his hip bone. He turns a fraction, facing her, causing her to freeze for a moment. His eyes stays shut, as he groggily hugs his pillow, practically kissing it. Sansa's eyebrows lifts up in amusement as she takes him in. With a sigh, she gets off the bed, tip-toeing around his apartment, she lifts her black shorts and yanks them on. As she picks up her grey, which is by the way tattered and practically in shreds, the foggy image of the last night clears up. She steps out of the threshold of the room, cringing slightly as she remembers every tid bids of information she was missing from last night.
Desperate, she finds a discolored muscle tee on his floor and manages to tug it over her shoulder-length red hair, the straight strands tangled and greasy. That’s when she finds her woolen hat. Bingo. She smacks that baby on and hightails it out of his bedroom. Empty beer cans scatter the narrow hallway, and she stumbles over a bottle of Jack Daniels. She rolls her eyes, kicking it away with her foot as she continues to walk.
Last night she broke a rule. Why? It’s because she has a problem. Well, she has so many problems but saying no happens to be one of them. When Kappa Phi Delta announced that Skrillex would be playing in their basement, She thought the crowd would be a mixture of sorority girls and regular college folk. Maybe she’d be able to land a normal guy who likes house music. Turns out, the demographic centered on frat guys. Lots of them. Preying on anyone with two boobs and a vagina. And Skrillex never showed. It was just a lame DJ and a few amps. Go figure.
Deep, male voices echo off the marble balusters on the balcony and staircase, and her feet cements by the wall. People are awake? Downstairs? Oh no. The walk of shame is a venture she is planning to avoid all four years of collegiate society. For one, she blushes. Like intense tomato-red. No cute flushed cheeks. She literally just wants to get out of there without anyone noticing but she thinks that’s impossible. She sighs, crossing her arms. Whatever.
Her options are limited. One staircase, one fate. As soon as she reaches the top step, the doorbell rings. Sansa peeks over the railing, her eyes darting out to see about ten fraternity brothers gathered around the leather sofas, dressed in different versions of khaki shorts and collard shirts. One man manages to get up to answer the door. She realizes that it’s the only opportunity to get out, considering everyone’s distracted. Halfway to the bottom, Squared-jaw leans on the door frame, blocking the entrance.
“Party’s over, man.” The words sound cottony in his mouth. He let’s the door swing shut in this person's face. She hops over two more stairs. The bell rings again and for some reason, this time it sounds angrier. Squared-jaw groans and yanks the knob hard.
“What?” Another frat guy laughs.
“Just give him a beer and tell him to piss off.” A few more steps. Maybe she can really do this. Squared-jaw keeps his hand planted on the frame, still blocking the passage. “Speak.”
“First of all, does it look like I can’t read a clock or furthermore don’t know what daytime looks like? No shit, there’s no party.” Holy… she knows that voice.
She stays planted three-quarters down. Sunshine trickles through a tiny space between the door frame and Squared-jaw’s tangerine-orange Polo. He clenches his teeth, about ready to slam the door back in the other guy’s face, but the intruder puts his hand on it and says, “I left something here last night.”
“I don’t remember you being here.”
“I was.” He pauses. “Briefly.”
“We have a lost and found,” Squared-jaw says curtly.
“What is it?” He edges away from the door frame and nods to someone on the couch. They watch the scene like a reality rerun on MTV.
“Janos, go grab the box.” When she glances back, she notices the guy outside. Eyes right on her.
“No need,” he says.
Sansa's eyes sweeps over his features. Black curls tied up in a bun. Grey eyes looking back at her. Decently toned body hidden beneath the pair of dockers and black crew neck tee. Jon Snow is alcoholic beverage and he doesn't even know it.
As he stares at her, he wears a mixture of amusement and irritation, the muscles in his jaw twitching with both. The frat guys follow his gaze and zero on the target.
Her.
“Found her,” Jon says with a tight bitter smile.
Sansa has never felt more exposed in her whole life as she did now. She practically sprints towards the door.
Squared-jaw laughs like he won their masculine showdown. “Your girlfriend is a skank, man.”
Jon glowers at him, as he grabs the man by the lapels of his shirt, “if you so much as even look at her, I swear the old gods and the new, my face is the last thing you will see before you take your last breath on this damned place.” With that, he shuts the door with more force than intended, the scowl on his face still visible.
Sansa's cheeks reddens with shame, her eyes falling on him once more. Oh. My. God.
Jon swoops behind her, his arms flying around her waist. His chin sets up on her shoulder. “He better have been worth it,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling her neck.
“Um… worth what?” Sansa asks, little breathless. His closeness both confusing and tempting her.
He guides her forward, as they walk, her back still pressed against him. Sansa can barely lift her foot, let alone think straight.
“Your first walk of shame in frat house. How'd that feel?”
“Well, I don't think walk of shame is supposed to make you feel anything other than shameful?”
Jon's lips twitched in amusement. He presses a light kiss on her forehead and disentangles from her, walking forward. “Pick it up, Stark. I left my drink in car.”
Sansa chuckles, “that weirdly rhymes, Snow.” Her eyes widens in realization, “please tell me you didn't drive the whole way here.”
Jon flashes her a look, ‘really Sansa?’ He raises his eyebrow accusingly, “Seeing how my driver is unavailable, I called Davos.”
He called her personal driver. She knew why. Jory had loose lips. Last time when they were in ninth grade, Margaery Tyrell threw a rager, her and Jon might have been discussing narcotics and that information was passed on to her mother. From that very moment, they both learned important lesson. Never trust Jory.
She preferred to not use her family’s car service and thus embed herself further in their grips, but sometimes Davos was a necessity. Like now. When she's slightly hungover and unable to drive the perpetually drunk Jon Snow.
“Seriously? Why are you here now? Aren't you supposed to be at, oh I don't know? Your economic class?” She asks raising her eyebrows at him, her hands automatically going to rest on her hips.
“What are you, Stark? A class police?”
“That’s not even a thing!”
“Aren't you hungover? You must be thirsty. Let’s stop at Café first or maybe home. You need to fill your tummy.”
“Jon---”
Her black Escalade is parked on the curb of the frat row. Multi-million dollar houses lined up in a row. Jon walks ahead of her. He is silent for a moment before he speaks, “I showed up because I was worried for you."
“Oh…” Sansa bites her lower lip, her eyes searching his.
“Well, yeah. Besides, if something happens to you, Robb will kill me,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Jon, I’m sorry for worrying you. If it helps, this is probably going to be the last ever expedition to a frat house.”
“It does help. Now get in, Sansa. You really need to eat something.”
The driver's window rolls down revealing Davos's face. “Which way, miss Stark?”
She stays rooted to the spot, she doesn't know why but sometimes she really hates that it has to be this way. She has a problem. She looks at Jon again, her heart breaks a little. If her mother knows what she does, she is pretty sure she will be sent in a rehab and be fixed for her family. The problem is she doesn't want to be fixed. She wants to be free. To enjoy and to go to the parties and have lots of sex.
Jon shakes his head, rubbing his eyes wearily, “We need to go Sansa. Are you okay?”
Sansa bits her lip, the obvious question burning on her tongue. “Are we pretending today?” she blurts out.
With Davos closeup, she always knew it’s a risk. But Davos has never given her a reason to doubt him. He is loyal to her. Even when she screwed a senior soccer player in tenth grade in the backseat of the car. He never sold her out. Because if he did, her trust fund would magically vanish at the sign of her impropriety. She is not ready to walk away from money and frankly Jon's family is way worse when it comes to reputations. They are equally unforgiving if not worse.
“We'll pretend,” Jon smirks.
“Come on, love,” he taps her ass. “Into the car.” She will never not get used to his term of endearment for her. Even though it’s quite common, his northern accent makes it so much better. And sexier. Her eyes falls to his lips. He breaks into a wide smile. Jon's smiles are rare but if he ever does that, it’s for her. Only her.
“Has the walk of shame crippled you? Or do I need to carry you into the threshold of Escalade too?”
Sansa scoffs, “that’s unnecessary.”
His crooked grin makes it hard not to smile back. Jon purposely leans into her, to tease her, his hand slipping in the back of her jeans pocket.
“If you don't unfreeze from this state, right now, I’ll spin around and spank your pretty little arse. Hard.”
“You won't dare,” She deadpans. Jon growls, his lips nearing her ear as she feels his hand squeeze her ass.
“Want to bet, sweetheart? You know I will, oh I will, my sweet girl. You know that.” His hot breath fanning her neck and her ear bringing heat to the places she'd rather not think about now. Sansa gulps, placing a hand on his chest, pushing him away.
“Asshat.”
Jon chuckles, his hand drops out of her pocket. He raises both of his hands in surrender. She exhales before getting into the car. Jon slides in as well, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.
“You okay, stark?” he presses another kiss to her forehead, his mouth forming a firm line after that.
“Yes Jon, I’ll be okay. It’s just little headache.”
“Honestly Sansa, Do we really have to go to Margaery's party?” Jon leans back a little against the seat.
“You know we do. If we are going to convince our parents, and the world that we are dating, we have to.” Sansa cringes a little. She feels bad for dragging him into this but she knows it’s for is good just as it’s just hers.
“I really don't like her. Just saying. It’s like nothing escapes her notice. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Literally anything that gives you attention makes you uncomfortable, Jon. You’re like this stupid magical stone, hiding yourself from the world. You rarely show up at these events. Of course they are going to wonder,” she grins. She knows how much Jon hates to be around people. She doesn't blame him. His father is a huge business tycoon and a Targaryen. That alone warrants the power and attention his presence deserves.
Jon rolls his eyes, “Whatever, Stark. You lost me at the stupid stone comment.”
“Well, I wasn't going to call you handsome. It’s going into your pretty little head and suddenly there are going to be two heads. One for you and other for your ego. We know it doesn't quite fit.”
“So you’ll insult me and call me a stupid stone?” he teased.
“Its figure of speech, you dolt.” She hits him softly on his shoulder.
“Jesus, since when did you get this strong?” Jon asks her, teasing glint in his eye still visible. Sansa rolls her eyes, keeping her smile in. She genuinely treasures their friendship, their banter, even their fights. She really has no idea where she would be if it were not for Jon. Jon is her only Rock in the whole world, her best friend, her fake boyfriend and her world. She sighs, rests her head on his shoulder, completely leaning against him. His body offering her safety she has lost a long time ago. She knows if it needed be, Jon would die for her. She just hopes he knows she would do the same for him.
Davos offers Sansa goodbye before she mutters thanks. She hops off from the Escalade. Jon clasps her hand in his, offering her a firm squeeze. Sansa sighs in relief. He runs his other finger along her smooth neck, she shudders, closing her eyes.
“Is someone here?” she whispers.
“Yes, its Arya. She is hiding. She thinks she is doing a great jo-" Sansa stops him before he rants on.
“Just do whatever you do, you know pda things.”
Jon's gaze fixes on her collar. He sets his hands on the opening of her muscle shirt, touching the bareness of her ribs. Sansa's eyes snaps up to his, her breathing grows ragged. This isn't true. It’s all lie.
“Is she still watching?” Sansa asks him again, her eyes fluttering shut as he trails his lips over her cheek.
“Yes,” he sounds as breathless as she does. “In this moment, I’m yours,” his hands runs through the armholes of her shirt, as he settles them on bare shoulder blades. She is holding her breath, immobilized, shocked, whatever.
“And as your fake boyfriend, I really, really hate to share,” he murmurs. He playfully nibbles her neck. Sansa smacks him on his arm. Somehow now she is convinced that Arya is not there, and if she was, she knows her sister would not stick for the show.
“Jon!” Sansa shrieks. Her body squirming underneath his as his teeth pinched her skin.
Suddenly his lips are close together, sucking the base of her neck, trailing upward. Her limbs tremble as she holds his belt loops to stand straight. He smiles, in between his kissing, very well knowing the effect he has on her. His lips travels to her jaw to the corner of her mouth. He pauses. Sansa has half mind to pull himself to her and finish the job herself. But before she could as so much as complain, he slips his tongue inside her mouth, and she forgets the fakeness of his actions for a moment. She believes he is hers for a moment, just this once. Be still her traitorous heart. She wishes it was true but she knew it’s all the show.
She kisses him back, running her hands on her back of neck, pulling him into her a little further. She moans, her sound invigorates him as he pulls her closer now. Yes. Please. Yes yes yes.
Suddenly his lips are gone, no longer there. He breaks the kiss, his eyes falling on hers, his chest rising and falling with every breath. His eyes dark as black.
“She's gone.” He tells her. She nods mutely. Right. Of course. She could easily slam him against the gates. She wants to but she stops right there. She could see Jon’s jaw clench. He peels off his hands off her and rubs his mouth. Tension stretches between them and she wants to pounce at him, tell him she wants him to fuck her but she can't. It will disrupt system. Because he is JONATHAN FUCKING SNOW and he is a Targaryen. She cannot screw him as much as she wants him.
“Um… I’ll see you inside, love,” with that, he walks away from her, opening the gates. Their mansion comes into the view as the both walk. She shakes her head. Three years long fake relationship with her best friend. Wonder what could go wrong huh? Either it’s going be epic or its going to go down in flames.