Sam supposes he should be happy that after the first couple of weeks, everyone but Ser Thorne quits with jokes about him being Jon’s lady love - they probably found them old, by now. Sam is grateful for that because he doesn’t exactly need to hear it spoken - everyone assumes that he blushes and looks down at the ground whenever he hears one because he feels ashamed. No one knows that Sam wishes it was the case and that he never wants Jon to find out - the last thing he knows is alienating his first real friend not even a month after they meet.
Except that Ser Thorne can’t really quit it. Sam wishes he would also because he doesn’t like the way he says it, and he doesn’t like the way Jon’s eyes darken when Thorne calls him Lord Snow. And he wishes he had the guts to say it out loud, but he barely had the guts to look at Jon in the eye half of the time in the beginning.
Then again, Jon has more guts than him.
And he’s probably fed up with it, as well.
It’s been about two months since Sam arrived at the Wall. It’s dinner. Ser Thorne has just wondered out loud whether Lord Snow’s lady love has at least lost some weight since arriving here.
And Jon has raised his head from his plate and staring at him murderously. Sam is half-sure that this is going to end horribly.
The last thing he expects is for Jon’s mouth to curl up in a small grin before addressing Ser Thorne.
“Ser, even if it was the case, why are you so interested?”
The entire dining hall falls silent.
“I am what?”
“Well, it seems to me like you are always inquiring about what me and my lady love do in our spare time and I was merely wondering why. Because if you wish to take my place, then I’m afraid it’s not going to happen.”
Sam goes red in the face and Thorne chokes on his ale.
“Snow, what are you even implying?”
“Why, do I have to repeat myself?”
Sam thinks that he must have gone purple the moment Jon put a hand on his wrist.
It ends with the both of them having to clean the dining hall for two weeks straight.
“Why did you even do it?” Sam asks Jon as they walk back to their rooms that evening. “I mean, he was grating on my nerves, too, but you didn’t have to -”
“I was sick of it,” Jon says, shrugging. “And it’s not just about me. You’re my brother, Sam. I’m not letting him talk about it as if something shameful. You - I hope you didn’t mind? I mean, I didn’t think before speaking, but -”
“I - I didn’t,” Sam stammers, and then he thinks, could it be that he’s fine with the idea? “Uh, Jon, just - do you actually - I mean, you were saying that you wouldn’t mind if the two of us -”
“Sam? Shut up,” Jon replies, and then he’s pushing Sam in a dark corner of the hallway and his mouth is on Sam’s and Sam thinks his hands are shaking like never in his life as he reaches up and puts them on Jon’s shoulders, and when they part, he feels breathless and dizzy and good.
“No, I wouldn’t mind,” Jon says quietly.
“Oh. Because - well. I wouldn’t either. Mind, I mean.”
Jon kisses him again and Sam stops thinking altogether.
Except that Ser Thorne can’t really quit it. Sam wishes he would also because he doesn’t like the way he says it, and he doesn’t like the way Jon’s eyes darken when Thorne calls him Lord Snow. And he wishes he had the guts to say it out loud, but he barely had the guts to look at Jon in the eye half of the time in the beginning.
Then again, Jon has more guts than him.
And he’s probably fed up with it, as well.
It’s been about two months since Sam arrived at the Wall. It’s dinner. Ser Thorne has just wondered out loud whether Lord Snow’s lady love has at least lost some weight since arriving here.
And Jon has raised his head from his plate and staring at him murderously. Sam is half-sure that this is going to end horribly.
The last thing he expects is for Jon’s mouth to curl up in a small grin before addressing Ser Thorne.
“Ser, even if it was the case, why are you so interested?”
The entire dining hall falls silent.
“I am what?”
“Well, it seems to me like you are always inquiring about what me and my lady love do in our spare time and I was merely wondering why. Because if you wish to take my place, then I’m afraid it’s not going to happen.”
Sam goes red in the face and Thorne chokes on his ale.
“Snow, what are you even implying?”
“Why, do I have to repeat myself?”
Sam thinks that he must have gone purple the moment Jon put a hand on his wrist.
It ends with the both of them having to clean the dining hall for two weeks straight.
“Why did you even do it?” Sam asks Jon as they walk back to their rooms that evening. “I mean, he was grating on my nerves, too, but you didn’t have to -”
“I was sick of it,” Jon says, shrugging. “And it’s not just about me. You’re my brother, Sam. I’m not letting him talk about it as if something shameful. You - I hope you didn’t mind? I mean, I didn’t think before speaking, but -”
“I - I didn’t,” Sam stammers, and then he thinks, could it be that he’s fine with the idea? “Uh, Jon, just - do you actually - I mean, you were saying that you wouldn’t mind if the two of us -”
“Sam? Shut up,” Jon replies, and then he’s pushing Sam in a dark corner of the hallway and his mouth is on Sam’s and Sam thinks his hands are shaking like never in his life as he reaches up and puts them on Jon’s shoulders, and when they part, he feels breathless and dizzy and good.
“No, I wouldn’t mind,” Jon says quietly.
“Oh. Because - well. I wouldn’t either. Mind, I mean.”
Jon kisses him again and Sam stops thinking altogether.
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