Is This To Be Our Fate
Co written with faithbeckett. I was going to put section breaks between the stuff I wrote and the stuff she wrote, but I actually can't remember...not sure if thats a good thing or not.
Winter is in the air, Jon can feel it. Cold fingers ghosting over the back of his neck, sending shivers of cold and fear down his spine. The cub he'd found earlier is curled up, warm and solid, in his lap as he fiddles with an arrowhead, warming the metal between his palms. He often sits up here, above the castle, looking out over Winterfell, his back against the cold stone. It gives him a sense of peace, a sense of calm, no matter what bustles down below.
"Winter's coming," Robb states, making Jon jump slightly as Robb slides down the wall into place next to Jon, his thigh pressing warmth into Jon's. Jon offers him a brief smile.
"Yes," he replies, his voice quiet as if unwilling to break the eerie stillness that hangs over Winterfell. The cub stirs, stretches and climbs off Jon's lap, glaring at Robb for waking him before pouncing on a stray leaf that flutters by. Robb's fingers are cold as they slide under Jon's thick furs, not quite as nice as Robb's but still more than enough to stave off the biting winds that howls around the parapets, but his palms are hot when they press into Jon's side, sliding over his skin, seeking the warmth from Jon's
body.
"We shouldn't," Jon says, and even to his own ears he can hear the need in his voice, the pathetic protest that’s only just for show now. Robb leans forward, his breath hot against Jon's lips.
"I know," he replies, his fingers dipping into Jon's breeches, calluses grazing over soft skin and Jon lets himself get lost in the feel of Robb's hands, the welcome warmth, the need in his kiss when he finally presses his lips to Jon's. After all, Winter is coming and they both will need as much warmth as they can find when it finally hits.
Because that’s the excuse he uses. The Winter. The cold coming. The need to prepare.
He can't remember the older one, the first excuse or any of its later reincarnations. They were barely past sixteen when it happened the first time, Robb's age easier to figure and Jon's given to him as the same because no one ever felt the need to pick another. They were close enough, father figured. And anything Jon would want in life would have to be slipped past Robb first anyway. When he was younger, that bothered Jon. But something about the way Robb smiled at him like they were twins in more ways than were logical always calmed him inside, made the shame subside into something easier. Lighter. As near to comfortable as Jon ever got. Sixteen. Wrestling in the trees and Robb had pinned him, something Jon only let happen rarely because he liked the way it made his skin ignite a shade more than he hated the way losing made him feel like he was worthless. Robb had been laughing, hair too long, curls slipping across his eyes and when he'd rolled his hips to get a better vantage Jon could not help the groan ripped from his lips if he tried.
Jon didn't try.
They're here now, though. Again. Always. The two of them seeking each other out and it's been harder to ignore these days. The older they get, the more ways Robb learns to make Jon beg, the ways Jon learns to make Robb stay. And if Jon were asked, and if furthermore he were willing to be honest even with himself, he'd probably say that's what the Wall is about. Why he's leaving. Because the older they get, the smaller Winterfell becomes. And because if anything bad were to come to Robb of Jon's doing, he would never be able to forgive himself. Robb doesn't get that, though. Jon can tell in his kiss, the way he moves into Jon's space, hands everywhere and lips searing against Jon's. The way he pulls Jon into him, keens against Jon's tongue like he's begging him not to leave. Not to ever leave. Like, even after all these
years, he still fails to see the danger in what they're doing.
"I do not get it, Snow," Robb pants into his neck as if he can hear Jon's very thoughts. Breaking the kiss so he can lick along Jon's jaw, suck the patch of skin behind Jon's ear that Robb knows makes Jon weak. Lethargic. Dizzy like he's had too much drink.
"This... we are good together, aren't we?"
Robb looks at him then, so close that Jon can taste his breath, his eyes wide, pleading with Jon and there is so much Jon wishes he could say. You will be married someday soon, perhaps. Winterfell will be yours and there will be no place for me. But Jon's words fail him so he speaks with his actions instead just like always. Rolling into Robb until Robb is flat on his back. Jon's own mouth hot and desperate as it latches onto Robb's pulse and refuses to let go. Words lost in the shuffle of touch like it's enough, even though Jon is afraid it no longer is.
"I don't want you to go," Robb's whispers, words harsh in Jon's ear, saying the very thing that Jon is thinking. Robb is good at that, good at reading Jon's mind, like they are actually twins and they have this connection that no one else could ever have. Jon's bites gently at his jaw, feels the day old stubble beneath his lips and Robb's pulse trips under his fingers as they press to his neck, curl around the back, into the long curls at the nape of his neck and tug gently.
"I have to," Jon says back, says it right into Robb's skin because if he looks up right now, says it whilst looking in Robb's eyes, he won’t go, he'll stay, stay here wrapped up in Robb forever. And it won’t be any life for either of them.
Robb whines, arches his hips upwards, grunts in frustration as his cloak gets tangled in his legs. Jon laughs, because if he doesn't right now he might cry, laughs as he pulls away far enough to get rid of his own cloak and undo the tie at Robb's throat, slide his hands over Robb's shoulders, pushing the cloak to the floor. Robb's fingers wind into Jon's clothes, pull him down into a kiss that almost hurts, teeth clacking together as Robb groans, wraps a leg around him and pulls them close, Jon's thigh slipping between Robb's.
"Fuck, Jon… I-"
Robb's words are bitten off as Jon kisses him again, pushes his hand into Robb's breeches, because Jon doesn't want to hear it. Robb is vocal, expressing himself in ways that Jon can't, won’t, and Jon doesn't want to hear it right now. He's on the edge of not going, of staying right here and he needs to go. And if Robb opens his mouth, says the words that he knows have been on the tip of both their tongues for years now, Jon will just give up and stay. He wraps his fingers around Robb, cold against Robb's flushed skin and Robb bucks up, bottom lip caught between his teeth, fingers clutching at Jon's shoulders as Jon twists his hand the way he knows Robb likes, the way that makes Robb's eyes roll back into his head, sweat breaking out over his forehead.
This is all we are, the voice in the back of his head tries to tell him. Robb's flesh tight in his fist, Robb's body lain out beneath him like a sacrifice to the gods. But Jon knows it's a lie. Knows that there's so much more to them, to both of them, Lord of Winterfell in the making and the bastard son of an honorable man but that's not what they are either. Thoughts tumbling through Jon's head as he presses his forehead to Robb's, leans in for better advantage and pulls on Robb like he's afraid he's never going to get another chance at this.
You won't, the voice says, but Jon ignores it because he has to.
"Jon," Robb groans harshly, his mouth open and needy, so close to Jon's he can taste his breath. Jon kisses him again, digs his thumb into the sensitive spot just beneath the head of Robb's dick to shut him up because Jon just needs to feel right now.
Everything.
Robb moans into Jon's mouth, like he usually does, pulls the noise right from his toes, groans and arches his hips, bucks them into Jon's tight fist, the skin of his dick hot and slick with precome and Jon all of a sudden wants to taste it, wants to know what Robb tastes like when he's like this, needy and desperate and breaking apart under Jon's hands. They don't do that though, they do this. They rut against each other, hands seeking, roaming over flushed skin, pressing into bruises and cuts and kisses harsh. They don't feel from the inside but Jon needs to now, needs to feel Robb inside, needs to know the noises Robb will make when he's buried deep in Jon. He pulls away and Robb whines, fingers tangling in Jon's furs, pulling him back like Jon's the only thing keeping him whole right now. Jon knows the feeling all too well and he calms Robb with a kiss, soothes with muttered words as he unwinds the laces on Robb's breeches. Robb freezes, his hands clutching even harder.
"What are you…”
"I need to.”
Jon shuts off Robb's words, pushes Robb's breeches down far enough to get his hand back around Robb's dick, fingers tightening at the base as he leans down, instinct taking over as he licks up the length of it even though he has no idea what the fuck he's doing. Robb jerks like he's been shot with an arrow, whole body arching upwards, his hands tangling in Jon's hair, fingers entwining in the curls and he tugs.
"Gods alive Jon… do… do that again.”
Jon can't help the smile at that, the way Robb's eyes go dark, pupils wide and the way his eyes flutter closed when Jon does it again, just like Robb asked. Jon thought he knew every noise Robb made. He closes his eyes at night sometimes, alone in
his bed and too frozen to do much other than roll into straw and scratchy blankets, imagining he can hear Robb moan, keen, whine, cry out like he's right there with Jon. Doing the things Jon hasn't ever dared to ask for, knows he never will. But the noise Robb makes when Jon finally closes his lips tightly around Robb’s dick, sucking slightly with an instinct Jon didn't even know he possessed, is one Jon is certain he's never heard before. It makes him shake. Deep down into his bones shake. His hands trembling as they reach out, grip around Robb's hips as much to hold himself steady as to hold Robb down.
His entire body burning like someone pressed a torch to his skin and let it burn as he closes his eyes and runs his mouth over Robb's flesh. Hollowing out his cheeks and sucking as if his life depends on it because as far as Jon knows, it just might. Robb follows the noise up with some of the filthiest language Jon has ever heard, his hands
pawing at Jon's hair, pulling disconnected at the strands as he strains against Jon's palms in an attempt to thrust upward. Thrust into Jon. And it makes Jon think of things that he knows damn him. Of Robb thrusting… into something else. Into Jon. Sweaty and naked, completely naked in a way Jon has never seen but that he's always wanted to as long as he can remember. As long as sixteen and oh how he has needed that. The same thoughts he has in the dark of the night, his breath quick and harsh as he breathes through his nose and holds on.
Holds onto Robb.
Jon's mind goes some place else with that thought, works at memorizing every moment of this. The way Robb feels, heavy on his tongue. The way he tastes, salty, musky, warm. The way his fingers tighten in Jon's hair almost to the point of unbearable pain when Jon runs his tongue down the vein in Robb's dick. The way Jon feels with the knowledge that he's finally had the courage to reach out and take a part of Robb he's been afraid to even think about, and the way it makes him want to take so much more. He's dizzy from the thought of it all, crazy and drunk on everything that is Robb, and that's what he blames it on when he pulls off. Robb's fingers tightening as he moans out Jon's name like he's dying. His eyes wide and so black he looks possessed as he tries to pull Jon back down into him.
"Wait," Jon whispers, his fingers trailing over Robb's lips, pressing into his mouth so Robb can suck them in a way that makes Jon feel weak inside. Weak in ways he hates to be. "Just…wait."
Jon is untying his own breeches, his fingers still shaking, the one's not twisting around Robb's tongue. His throat dry like the dirt after a long drought as he presses his palm hard into his own crotch just to calm himself a little before he says, utterly wrecked, "I want you, Robb." His voice serious in a way he hopes Robb gets as he pushes down his pants, twisting awkwardly so he can slip them mostly without having to pull his fingers out of Robb's mouth before he's getting back to his knees, settling over Robb's thighs as he says, "I need you."
He leaves the inside of me hanging in the air between them. By the look on Robb's face - half terrified, half so desperate it looks crippling - he gets exactly what Jon needs right now. And Jon has a quick thought of gratitude about that fact before the bone crushing fear of what he's about to do, the line he's about to cross, hits him like a sudden, blinding storm. Robb surges upwards though, Jon’s fingers leaving his mouth with a noise that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, pulling Jon close, and kissing him hard, chests pressed so close together and Robb’s fingers work under Jon’s shirt, pressing into his back, palm hot against Jon’s already heated skin. It feels like a brand and Jon knows that he’ll feel that touch for years to come, when he’s alone, in the frigid wilderness, nothing to stave off the cold except memories and his own hand.
“Jon,” Robb mutters, saying it right into Jon’s mouth and Jon knows what he’s saying, knows he’s asking if Jon is sure, if he means it. And gods, he’s never meant anything more in his entire life, not since they were young, probably thirteen and Jon had promised Robb that he would always be his brother no matter what, hands clasped around two identical cuts on their palms, pressing their blood into each other’s bodies. Not since then has he felt this sure about anything. He doesn’t answer though, just kisses Robb back, curls his fingers into Robb’s hair and grinds his hips down. Robb gasps into his mouth, hands pressing harder into Jon’s back, fingernails
digging in and Jon can feel the moment they both snap, the uncertainness leaving them both replacing itself with desperation as Robb presses them both back into the ground. Their legs tangle together and Robb grunts in frustration before wrapping one hand around Jon’s dick, the other still grasping at Jon’s hair as if he’s afraid to let go, like letting go would make this dream end, make reality come crashing back down around them and they would be back to them, dancing around each other, never doing what they want for fear of damnation, or rejection.
When Robb drags his hand upwards it feels like home, like the home Jon has never felt he truly had. Robb’s hand is warm, calluses on the palm catching lightly, sending tiny sparks of pleasure up his spine and Robb leans down to stop the keen that threatens to escape Jon’s throat. He drags his mouth away, nips at Jon’s jawline as he fumbles with Jon’s breeches, gets them all the way off and just stops. Body stilling as he stares down at Jon and Jon tries his hardest not to squirm under the dark, heavy gaze.
Jon reaches up, hand grasping at the air just in front of Robb, his back bending to try and reach farther, trail his fingers over Robb's cheek, his jaw. Stubble scratching along Jon's skin as he smiles. Nothing more, nothing less, just a simple smile that says I'm ready, Robb.
I always have been.
Neither one of them has ever done this before. With women even, as far as Jon knows, and especially with another man. And a spike of fear runs through Jon's body at that, making him shiver more than the cold on his bare skin is. But it's Robb, he reminds himself. Everything and nothing and just Robb and so Jon knows, somehow, that everything is going to be okay because that's what Robb does. He makes life livable. No mother and a father that can't even offer his name only Robb has always been there. Always been his. And to someone like Jon, that means everything.
"I think," Robb says shakily, his eyes uncertain as he leans down again, presses his body over Jon's and licks a line across his lips, shaking the whole way. "I think we might need…"
Robb doesn't say anything, trailing off into mumbled syllables as he stuffs his own fingers into his mouth, slicks them up before he's reaching beneath Jon, running them over Jon's ass before pushing between his cheeks. Pushing in. Jon hisses in pain, the best kind he's ever felt, and Robb is apologizing immediately like he thinks this was his idea. Is his fault. But when Robb goes to pull away Jon grabs his wrist a shade rougher than he probably needs to, his voice little more than a growl as he says, "don't," before pushing Robb's palm flat against his own ass. Biting his lip between his teeth and slamming his head back, shutting his eyes and nodding to show Robb that he can take it.
He can take it all.
It takes a while for the pain to wear into something else, something that makes Jon sweat even worse, makes his body break out in gooseflesh. A low moan working its way out of his chest as Robb continues to add fingers to his ass, twisting and bending them like he's an expert at this and Jon is already feeling like he's breaking apart when Robb hits a spot inside of him with one perfect, bit down nail and the sky explodes behind Jon's eyes.
It feels… Jon doesn't have words to explain how it feels.
"Snow, are you all right?" Robb asks frantically, his fingers stilling where they're touching Jon, in his ass and braced on his chest.
And Jon is actually laughing at that, hysteria riding thick as he says, "gods, Robb, I'm fine. Why in blazes are you stopping?"
Robb laughs back, a quick bark of a sound that's just as hysterical as the one Jon sent his way, his lips soft on the bridge of Jon's nose as he leans in and whispers, "so you ready then, Snow?" And Jon imagines he's never been more ready for anything in his entire life.
It hurts. Gods, it hurts. There isn’t enough of anything to ease the slide as Robb pushes in, just spit and sweat and precome, and Jon makes a mental note to find something the next time. The next time, if there is a next time. What if this is the only time he gets to feel this…
“Jon stop thinking.”
Robb’s voice is harsh, breaking and he stares down at Jon with those eyes that haunt his dreams. Under the pain there is a burn of something else, something dark mixing with the knowledge that they shouldn’t be doing this, something that makes Jon tremble even more as his fingers press into Robb’s shoulders. Robb is still staring down at him, his eyes worried, arms shaking, auburn curls falling onto his forehead.
“Move,” Jon manages to grind out, his voice sounding like he’s been shouting for hours, cracking past his dry throat and he swallows as Robb pushes in all the way, groans with Robb, always with Robb.
Robb pulls out and the pain lessens, eases slowly into something else as he pushes back in, shifts his hips and hits that spot right inside Jon again. Jon’s fingers slip on Robb’s shoulders, skitter across and down his arms as his whole body seems to seize up, lights bright behind his eyes that he doesn’t remember closing. Robb leans down and kisses him, his hips moving in a rhythm now, in, out, making sweat break out all over Jon’s skin, and something coils deep in his belly, everything fading out except Robb and the fact that he gets to do this now, finally. It almost takes him by surprise when his orgasm hits him. It’s been so long, too many nights spent curled up on his straw bed with other people in the room to do anything other than dream, than think about Robb’s hands on him. His stomach clenches, fingers tightening in Robb’s shoulders again, his blunt nails digging into skin and he feels himself come between them, hot and sticky and Robb groans, kisses him again, breathes his name into his mouth as his hips move erratically now.
Robb’s hands wind into his hair, fingers pressing into the scar on Jon’s scalp where he fell from a tree when he was seven, the only person around to pick him up was Robb and Jon wonders how they are going to survive without each the other to pick them up, to dust them off. Robb’s hips push in once more and he grunts, lip caught between his teeth and Jon feels the warmth as Robb comes buried deep inside.
“Gods, Jon, tell me you don’t want to go,” Robb says, breath hot against Jon’s neck and Robb is trembling, shivers running up his body and Jon trails his hand down Robb’s spine, loves the way Robb arches into it like he can’t help himself.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Jon says as an answer. Because he does want to go, he needs to go, but nothing could ever prepare him for having to leave Robb. If Jon had his way, they would both go, spend the rest of their lives wrapped up against the cold defending the seven kingdoms from the dangers that lay beyond the Wall. But Robb belongs here, in Winterfell and Jon belongs to the snow and ice of the Wall.
“That’s not what I wanted,” Robb sighs as he pulls out of Jon, a hiss escaping between Jon’s teeth at the pinch of Robb’s absence. Their bodies warm and slick as Robb rolls slightly off to the side before pillowing his head on Jon’s chest, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist like he still does not wish to let go.
“We have two different lives now,” Jon says because he thinks it’s important. He knows Robb is aware of his purpose in life, of both of their purposes. Paths that, the older they get, will only branch off further away from each other’s and they both know that. Probably knew it from the first moment they laid eyes on each other. But Jon still feels the need to remind Robb that it’s not personal. His leaving has nothing to do with Robb as a person, as the only person really. The only one that is stitched into Jon’s very skin. Because he can go, Jon will go, but he can’t leave without Robb’s understanding.
“You will be… be careful, right?” Robb asks quietly, his words stuttering like he’s ashamed to say them out loud. Ashamed to admit that he actually cares for Jon’s safety even though Jon’s pretty sure two people couldn’t possibly share any more than he and Robb have shared.
“Only if you are,” Jon replies with a light laugh that reaches nowhere near his heart, already freezing with the air making Jon’s sensitive skin tingle. His fingers ruffling through Robb’s hair in the way he knows Robb hates. It makes me feel like a child, Robb always says, only now the gesture makes Robb hold onto him tighter. His face turning so he can press his lips into Jon’s skin, rest them there for a few more stolen moments before he’s pulling away. Sitting up and being so very Robb Stark again as he informs Jon that if they don’t get dressed they’ll freeze, if they don’t get back into town, they’ll be missed.
And that is that. Is the end, Jon figures. The fork in the road that they both knew was coming but that sprung up far quicker than either of them probably predicted. Father heading off to King’s Landing and Robb acting as Lord of Winterfell and Jon deciding it was time for him to go. To grow. Only now that he’s on the verge of doing all that, leaving the only home he’s ever known and heading off to become a man, he feels more like a child than ever before. Holding onto his favorite toy and refusing to let it go even though the toy is a person. Is Robb. Is someone Jon had no business claiming in the first place.
“I’m hungry,” Robb says once they’ve finished getting dressed, the words hollow and flat in their normalness. The smile on Robb’s lips every bit as fake as his words.
“Me too,” is Jon’s only reply and he’s surprised how two words, two such simple words, can feel so much like a death sentence it’s palpable.
Me too, he thinks, as he follows Robb out of their hiding place for the last time. His eyes watching the way Robb moves like he’s preparing for later. For tomorrow. For Robb receding into the distance, away from Jon. Always away from Jon.
Me too.
Winter is in the air, Jon can feel it. Cold fingers ghosting over the back of his neck, sending shivers of cold and fear down his spine. The cub he'd found earlier is curled up, warm and solid, in his lap as he fiddles with an arrowhead, warming the metal between his palms. He often sits up here, above the castle, looking out over Winterfell, his back against the cold stone. It gives him a sense of peace, a sense of calm, no matter what bustles down below.
"Winter's coming," Robb states, making Jon jump slightly as Robb slides down the wall into place next to Jon, his thigh pressing warmth into Jon's. Jon offers him a brief smile.
"Yes," he replies, his voice quiet as if unwilling to break the eerie stillness that hangs over Winterfell. The cub stirs, stretches and climbs off Jon's lap, glaring at Robb for waking him before pouncing on a stray leaf that flutters by. Robb's fingers are cold as they slide under Jon's thick furs, not quite as nice as Robb's but still more than enough to stave off the biting winds that howls around the parapets, but his palms are hot when they press into Jon's side, sliding over his skin, seeking the warmth from Jon's
body.
"We shouldn't," Jon says, and even to his own ears he can hear the need in his voice, the pathetic protest that’s only just for show now. Robb leans forward, his breath hot against Jon's lips.
"I know," he replies, his fingers dipping into Jon's breeches, calluses grazing over soft skin and Jon lets himself get lost in the feel of Robb's hands, the welcome warmth, the need in his kiss when he finally presses his lips to Jon's. After all, Winter is coming and they both will need as much warmth as they can find when it finally hits.
Because that’s the excuse he uses. The Winter. The cold coming. The need to prepare.
He can't remember the older one, the first excuse or any of its later reincarnations. They were barely past sixteen when it happened the first time, Robb's age easier to figure and Jon's given to him as the same because no one ever felt the need to pick another. They were close enough, father figured. And anything Jon would want in life would have to be slipped past Robb first anyway. When he was younger, that bothered Jon. But something about the way Robb smiled at him like they were twins in more ways than were logical always calmed him inside, made the shame subside into something easier. Lighter. As near to comfortable as Jon ever got. Sixteen. Wrestling in the trees and Robb had pinned him, something Jon only let happen rarely because he liked the way it made his skin ignite a shade more than he hated the way losing made him feel like he was worthless. Robb had been laughing, hair too long, curls slipping across his eyes and when he'd rolled his hips to get a better vantage Jon could not help the groan ripped from his lips if he tried.
Jon didn't try.
They're here now, though. Again. Always. The two of them seeking each other out and it's been harder to ignore these days. The older they get, the more ways Robb learns to make Jon beg, the ways Jon learns to make Robb stay. And if Jon were asked, and if furthermore he were willing to be honest even with himself, he'd probably say that's what the Wall is about. Why he's leaving. Because the older they get, the smaller Winterfell becomes. And because if anything bad were to come to Robb of Jon's doing, he would never be able to forgive himself. Robb doesn't get that, though. Jon can tell in his kiss, the way he moves into Jon's space, hands everywhere and lips searing against Jon's. The way he pulls Jon into him, keens against Jon's tongue like he's begging him not to leave. Not to ever leave. Like, even after all these
years, he still fails to see the danger in what they're doing.
"I do not get it, Snow," Robb pants into his neck as if he can hear Jon's very thoughts. Breaking the kiss so he can lick along Jon's jaw, suck the patch of skin behind Jon's ear that Robb knows makes Jon weak. Lethargic. Dizzy like he's had too much drink.
"This... we are good together, aren't we?"
Robb looks at him then, so close that Jon can taste his breath, his eyes wide, pleading with Jon and there is so much Jon wishes he could say. You will be married someday soon, perhaps. Winterfell will be yours and there will be no place for me. But Jon's words fail him so he speaks with his actions instead just like always. Rolling into Robb until Robb is flat on his back. Jon's own mouth hot and desperate as it latches onto Robb's pulse and refuses to let go. Words lost in the shuffle of touch like it's enough, even though Jon is afraid it no longer is.
"I don't want you to go," Robb's whispers, words harsh in Jon's ear, saying the very thing that Jon is thinking. Robb is good at that, good at reading Jon's mind, like they are actually twins and they have this connection that no one else could ever have. Jon's bites gently at his jaw, feels the day old stubble beneath his lips and Robb's pulse trips under his fingers as they press to his neck, curl around the back, into the long curls at the nape of his neck and tug gently.
"I have to," Jon says back, says it right into Robb's skin because if he looks up right now, says it whilst looking in Robb's eyes, he won’t go, he'll stay, stay here wrapped up in Robb forever. And it won’t be any life for either of them.
Robb whines, arches his hips upwards, grunts in frustration as his cloak gets tangled in his legs. Jon laughs, because if he doesn't right now he might cry, laughs as he pulls away far enough to get rid of his own cloak and undo the tie at Robb's throat, slide his hands over Robb's shoulders, pushing the cloak to the floor. Robb's fingers wind into Jon's clothes, pull him down into a kiss that almost hurts, teeth clacking together as Robb groans, wraps a leg around him and pulls them close, Jon's thigh slipping between Robb's.
"Fuck, Jon… I-"
Robb's words are bitten off as Jon kisses him again, pushes his hand into Robb's breeches, because Jon doesn't want to hear it. Robb is vocal, expressing himself in ways that Jon can't, won’t, and Jon doesn't want to hear it right now. He's on the edge of not going, of staying right here and he needs to go. And if Robb opens his mouth, says the words that he knows have been on the tip of both their tongues for years now, Jon will just give up and stay. He wraps his fingers around Robb, cold against Robb's flushed skin and Robb bucks up, bottom lip caught between his teeth, fingers clutching at Jon's shoulders as Jon twists his hand the way he knows Robb likes, the way that makes Robb's eyes roll back into his head, sweat breaking out over his forehead.
This is all we are, the voice in the back of his head tries to tell him. Robb's flesh tight in his fist, Robb's body lain out beneath him like a sacrifice to the gods. But Jon knows it's a lie. Knows that there's so much more to them, to both of them, Lord of Winterfell in the making and the bastard son of an honorable man but that's not what they are either. Thoughts tumbling through Jon's head as he presses his forehead to Robb's, leans in for better advantage and pulls on Robb like he's afraid he's never going to get another chance at this.
You won't, the voice says, but Jon ignores it because he has to.
"Jon," Robb groans harshly, his mouth open and needy, so close to Jon's he can taste his breath. Jon kisses him again, digs his thumb into the sensitive spot just beneath the head of Robb's dick to shut him up because Jon just needs to feel right now.
Everything.
Robb moans into Jon's mouth, like he usually does, pulls the noise right from his toes, groans and arches his hips, bucks them into Jon's tight fist, the skin of his dick hot and slick with precome and Jon all of a sudden wants to taste it, wants to know what Robb tastes like when he's like this, needy and desperate and breaking apart under Jon's hands. They don't do that though, they do this. They rut against each other, hands seeking, roaming over flushed skin, pressing into bruises and cuts and kisses harsh. They don't feel from the inside but Jon needs to now, needs to feel Robb inside, needs to know the noises Robb will make when he's buried deep in Jon. He pulls away and Robb whines, fingers tangling in Jon's furs, pulling him back like Jon's the only thing keeping him whole right now. Jon knows the feeling all too well and he calms Robb with a kiss, soothes with muttered words as he unwinds the laces on Robb's breeches. Robb freezes, his hands clutching even harder.
"What are you…”
"I need to.”
Jon shuts off Robb's words, pushes Robb's breeches down far enough to get his hand back around Robb's dick, fingers tightening at the base as he leans down, instinct taking over as he licks up the length of it even though he has no idea what the fuck he's doing. Robb jerks like he's been shot with an arrow, whole body arching upwards, his hands tangling in Jon's hair, fingers entwining in the curls and he tugs.
"Gods alive Jon… do… do that again.”
Jon can't help the smile at that, the way Robb's eyes go dark, pupils wide and the way his eyes flutter closed when Jon does it again, just like Robb asked. Jon thought he knew every noise Robb made. He closes his eyes at night sometimes, alone in
his bed and too frozen to do much other than roll into straw and scratchy blankets, imagining he can hear Robb moan, keen, whine, cry out like he's right there with Jon. Doing the things Jon hasn't ever dared to ask for, knows he never will. But the noise Robb makes when Jon finally closes his lips tightly around Robb’s dick, sucking slightly with an instinct Jon didn't even know he possessed, is one Jon is certain he's never heard before. It makes him shake. Deep down into his bones shake. His hands trembling as they reach out, grip around Robb's hips as much to hold himself steady as to hold Robb down.
His entire body burning like someone pressed a torch to his skin and let it burn as he closes his eyes and runs his mouth over Robb's flesh. Hollowing out his cheeks and sucking as if his life depends on it because as far as Jon knows, it just might. Robb follows the noise up with some of the filthiest language Jon has ever heard, his hands
pawing at Jon's hair, pulling disconnected at the strands as he strains against Jon's palms in an attempt to thrust upward. Thrust into Jon. And it makes Jon think of things that he knows damn him. Of Robb thrusting… into something else. Into Jon. Sweaty and naked, completely naked in a way Jon has never seen but that he's always wanted to as long as he can remember. As long as sixteen and oh how he has needed that. The same thoughts he has in the dark of the night, his breath quick and harsh as he breathes through his nose and holds on.
Holds onto Robb.
Jon's mind goes some place else with that thought, works at memorizing every moment of this. The way Robb feels, heavy on his tongue. The way he tastes, salty, musky, warm. The way his fingers tighten in Jon's hair almost to the point of unbearable pain when Jon runs his tongue down the vein in Robb's dick. The way Jon feels with the knowledge that he's finally had the courage to reach out and take a part of Robb he's been afraid to even think about, and the way it makes him want to take so much more. He's dizzy from the thought of it all, crazy and drunk on everything that is Robb, and that's what he blames it on when he pulls off. Robb's fingers tightening as he moans out Jon's name like he's dying. His eyes wide and so black he looks possessed as he tries to pull Jon back down into him.
"Wait," Jon whispers, his fingers trailing over Robb's lips, pressing into his mouth so Robb can suck them in a way that makes Jon feel weak inside. Weak in ways he hates to be. "Just…wait."
Jon is untying his own breeches, his fingers still shaking, the one's not twisting around Robb's tongue. His throat dry like the dirt after a long drought as he presses his palm hard into his own crotch just to calm himself a little before he says, utterly wrecked, "I want you, Robb." His voice serious in a way he hopes Robb gets as he pushes down his pants, twisting awkwardly so he can slip them mostly without having to pull his fingers out of Robb's mouth before he's getting back to his knees, settling over Robb's thighs as he says, "I need you."
He leaves the inside of me hanging in the air between them. By the look on Robb's face - half terrified, half so desperate it looks crippling - he gets exactly what Jon needs right now. And Jon has a quick thought of gratitude about that fact before the bone crushing fear of what he's about to do, the line he's about to cross, hits him like a sudden, blinding storm. Robb surges upwards though, Jon’s fingers leaving his mouth with a noise that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, pulling Jon close, and kissing him hard, chests pressed so close together and Robb’s fingers work under Jon’s shirt, pressing into his back, palm hot against Jon’s already heated skin. It feels like a brand and Jon knows that he’ll feel that touch for years to come, when he’s alone, in the frigid wilderness, nothing to stave off the cold except memories and his own hand.
“Jon,” Robb mutters, saying it right into Jon’s mouth and Jon knows what he’s saying, knows he’s asking if Jon is sure, if he means it. And gods, he’s never meant anything more in his entire life, not since they were young, probably thirteen and Jon had promised Robb that he would always be his brother no matter what, hands clasped around two identical cuts on their palms, pressing their blood into each other’s bodies. Not since then has he felt this sure about anything. He doesn’t answer though, just kisses Robb back, curls his fingers into Robb’s hair and grinds his hips down. Robb gasps into his mouth, hands pressing harder into Jon’s back, fingernails
digging in and Jon can feel the moment they both snap, the uncertainness leaving them both replacing itself with desperation as Robb presses them both back into the ground. Their legs tangle together and Robb grunts in frustration before wrapping one hand around Jon’s dick, the other still grasping at Jon’s hair as if he’s afraid to let go, like letting go would make this dream end, make reality come crashing back down around them and they would be back to them, dancing around each other, never doing what they want for fear of damnation, or rejection.
When Robb drags his hand upwards it feels like home, like the home Jon has never felt he truly had. Robb’s hand is warm, calluses on the palm catching lightly, sending tiny sparks of pleasure up his spine and Robb leans down to stop the keen that threatens to escape Jon’s throat. He drags his mouth away, nips at Jon’s jawline as he fumbles with Jon’s breeches, gets them all the way off and just stops. Body stilling as he stares down at Jon and Jon tries his hardest not to squirm under the dark, heavy gaze.
Jon reaches up, hand grasping at the air just in front of Robb, his back bending to try and reach farther, trail his fingers over Robb's cheek, his jaw. Stubble scratching along Jon's skin as he smiles. Nothing more, nothing less, just a simple smile that says I'm ready, Robb.
I always have been.
Neither one of them has ever done this before. With women even, as far as Jon knows, and especially with another man. And a spike of fear runs through Jon's body at that, making him shiver more than the cold on his bare skin is. But it's Robb, he reminds himself. Everything and nothing and just Robb and so Jon knows, somehow, that everything is going to be okay because that's what Robb does. He makes life livable. No mother and a father that can't even offer his name only Robb has always been there. Always been his. And to someone like Jon, that means everything.
"I think," Robb says shakily, his eyes uncertain as he leans down again, presses his body over Jon's and licks a line across his lips, shaking the whole way. "I think we might need…"
Robb doesn't say anything, trailing off into mumbled syllables as he stuffs his own fingers into his mouth, slicks them up before he's reaching beneath Jon, running them over Jon's ass before pushing between his cheeks. Pushing in. Jon hisses in pain, the best kind he's ever felt, and Robb is apologizing immediately like he thinks this was his idea. Is his fault. But when Robb goes to pull away Jon grabs his wrist a shade rougher than he probably needs to, his voice little more than a growl as he says, "don't," before pushing Robb's palm flat against his own ass. Biting his lip between his teeth and slamming his head back, shutting his eyes and nodding to show Robb that he can take it.
He can take it all.
It takes a while for the pain to wear into something else, something that makes Jon sweat even worse, makes his body break out in gooseflesh. A low moan working its way out of his chest as Robb continues to add fingers to his ass, twisting and bending them like he's an expert at this and Jon is already feeling like he's breaking apart when Robb hits a spot inside of him with one perfect, bit down nail and the sky explodes behind Jon's eyes.
It feels… Jon doesn't have words to explain how it feels.
"Snow, are you all right?" Robb asks frantically, his fingers stilling where they're touching Jon, in his ass and braced on his chest.
And Jon is actually laughing at that, hysteria riding thick as he says, "gods, Robb, I'm fine. Why in blazes are you stopping?"
Robb laughs back, a quick bark of a sound that's just as hysterical as the one Jon sent his way, his lips soft on the bridge of Jon's nose as he leans in and whispers, "so you ready then, Snow?" And Jon imagines he's never been more ready for anything in his entire life.
It hurts. Gods, it hurts. There isn’t enough of anything to ease the slide as Robb pushes in, just spit and sweat and precome, and Jon makes a mental note to find something the next time. The next time, if there is a next time. What if this is the only time he gets to feel this…
“Jon stop thinking.”
Robb’s voice is harsh, breaking and he stares down at Jon with those eyes that haunt his dreams. Under the pain there is a burn of something else, something dark mixing with the knowledge that they shouldn’t be doing this, something that makes Jon tremble even more as his fingers press into Robb’s shoulders. Robb is still staring down at him, his eyes worried, arms shaking, auburn curls falling onto his forehead.
“Move,” Jon manages to grind out, his voice sounding like he’s been shouting for hours, cracking past his dry throat and he swallows as Robb pushes in all the way, groans with Robb, always with Robb.
Robb pulls out and the pain lessens, eases slowly into something else as he pushes back in, shifts his hips and hits that spot right inside Jon again. Jon’s fingers slip on Robb’s shoulders, skitter across and down his arms as his whole body seems to seize up, lights bright behind his eyes that he doesn’t remember closing. Robb leans down and kisses him, his hips moving in a rhythm now, in, out, making sweat break out all over Jon’s skin, and something coils deep in his belly, everything fading out except Robb and the fact that he gets to do this now, finally. It almost takes him by surprise when his orgasm hits him. It’s been so long, too many nights spent curled up on his straw bed with other people in the room to do anything other than dream, than think about Robb’s hands on him. His stomach clenches, fingers tightening in Robb’s shoulders again, his blunt nails digging into skin and he feels himself come between them, hot and sticky and Robb groans, kisses him again, breathes his name into his mouth as his hips move erratically now.
Robb’s hands wind into his hair, fingers pressing into the scar on Jon’s scalp where he fell from a tree when he was seven, the only person around to pick him up was Robb and Jon wonders how they are going to survive without each the other to pick them up, to dust them off. Robb’s hips push in once more and he grunts, lip caught between his teeth and Jon feels the warmth as Robb comes buried deep inside.
“Gods, Jon, tell me you don’t want to go,” Robb says, breath hot against Jon’s neck and Robb is trembling, shivers running up his body and Jon trails his hand down Robb’s spine, loves the way Robb arches into it like he can’t help himself.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Jon says as an answer. Because he does want to go, he needs to go, but nothing could ever prepare him for having to leave Robb. If Jon had his way, they would both go, spend the rest of their lives wrapped up against the cold defending the seven kingdoms from the dangers that lay beyond the Wall. But Robb belongs here, in Winterfell and Jon belongs to the snow and ice of the Wall.
“That’s not what I wanted,” Robb sighs as he pulls out of Jon, a hiss escaping between Jon’s teeth at the pinch of Robb’s absence. Their bodies warm and slick as Robb rolls slightly off to the side before pillowing his head on Jon’s chest, wrapping his arms around Jon’s waist like he still does not wish to let go.
“We have two different lives now,” Jon says because he thinks it’s important. He knows Robb is aware of his purpose in life, of both of their purposes. Paths that, the older they get, will only branch off further away from each other’s and they both know that. Probably knew it from the first moment they laid eyes on each other. But Jon still feels the need to remind Robb that it’s not personal. His leaving has nothing to do with Robb as a person, as the only person really. The only one that is stitched into Jon’s very skin. Because he can go, Jon will go, but he can’t leave without Robb’s understanding.
“You will be… be careful, right?” Robb asks quietly, his words stuttering like he’s ashamed to say them out loud. Ashamed to admit that he actually cares for Jon’s safety even though Jon’s pretty sure two people couldn’t possibly share any more than he and Robb have shared.
“Only if you are,” Jon replies with a light laugh that reaches nowhere near his heart, already freezing with the air making Jon’s sensitive skin tingle. His fingers ruffling through Robb’s hair in the way he knows Robb hates. It makes me feel like a child, Robb always says, only now the gesture makes Robb hold onto him tighter. His face turning so he can press his lips into Jon’s skin, rest them there for a few more stolen moments before he’s pulling away. Sitting up and being so very Robb Stark again as he informs Jon that if they don’t get dressed they’ll freeze, if they don’t get back into town, they’ll be missed.
And that is that. Is the end, Jon figures. The fork in the road that they both knew was coming but that sprung up far quicker than either of them probably predicted. Father heading off to King’s Landing and Robb acting as Lord of Winterfell and Jon deciding it was time for him to go. To grow. Only now that he’s on the verge of doing all that, leaving the only home he’s ever known and heading off to become a man, he feels more like a child than ever before. Holding onto his favorite toy and refusing to let it go even though the toy is a person. Is Robb. Is someone Jon had no business claiming in the first place.
“I’m hungry,” Robb says once they’ve finished getting dressed, the words hollow and flat in their normalness. The smile on Robb’s lips every bit as fake as his words.
“Me too,” is Jon’s only reply and he’s surprised how two words, two such simple words, can feel so much like a death sentence it’s palpable.
Me too, he thinks, as he follows Robb out of their hiding place for the last time. His eyes watching the way Robb moves like he’s preparing for later. For tomorrow. For Robb receding into the distance, away from Jon. Always away from Jon.
Me too.