Chapter Text
Jon was questioning his sanity.
Or rather, at the very least, his decision making skills. Usually, choosing to study or finish schoolwork at the Stark house was a good idea. Usually, if he showed up inundated with papers to read or essays to write, he and Robb would hunker down around the coffee table, consuming more caffeine than was good for them and studying deep into the small hours of the morning. Sometimes Sansa even joined them.
Usually, however, he wasn’t faced upon arrival with the sight of Theon Greyjoy sprawled out across the entirety of the Stark’s enormous sectional, taking up more space than should have been possible, playing video games with Robb with the TV turned up to a frankly alarming volume.
Of all Robb’s friends, Theon was probably Jon’s least favorite, and of all the people to see at the Stark manor on a lazy Saturday afternoon, seeing Theon was like rubbing salt in an open wound. He’d never understood why Robb had stayed friends with him after all these years. The man was childish and crude on the best of days, and downright cruel on his worst. Jon was rarely happy to see Theon, and today was no exception.
The pair had tried halfheartedly to convince him to play a round with them upon arrival, which he’d tactfully declined, barely hiding his dismay that Robb wasn’t going to study with him. Instead, Jon had opted to spread out on the island in the Stark’s oversized, open kitchen, insisting all the while that their play wouldn’t bother him in the slightest because of how badly he needed to study. Silently, Jon had steeled himself for endless ribbing and a slew of inane jokes to be thrown his way from the moment he’d opened his textbook.
Two hours later, Jon wished he’d just gone to the library. Or to Ygritte’s, though he knew that would’ve been distracting in its own right. In fairness to Robb and Theon, they weren’t trying to interact with Jon, or even really acknowledging his existence. Which, as it turned out, was a double edged sword, as it also meant they weren’t adjusting how they were playing their game, either. Not to mention Theon’s frequent need to step out for a cigarette, or joint, the irritating way he belched without trying to stifle it and never bothered to excuse himself after, the fact he left the door open to the toilet whenever he got up to piss and never once washed his hands, not to mention his general state of disarray. He had littered the coffee table with weed, rolling papers and beers, none of which Robb partaken in, but was expected whenever Theon was around. Every time Theon so much as shifted on the couch, Jon felt more and more annoyed.
As it was, Jon wasn’t taking in a single thing on the page in front of him over the cacophony of gun shots blaring through the speakers and shouts of glee – or groans of disappointment – from the couch. Jon grit his teeth and tried to focus, but the words swam before him, his eyes feeling glassy and heavy in their sockets.
“Ah, shit!”
Jon looked up over the island to see Robb jump up from his spot on the couch like he’d been burned. Theon didn’t look away from the screen, one of his legs slung up on the couch, fingers barely visible as they jumped around, mashing buttons on the controller in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Jon asked.
“I’m gonna be late for work!” Robb tossed over his shoulder as he disappeared down the hallway toward his room. Jon checked his watch, then looked out the window, depressed when he realized he’d accomplished nothing and it was already dark outside.
Robb returned a few minutes later in his bartenders uniform of black trousers and matching black button down, retrieving his car keys and coat from where they’d been haphazardly discarded around the room the night before. Theon still hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch, entirely focused on the game in front of him. The volume of the TV was still atrociously loud, and occasionally he shouted expletives at it when his character failed to do as he’d commanded, or his teammates made decisions he didn’t like.
Jon gestured toward Robb’s friend with his chin. “Aren’t you taking him with you?”
Robb looked over at Theon on the couch and shrugged. “Why would he come to work with me? He’s fine,” he said.
Jon groaned dramatically and threw a pencil at his cousin. “Kick him out. I don’t want him here after you leave.”
“He’s right there. You kick him out.”
“I can hear you, Snow,” Theon interjected from the couch.
“Good,” Jon shot back. “Leave so I can study in peace.”
Theon half scoffed, half laughed at Jon. “Stop lying to yourself. You’re pretending to study. Give up, come join me. Fucking relax for once.”
Jon looked imploringly at Robb as he shrugged on his coat. Robb just shrugged at him again. “You have just been pretending to study over here. Don’t make that face at me, Jon. He’s not going to bother you. And if he does, well… you’re a big boy,” Robb smiled at him with an expression half patronizing, half pitying, a look Jon was almost certain he’d picked up from Theon, “You can handle yourself. I believe in you.”
“What time will you be back?” Jon asked, feeling increasingly desperate. He hadn’t made any headway on his reading, or the essay, and he only had the weekend to finish it. “What about Sansa? What time is she coming home?”
“Did you wait until today to start everything for this assignment?”
“I asked first,” Jon countered.
Robb laughed. “Sansa said she was spending the day with Margaery. Only they and the gods know how long they’ll be out. As for me, I’m meant to close the bar tonight, and I’ve got plans with Jeyne after, so don’t wait up.” And with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, he disappeared out the door, leaving Jon alone with Theon.
Jon tucked his head, willing his eyes to stop worming their way around the page in front of him and focus, resolved to ignore Theon and the blare of the game.
That resolve lasted about ten minutes before Theon broke his concentration by asking, “What class is it?”
Jon scowled down at his paper. “Fuck off, Greyjoy,” he snapped back, and heard Theon scoff in response.
“Fuck you, too, Snow. I’m trying to offer my help.” Theon popped the ‘p’ at the end of his sentence condescendingly. “I did, in fact, get accepted into uni, in case you fucking forgot.”
“I still find it hard to believe, Greyjoy. Though the fact you’ve still not graduated after four years is less surprising. Speaking of, shouldn’t you be there now?”
“Holiday,” Theon said simply, then abruptly left the match, throwing the controller carelessly onto the couch. He stood and stretched, revealing a tiny sliver of his lower belly that Jon tried hard not to stare at, then jammed his hands into the pockets of his sweats and sauntered over to the island.
Jon did his best to not look at him. “What, and none of your friends in King’s Landing invited you to stay? White Harbor? Fucking Braavos?” Jon relished the idea of Theon skirting off halfway across the world.
Theon grinned wolfishly. “No invitations were as enticing as spending two weeks with my best friend back home.”
“Yet I notice that you weren’t invited to stay in your actual home,” Jon snarled. Theon’s smile slipped, and Jon felt suddenly cowed. He knew full well why Theon wasn’t at his own house with his father and sister, yet he’d chosen to punch below the belt anyway. “Sorry,” he mumbled, ashamed. No matter what he thought of Theon, he never enjoyed being cruel.
Theon just shrugged, as unbothered as ever. Insults always seemed to roll off him the same way water rolled off duck feathers.
“Let me help you,” he offered again. Jon shook his head, confused and irritated, worried he was being made fun of but unsure how.
“Why are you trying to be nice to me?”
“I’m trying to stop you moping over here. Either let me help or give up, but either way, stop ruining my break. You’re filling the whole house with your bad mood.”
Jon stared defiantly at his textbook one moment longer before slamming it shut. “Whatever,” he grumbled. “I’ll text Ygritte tomorrow to see if she’ll help me finish it.”
“There we go! That’s much better! Come on, we’re playing a round,” Theon declared, clapping Jon on the arm with slightly more force than was called for, and dragged him off the barstool toward the sectional.
His easy familiarity was one of the things that had always irritated Jon the most about him. Despite how obviously Jon disliked him, Theon never acted like it mattered. He invaded Jon’s space at will like they were old friends, throwing an arm over his shoulder and giggling at his own vile jokes like he expected Jon to find them funny, though Jon hadn’t laughed at one in the nearly twelve years they’d known each other. Jon had always found the behavior confusing, disorienting in a way that made his stomach tight and hot. The spotlight of Theon’s attention usually exposed more than was warranted and, on occasion, the bulb had been known to burn too hot. Jon had seen Robb burned on it firsthand, and more than once.
But he truly wasn’t making any headway on his essay, and despite the dark outside, the evening was still relatively young. Playing a couple rounds of a mindless shooter with an old not-friend sounded better than the alternative of going home and staring despondently at a blank page for another two hours.
Jon settled in at one end of the couch and Theon at the opposite, basically as far apart as they could be, and began a new match. For a while, it was mostly amicable, with very little in the way of conversation except to call out enemies in the game, and a few times Theon paused to step outside and smoke. He always offered to Jon, who always declined, and he was mildly annoyed each time that Theon didn’t take notice and stop asking, but Jon wasn’t surprised.
Nearly forty-five minutes had passed, and they’d switched from online tournaments to one-on-one matches against each other – Jon was losing worse than he was willing to admit – before Theon spoke to him again. Of course it was to ask, “Who’s Ygritte?”
Jon groaned, keeping his eyes focused on the screen. “I’m not talking about her with you.”
“Why not?” Theon laughed incredulously.
“You’re disgusting,” Jon said matter-of-factly. “You’ll make a disgusting joke that I don’t want to hear, and then it’ll start a fight, and Robb’s not here right now to stop me punching you square in the face.” It wouldn’t be the first time they’d come to blows.
But Theon just laughed. “My jokes are hilarious. You love them.”
“They’re disgusting,” reiterated Jon. Theon waggled his eyebrows in response, licking his lips in what was probably meant to be an alluring manner but just made Jon recoil. He focused back on the game. He button-mashed the controller, performing a devastating combo to Theon’s character. “Does that work on those girls in King’s Landing? That face?”
“All the time,” Theon said with easy confidence, retaliating in the game with a blow of his own. “Girls can’t get enough of me in the city. I basically have to beat them back with a stick.”
“You look constipated,” Jon said. “And I’ve heard those girls are more interested in the drinks you buy them than whatever’s going on with your face.”
Theon faked a pout. “You wound me, Snow. You don’t think I’m pretty?” Theon’s face fell back into a more condescending expression. “Must not be, compared to this little bird you won’t fucking tell me about.”
“Get your validation elsewhere, Greyjoy, and your gossip,” Jon murmured, sidestepping the question as his face grew hot. He didn’t like this line of questioning, or the direction Theon kept trying to move the conversation into. “Maybe from those girls in the city who’re so fond of you.”
“They’re business connections, Jon. Those girls have very important daddies who can get me very good jobs after I finish school.”
“If you finish school,” Jon said pointedly. His insides were squirming. He slapped at his controller, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. He watched the health bar on Theon’s character drop, and Theon swore, leaning forward. “Which you just might,” Jon continued, landing another blow, “if you ever stopped worrying so much about where your next lay was coming from.”
“Poor choice of words, Snow,” Theon snorted. He attempted to counter Jon’s attack and took a swipe of his own, but only managed a small hit, with minimal damage done. “Fuck! Fuck you! Get back here. I’m not worried about where my next lay is coming from. Sounds like you should be, though.”
Jon scoffed. Theon’s character was very close to dying now. One more hit and he’d be finished, except the coward was now running around the map doing his level best to hide from Jon. Jon pressed his lips together.
“Sometimes I can’t believe you’ve ever gotten laid, the way you talk about people, Greyjoy.”
This time Theon scoffed. “Don’t be such a fucking prude, Snow,” he said. He was still running around the map, dodging Jon’s attempts to hit him, but only just. “Girls love how I talk to them. Boys aren’t so opposed, either.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Jon muttered, coming up behind Theon and swiping, missing by just a hair. He swore under his breath.
“Yeah, I fucking bet you do,” Theon snapped. He took a swing of his own, also missing. “Not surprising. You’re so frigid I bet you don’t even touch your own cock. Would you even know what to do with it if this Ygritte gave you a chance? Maybe you should – ah, fuck!”
Jon delivered the killing blow, watched the victory flag unravel across his half of the screen, and threw his controller down on the couch. He then took both of them by surprise by flinging himself across the sectional and into Theon’s lap, grabbing a fistful of his mousey curls and wrenching his head back, bringing their faces inches apart.
He expected Theon to shout at him, grab him by the shirt, shove him off and send him flying flat on his back across the floor. He half expected it to end with them in a pile, fistfighting on the floor. That had happened more than once before.
Theon, for his part, was stunned into inaction. He stared up at Jon as he loomed over him, hands floating just above Jon’s thighs as if he didn’t know where he was supposed, or allowed, to put them, and his eyes were huge in his angular face. He made an unexpected sound, and his breathing turned ragged.
“Bet you’d love to know what I can do with my cock, wouldn’t you, Greyjoy?” Jon snarled. He hardly knew what he was saying, or where it was coming from, or even what he meant by it. He was full of adrenaline, and more than a little pissed off. His insides felt hot and wormy, wriggling unpleasantly in his stomach just behind his belly button. He did his best to ignore it.
Theon’s mouth fell open, then snapped back shut. He swallowed audibly. His pupils were wide and wobbly in his blue eyes. And when Jon shifted almost imperceptibly in his lap, he ground his teeth together and made a face, almost like he was in pain, but also like something else.
That was when Jon realized Theon was hard in his sweats. And he, Jon, was hard in his trousers. He hadn’t even noticed.
All of the anger rushed out of him like air out of a balloon.
He went to clamber off of Theon’s lap, and Theon’s hands finally came to rest on his thighs, his fingers digging into the flesh, scrambling with just enough force and desperation to keep Jon in place. His breath hitched, his eyes flitting desperately around Jon’s face.
“Snow, you – Please –” he stop-started, swallowing loudly again. After a moment, he managed to spit out, in a rushed, strangled whisper, “Please show me what you can do with your cock.”
All of Jon’s limbs’ filled with fresh concrete, making them feel warm and wet and heavy. His fingers tightened in Theon’s hair, eliciting a shaky groan in response. Theon’s hands snaked their way up Jon’s thighs until they were cupping his ass, trying to roll their hips together. Jon didn’t give him the satisfaction; he pulled back sharper, harder, on Theon’s scalp, earning a hiss that shot like lightning down through his cock, making it jump in his pants.
“Why don’t you,” Jon started, sounding far more confident than he was feeling, still hardly aware of what was coming out of his mouth, “show me what you’d do with my cock, Greyjoy?” He licked his lips, watched Theon follow the motion closely, watched his pupils dilate. Jon felt his own cock kick again. “Maybe you can finally put that vile mouth to good use.”
Blood rushed in his ears. Jon didn’t know where any of this was coming from. The behavior, the words – all of it was so unlike him. He’d never been spoken or acted like this with anyone, and he wasn’t sure what in the Seven Hells had possessed him to start with Theon fucking Greyjoy.
But Theon seemed happy, enthusiastic even, to comply with Jon’s request. He wrapped an arm around Jon’s middle and swung them both around with surprising ease. Jon landed on his back with a soft, “Oomph!” on the couch cushions, with Theon’s head boxed between his knees. His hand was on the fly of Jon’s jeans, but he hesitated, looking up at Jon with a question written plainly across his flushed face.
Really?
Jon felt heat rise in his cheeks. He could still reverse this, could write it off as a cruel joke against the cruelest joker he’d ever met in his life. It was no less than Theon deserved.
But he couldn’t deny that Jon wanted it to happen, badly. For years and years, he had watched the way Theon looked at Robb, and wished desperately to stand in the same soft, warm glow. It was nonsensical to pine so deeply for someone he didn’t even objectively like as a person, but it had never stopped him daydreaming about what it must feel like to be liked by Theon Greyjoy. Somewhere along the way, the desire to be liked had morphed into a desire to be wanted, a desire he had expended every energy ensuring Theon never found out about.
And now, Theon’s eyes were giant saucers on his face, and they were fixed on Jon, waiting for his response. Looking for all the world like he’d never wanted anything so much in his entire, spoiled life.
Jon nodded weakly, shakily, and Theon set to work without any further preamble, freeing Jon’s cock faster than Jon had ever thought possible. He shifted until Jon’s knees were settled over each of Theon’s shoulders, and wrapped his arms around Jon’s thighs to rest his hands on Jon’s belly, pressing ever so gently just beneath Jon’s navel. He wasted no time, taking the tip into his mouth and groaning as the head of Jon’s dick came into contact with his tongue, flicking the slit with the tip of his tongue. Jon’s eyelids fluttered, and he breathed out hard through his nostrils. One hand was still fisted in Theon’s hair and he pulled, then pushed experimentally on Theon’s head. Theon made an obscene noise, widening his jaw to accept more of Jon’s prick into his mouth.
“Oh, shit,” Jon muttered, enraptured. He did it again, testing with each tug how far Theon could accept him into his mouth. With each additional inch, Theon relaxed his throat, taking more and more until his nose was buried in Jon’s pubes, a steady stream of saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth. Jon shuddered, cock throbbing, his toes curling where they rested against Theon’s thigh, and Theon glanced up at him with a shockingly smug, albeit watery gaze.
Jon felt something like a pinch in the center of his belly, and he wrenched Theon’s head back, unthinking, then proceeded to snap his hips up and into the inviting warmth with an almost brutal force. Theon let out a noise that devolved into a deep, long moan, his eyes rolling back into his head. Jon could feel him grinding his hips into the couch, probably desperate for an ounce of relief on his own cock.
The angle was all wrong, but Jon found he couldn’t stop, and Theon didn’t look like he wanted him to. His throat was warm and open, accepting as much of Jon’s dick as he could with each upward thrust, seemingly torn between allowing himself to be used and trying to contribute; every once in a while he would attempt to bob his head down onto Jon’s cock, only for Jon to remind him of the grip he had on Theon’s hair, which he also seemed to enjoy. To Jon, it felt as though he were trying to keep Theon from voluntarily choking himself to death with how much force was necessary to keep him in place. Jon’s chest heaved as he plunged himself in and out of Theon’s mouth.
Theon was absolutely squirming on the couch, his lips turned red and raw after only a few minutes, and salty tracks of unbidden tears ran down his cheeks. His drool was dribbling down over Jon’s balls and taint, but Theon didn’t seem to notice anything beyond Jon’s prick in his mouth.
Jon felt one of Theon’s hands tugging at the waistband of his trousers, trying to pull them down over the globe of Jon’s ass. Ever the helpful one, Jon lifted his hips, burying himself once more to the hilt in Theon’s mouth, and slipped his trousers and boxers over his ass. He didn’t know what Theon’s plan was, but it hardly seemed to matter at this point – the rest of it was turning out pretty okay so far.
As Jon settled his hips back onto the couch, ass now fully exposed, Theon lifted off his cock with a wet pop! Jon knew it was for show but it still made him groan.
Theon panted for a second, head resting against Jon’s thigh, staring up at him with glassy eyes. Jon’s own chest heaved.
“Fuck, Snow,” he said at length, voice absolutely wrecked. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”
“I’m not done yet,” Jon retorted, sounding more petulant and strung out than he meant to. Theon let out a soft chuckle, his eyes softening in the corners in a way Jon had never seen before.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not done yet, either,” he grinned, leaning forward again, wrapping one hand around the base of Jon’s cock and pumping it, making Jon’s hips twitch into the warm, tight embrace.
But just before he made contact, he stopped and looked back up, brows furrowing. He stared at Jon long enough to make him squirm.
“What?” he snapped.
“Will you –” Theon began, stopped, chewed his lips. He leaned a little further forward so his breath ghosted over Jon’s prick, already throbbing in anticipation, and Jon made a punched out noise. Theon maintained eye contact, lips caressing the shaft as he spoke again, “Will you trust me?”
He was looking at Jon headily, like he knew Jon had every reason to say no, and was praying to all the Gods that he’d say yes.
Jon wriggled under the intensity of Theon’s gaze. He had every reason to say no.
He nodded, unable to find his words.
Theon didn’t need them; he lowered himself back onto Jon’s cock like he was grateful, and resumed the previous tempo as if there’d been no interruption, as though Jon were still pistoning into the wet cavern of his mouth. In minutes, he had Jon panting again, his hips making tiny, circular thrusts of their own accord that he did his best to restrain, with minimal success. Jon’s fingers were still carded through his hair but he let Theon set the pace this time, clutching to his head just to have something to hold onto.
He felt Theon’s hand worming its way in between them, squeezing and groping the flesh of Jon’s ass, making Jon shiver. Jon’s body was simultaneously the most tense and the most relaxed it had ever been, and he couldn’t figure out what to focus on. He felt Theon’s hand shift, and suddenly his thumb was in the crack of his ass, pulling Jon’s cheeks apart as best he could, given they hadn’t gone out of their way to remove his trousers entirely.
Jon sucked in a sharp, anticipatory breath, but Theon just kept massaging, increasing the suction on Jon’s prick so that Jon had little else to focus on but the wet heat of Theon’s mouth. An indecent amount of saliva dribbled from his mouth, and Jon vaguely realized it should have been disgusting, but the sight just made him whine, his stomach muscles tightening in a fiery, familiar way. He felt the trail as it traveled down his balls, all the way down to his twitching hole, and gave an aborted buck of his hips.
“Oh, fuck, Greyjoy,” he whispered. His chest felt tight, his lungs compressed, and his legs were shaking where they bracketed Theon’s body. Theon just groaned around him in response, and suddenly Jon felt the tip of Theon’s thumb teasing his entrance. He wasn’t pushing, merely circling it with a steady pressure that had Jon’s breath hitching, another garbled, “Oh, fuck, Greyjoy,” managing to work its way up his throat.
Theon made a pleased sound around his cock, releasing another stream of drool that followed the first, and Jon couldn’t control his hips anymore, trying to work his cock up into Theon’s mouth and down into the pressure of his thumb at the same time. He let out a frustrated cry when he found he couldn’t, and swore he felt Theon chuckle at him somehow, despite the dick in his mouth.
Jon couldn’t take much more; the intense heat, the force of Theon’s suction around his tip, the rough feeling of the pad of his finger. He swore, throwing his head back against the couch cushions, one hand still buried in Theon’s hair, the other flitting from clutching his shirt to the couch cushions to Theon’s hand where it was still pressed just below his navel. Theon wasn’t even trying to hold him still, but his fingers danced where they rested atop Jon’s twitching abdomen.
And then Theon pressed his thumb just a little harder, popping just the tip of his finger into Jon’s entrance, and Jon cried out, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” as he came.
To Jon’s meager credit, he did try to pry Theon off his cock, but Theon was having none of it; he sank himself down as the first spurt hit his tongue, despite Jon’s iron grip in his hair trying to wrench him back; Theon’s brow was furrowed and he was breathing hard through his nose, making an impossible amount of noise considering how full his mouth was.
He drank every drop, but the moment Jon was finished, he let the softening cock fall out of his mouth and leaned away, removing his thumb from Jon’s entrance and making him whine again. Through the fog filling his brain, Jon was seized by a sudden anxiety that Theon was going to flee, but he only went far enough to worm a hand down his body, sliding it under the waistband of his sweatpants and gripping his prick where Jon couldn’t see it. His whole face pinched and he groaned, long and loud, his arm flying frantically up and down in a choppy, uncoordinated way. He doubled over, laying his face in the crook of Jon’s hip, nose half buried in Jon’s pubes, his breath catching on each exhale, the hot air ghosting over Jon’s sensitive, softened prick. In just a few strokes, Theon’s whole body jerked as he came, having not even managed to pull himself out of his sweats.
He collapsed in a heap where he was, face still buried in the crook of Jon’s leg, and Jon didn’t have the energy in him to kick him off. For a long moment, the only sound in the manor was that of their combined panting as they struggled to catch their breath.
“Okay,” Theon croaked, voice beyond wrecked, “I take it back.”
Jon’s brow furrowed in confusion, brain floating like driftwood in his skull, unable to wash up on the island that might lend meaning to Theon’s words.
Theon peaked up at him through one heavily lidded eye and grinned when he saw Jon’s expression. “You definitely touch your own cock. Just maybe you’ll know what to do with it when she gives you the chance.”
Theon slapped his ass then, hard, making Jon yelp, and before he could snap back, Theon was up and off the couch, padding quietly out of the living room towards Robb’s room without another word. Jon was left laid out across the couch, bare bum still hanging out of the top of his jeans, trying to figure out what the fuck had just happened.
Distantly he registered a door opening, or possibly closing? But Theon wouldn’t bother closing the door to Robb’s room, regardless of what he was doing in there. He had, after all, just blown Jon on the couch where anyone could’ve walked in on them.
A door opened, or closed, except.
Theon didn’t use doors.
Anyone could walk in on them.
Jon shot upright, as though poked with a cattleprod, and pulled his pants up over his ass in record time, with barely a moment to spare as Sansa rounded the corner, arms laden with shopping bags.
“Hi!” She said brightly when she spied Jon on the couch. She looked back down at her phone, finished typing out a text. “I didn’t know you were here! I’ll be right back, just going to drop these in my room.” She dropped her housekeys in a bowl on the island without glancing back up at Jon, whose heart was jackhammering in his chest.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, praying he didn’t look as disheveled as he felt. Sansa disappeared down the hallway, during which Jon took the time to finish doing up his fly, then looked around for any sign of incriminating evidence of what he and Theon had been up to just moments before.
But there wasn’t any evidence of what they’d been doing – Theon had swallowed it, then sauntered off with his own evidence plastered across the front of his sweats. Otherwise, before Jon lay just the normal evidence of Theon’s general presence, a game screen that had been idle long enough to go dark, and two controllers that had long since turned themselves off.
The only evidence was Theon himself, and that didn’t make Jon feel any better at all.
Sansa walked back in and made a face. “What’s that smell? It’s almost, sort of… musty, or something.”
Jon felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead and gestured vaguely to Theon’s paraphernalia strewn across the coffee table. He cleared his throat, offering a weak, “Must be the weed.”
Sansa made a different, displeased face.
“Did you want some?” Theon asked, coming up behind Sansa and making both of them start. His voice sounded less froggy, and he was wearing a pair of Robb’s sweatpants now, which Jon only noticed because they stopped well above his ankles, lanky as Theon was. And there was a distinct lack of a telltale stain in the crotch.
“Hello, Theon. I didn’t know you were here,” she said coolly.
“Don’t worry, Princess,” he said mockingly, making his way over to the coffee table and gathering up his things, “I was just leaving. You and Jon can enjoy a quiet evening of being unbelievably boring and studious together.”
He didn’t look up at Jon, and Jon did his best to follow suit, trying to ignore the writhing in his stomach, and his head.
Only once Theon had all his belongings did he look up at Jon, just to give him a quick, sleazy wink, setting Jon’s heart stuttering rapid-fire all over again. Theon grinned, like he knew, though he couldn’t possibly know.
And then he was gone, with little more than a nonchalant, “Night,” thrown over his shoulder.
“Ugh,” Sansa scoffed once he was gone. “I hate when he comes here just to get high. Can’t he do that in his own house?” Sansa entered the kitchen and pushed the window over the sink open. “That should help some.” She then began digging through the cabinets for something to eat, producing a box of miniature cookies and making her way over to the couch.
No, Jon knew. “Probably,” he mumbled.
Sansa plopped herself down on the seat beside Jon, exactly where his bare ass had been, but Jon couldn’t exactly tell her that. He wondered if his face was as red as it felt.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” she said, conversationally, as she picked up the remote and switched over to a streaming service. She scrolled through her options until she settled on some reality show Jon didn’t know the name of. He thought this one was about the wives of rich men.
“I don’t,” he replied, voice cracking, prompting Sansa to give him a sidelong glance. Jon cleared his throat and repeated himself. “I don’t.”
“What were you two doing, then?”
“We were playing video games.”
Sansa made an incredulous face at him. “Don’t you have an econ essay to write? And instead you just… came over to play video games with Theon? ”
“What? No! I came over to get Robb’s help, but Theon was already here, and then Robb left for work, and Theon wouldn’t leave, and I couldn’t focus, so we –” Jon’s throat suddenly constricted on whatever he was about to say next. He cleared it again. “He wouldn’t stop pestering me, so I gave up studying, joined him for a few rounds. It was… as obnoxious as you’d think,” Jon said, pinching his eyes shut and squeezing the bridge of his nose against the onslaught of memories flooding his mind.
It was, arguably, the least obnoxious Theon had ever been in the entire time Jon had ever known him.
Also the least talkative, which was definitely an improvement, Jon thought.
“And yes,” he added bitterly, “I do have an econ essay to write.”
Sansa threw him a pitying look, helping herself to a fistful of cookies and holding the box out to Jon without looking at him. “Sounds like you had a great time,” she said sardonically, shaking her head in disbelief, affixing her eyes back on the screen. “I’d offer to help but I’m beat. If you’d texted, I might’ve come back sooner.”
Jon just grunted in response, waiving away Sansa’s offer. His body was still in the room but his mind had wandered back to a version of it from roughly forty minutes prior, with someone else beside him on the sectional.
“You know, I can’t understand him being friends with Robb, even after all these years,” Sansa said at length. “I’ve just never understood what Robb sees in him.”
Jon willed the mental image of Theon’s lips stretched thin around his cock to go away. “Yeah,” he said feebly. “Me, neither.”