Chapter Text
Robb is not the type to be overcome by urges to rearrange rooms and yet here he is, in the middle of the night, surrounded by the boxes he’s pulled out from under the bed and cramped in by the other furniture while he attempts to pull the heavy bed frame across the room single handedly.
What’s brought this on? The amorous noises leaking through the paper thin wall to the neighbouring room. Should he have considered this problem on moving in? Probably, yes. Should he have done this the first time the problem presented itself? Also yes. Did he always intend to? Yes. Could he be bothered? No. And yet six months on, under the current dire circumstances, it's a desperate situation. One to which his brother has responded to only in laughing emojis. Fucker.
To be fair to Jon, Robb hasn’t been too distressed about it up until the past week. Until Patrek started bringing back who has to be one of the most frustratingly, agonisingly, charming humans on this godforsaken planet.
Despite all his efforts and strengths, the bed is fighting him every step of the way, but for one glorious moment, he thinks they may be finally sated.
“Fuck!” Comes the cry almost immediately when he takes off his headphones.
Fuck indeed. He’s pretty certain he shouldn’t get turned on by the noises his roommate’s boyfriend makes. And if this goes on any longer he’s going to have some hearing loss on account of the volume of the blaring music in his ears attempting to mask the noises.
What the fuck is he going to do now? Is moving out too drastic? That’s not even really possible; he’s still in the contract for another six months… unless he can do a sneaky sub let.
He’s right, despite not knowing the half of it - the half that’s sending blood rushing south, it's not that bad. Robb can cope with this. He just needs to get out, meet some people. It’s just a silly crush. That’s it... Maybe if he tells himself it's fine enough it will come into fruition. He can’t see that helping his current predicament though.
“Oh, gods!”
Gods, put me out of my misery.
Can you get sleeping tablets prescribed to prevent inappropriate boners? He could do with some valium right now.
A few minutes flopped across the mattress clutching a pillow over his head and Robb’s ready to take drastic action.
He means to just take a cold shower and drown out the noises under a stream of water, to refresh himself and move on, he really does, but things don’t quite work out like that. Before he knows it, his hand is slipping down to stroke himself hurriedly. As though if he does it fast enough it'll be like it never happened and he’ll save himself some of the shame and guilt.
Well, forehead pressed against the cold tiles, the chase for release ends monumentally quick on account of the faint moans ringing in his ears. Moans he wouldn’t hear unless he was actively listening out for them. Seven hells.
To make matters worse, when he finally accepts what he’s done, gets out of the shower and attempts to creep out of the bathroom and down the hall like he’s fleeing a crime scene, its to run into the object of his obsession - affection doesn’t quite cut it - in a similar state of undress.
Similarities in attire aside, the smirk Theon wears on his face is in stark contrast to Robb’s horror. He can only hope the heat building under his skin can be passed off as the kind of flush one might get from a hot shower.
“Oh, hey,” Theon smiles, “fancy seeing you here.”
“I, uh, well, I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d… y’know…” wank over the noises you make and how I picture your face when you make them. He gesticulates back towards the bathroom then pushes the hand not holding the towel in a tight grip through his hair on the back of his head, desperately trying to fight embarrassment.
Amusement floods Theon’s face and Robb realises it had been a joke. It’s his flat, of course Theon might see him here… Did he hope to see him here? And while dressed only in his underwear? Shit, that’s not something to wonder. This is Patrek’s boyfriend he’s thinking about. If anyone’s off limits, it's him. Except maybe one of his sibling’s love interests. Maybe it's not as bad as he thinks.
It’s fine. It’s not like he’s going to act on these feelings.
The way Theon looks at him threatens to laden him with a renewed interest he’d rather avoid and Robb is sure he can see right into him and knows exactly what he’s done.
He longs for the ground to open up and swallow him into a deep deep hole. No chasm would be large enough.
“Good luck on getting some sleep, mate. Will probably see you tomorrow,” Theon finally says, slipping past him on his way to the bathroom.
It’s not luck I need, Robb thinks tragically. It’s a miracle.
“Oh yeah, by the way,” Theon breaks him from his thoughts, a hand against the doorframe, fuck those trunks are… well fitting, “we're going to see a film at 8, if you’re interested? Some superhero nonsense Patrek has been banging on about. Though I imagine you’d like it, right? He keeps meaning to tell you, but you know what he’s like, useless at passing on information.”
This makes Robb laugh as he looks back to follow his movements, it sounds just like Patrek. Then he realises the tone speaks of a couple’s gentle ribbing of each other. That realisation makes his stomach turn.
Robb swallows the lump from his throat. “Sure, sounds good,” he says, pulling his gaze up from Theon’s chest.
It sounds like pure torture. He’s never considered himself a masochist, but he’s starting to have some doubts. The lengths he’ll go to to spend some more time with this guy...
Theon’s lips tug back up, that beautiful dimple of his appears, and Robb dreams that the drift of his dark eyes is a sign of shared interest. “Great.”
This was a bad idea. A terrible idea.
What he should have done is gone into the screen with the pair of them to engineer a seating arrangement in which Patrek was between them. Instead, he’d gone to the toilets to gather his senses and give himself a (mental) telling off in the mirror at the thought that Theon had invited him for certain unspeakable reasons. Now, here he is, sat beside his unfortunate crush in a darkened room.
Seriously though, who knowingly creates third wheel circumstances? It’s just rude, is what it is.
It’s as if Theon knows what he's thinking when he meets Robb’s eyes halfway through the film and flashes a smile with the straw of the shared drink (also a mistake) against his bottom lip. He looks up through his dark lashes which wouldn’t even be possible if he weren’t slouched down in his seat given his height. The ankle of the leg closest to Robb sits on his opposite knee, and he lets the other rub up against Robb’s when he laughs.
Patrek must be mad to be oblivious to this spark between them. Right? In Robb’s mind there might as well be a neon sign above his head.
Shit, maybe there is no spark. Maybe that's wishful thinking on his part. In any case, Robb is under no illusion that he’s behaving normally.
To make things worse, when he dares reach for a handful of popcorn Theon has wound up having in his lap Theon has also chosen this moment to do the same. For one heart stopping moment their hands touch and then, when he’s just about recovered, Patrek’s hand falls to Theon’s thigh and Robb almost chokes on a kernel.
Is he imagining it when, after laughing at something whispered in his ear, Theon shoots him an apologetic look?
Fantasising over someone in a shitty relationship may - may - be one thing, but they get on so fucking well that when they share their in jokes someone might as well be dousing him with a bucket of ice water. He’d always thought couples delighting in fancying the same actors or actresses was a myth but he’s now a witness to it.
That’s it. He needs to pull himself together. The only thing he can do right now is to lean to the opposite side, like he should have done in the first place, and keep his legs politely together, like he should have done in the first place. He’s here cursing the brush of Theon’s body against his but the truth is he’s put himself in the way. He’s a terrible person.
Does Theon notice? He wonders. Does he miss the contact?
Is Robb imagining the turn of Theon’s head towards him in the corner of his eye 10 minutes later?
He’s definitely not imagining it when, a short while after that, Theon sets his elbow on the arm rest between them and leans over to whisper in his ear about something in the film.
Robb can barely make out what he’s saying over the thrum of his own heart beat in his ear at the way Theon’s warm breath tickles him.
He smells so fucking good it should be illegal.
Pressing his legs tighter together and willing his body to get over it, he smiles and nods, hoping that’s the correct response.
Theon’s eyes give him a glance over.
Is he smirking? He knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he? He has to know what he’s doing. Someone like this isn’t oblivious to their effects.
This really is not Robb’s fault, and to be quite honest he’s a little proud of himself when he declines the invitation to join them in meeting some friends at a bar when they leave the cinema.
What he’s not proud of is what happens later that night.
He wakes to the clang of the door handle flying into the wall outside and the subsequent laughs and shushes that fill him with irrational anger. When have they ever cared about disturbing him before? It only gets worse when there’s some laughter at the shushing which comes to an unnatural stop only to be replaced with a quiet groan once they’ve managed to lock the door. If he didn’t need it to muffle the noise he’d have likely thrown his pillow across the room.
The only thing stopping him from going completely off the rails is they do then seem to quieten down as they pass his room, but perhaps that’s because he has such a firm grip on the pillow. Why they think though that once they are in Patrek’s room making noise is no longer a problem, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that there’s no delicacy in how they collapse onto the bed, and a lot of humour in it.
“Smooth,” he hears Theon’s faint voice teasing voice right before a thump on the adjoining wall is followed by laughter. “Shh!”
Foolishly, Robb rolls over in his bed and pulls the duvet up over his head too, thinking a couple of extra layers of cotton and down might solve all his problems. He really doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed to fetch his headphones. Maybe tomorrow he’ll have the foresight to leave them on the bedside table. For now he’s going to press his eyes closed and pray to the gods that he drifts back on. Things don’t really work out like that though.
He can just about keep it together hearing Patrek’s enthusiasm and praise for whatever it is Theon is apparently doing with his mouth. He doesn’t want to know. Or know about him doing it to Patrek anyway… although, he can’t say he doesn’t wonder if he’d like it just as much as Patrek seems to. He wonders if Patrek has his hands in Theon’s hair… Theon’s dark locks look perfect for threading his fingers through. He wonders if he’d like to be held with a firm grasp there.
Oh fuck, this is not good. He’s out of his mind. He’s such a creep.
Patrek’s boyfriend, he tells himself, hands shaking.
Patrek’s boyfriend. Funny and good natured Patrek’s boyfriend. Patrek, his roommate and friend. His boyfriend… His insanely hot boyfriend. His insanely hot boyfriend whose mouth Robb would quite like wrapped around his cock.
In his mind, Theon looks up at him as he had in the cinema, knowing full well he’s setting his nerves light. Because he did, didn’t he? Because he knows, doesn’t he?
It’s already bad, Robb knows it's bad, but things get a whole lot worse.
The noises have stopped for now, but he knows better than to believe they’re over. That doesn’t stop him from pulling the covers and pillow off. Just to double check, of course. He can picture it now, Patrek pulling away, their quiet pants, before they maneuver. There it is, there’s the thunk against the adjoining wall and breathless laughter, right on cue.
Is it wrong not to try muffling the sounds again? No. No, it can’t be. It’s not his fault. It’s not like he’s doing something he wouldn’t normally do. He’s entitled to lie in his bed without covering his ears.
Is it wrong that he maybe doesn’t do it in anticipation of what is perhaps one of the best noises known to him?
Where is the line?
Has he already crossed it? Does he cross it when he pushes his hand under the elastic of his pajama bottoms right as Theon makes that indescribable bitten off sound up against the wall? Or is it when he touches himself?
He can just about hear them speak to each other in hushed voices, broken only by moans and light chuckles which are usually followed by louder groans, as his fingers gingerly trail over his length - just to take the edge off.
“Fuck me,” Theon requests, his voice strained, and Robb can almost imagine it’s addressed to him; front teeth biting down into his plump lip as he waits to have his wish fulfilled, failing to disguise the whine when it is.
That’s when his hand closes over his achingly hard cock and he restrains his own whimper. Is he really going to do this? There’s no denying that it’s to the noises this time.
He’s doing this.
With his eyes closed, in his mind’s eye, Theon sinks down onto him, the moans falling from his mouth are a product of the pleasure he finds riding him. He pictures him rising and falling with every stroke of his fist, brows drawn together, eyes opening to look into his like he can barely handle how good it feels and rolling back when it all gets too much.
It's good, for a while. It’ll do the job. Then Theon begins to beg.
“More,” he pleads. “Harder… Oh fuck… there. There, don’t stop… It feels so - It feels so good… Oh gods, more.”
“Bossy,” Patrek chastises him jovially.
Robb would like nothing more than to leave this room to go in there and give him what he needs. The dream that it's him that might be able to satisfy Theon and not his boyfriend has guilt sweep through him. He can’t be thinking this… Maybe they’d be happy for him to join them… Robb wouldn’t be though. It’d never be enough. And he hates himself for thinking he’d show Patrek how it’s done.
He’s almost thankful when something - someone - knocks into the wall and Theon cries out. Almost. There’s more chuckles from them then, and both that thump and the whimpers and moans take on a more urgent rhythm.
Robb wets his lip, fighting to remain silent. To keep the groans threatening to escape at bay and the creak of his bed at a minimum. His chest rises and falls with his laboured breathing, and his free hand reaches into his own hair in lieu of Theon’s.
“Fuck, I needed this,” says Theon helplessly, struggling to speak. “You have- You have no idea.” It sounds just like it's being whispered to him. Like it's for his ears. Is this his imagination? It has to be. The rush it gives him is real though and the noise he makes just after goes straight to his cock.
Just the thought of him does more for Robb than any experience he’s known. He’s so close. Maybe a sane person would cut to the chase, but not him. No, he’s driven by some insane need to last. To see it through.
He turns, gripping the top of the headboard as he pull himself up onto his knees to fuck into his fist. His head falls onto the cold wall in front of him. Fingers spread over his lips as though to remind him to make no noises, but in truth he’s struggling to contain himself; lost without a body to hold. To pleasure.
Theon’s noises become a never ending string of moans and whines that both turn him on and fill him with jealousy he has no right to feel. When another bang sounds, Robb pictures his hand slapping against the wall hiding him from sight but definitely not mind, and when he hears him reach his peak Robb imagines Theon thinking about him on the other side. With that thought he comes hard over his hand and slips just a little, enough for his chin to hit the bed frame.
“Fuck!” Robb feels his face drain of blood. Shit, he thinks, registering that it’ll have been loud enough for them to hear as the metallic tang of blood fills his mouth from his cut lip.
The situation leaves him with enough time to rearrange himself, turn on a lamp, and hastily use a packet to clean up his hand before the predictable concerned knock comes at his door.
Patrek clears his throat. “You alright, mate?”
Shitting hell, he’s such a decent guy.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.”
“Can I…?” Patrek asks as he cracks open the door. Spotting Robb dabbing blood from his lip, he raises his eyebrows. “Been in a fight?” He jokes, stretching out and scratching his head sleepily.
Robb pats the edge of the nightstand. “Just with the furniture.”
“Ouch,” he says sympathetically. The mention of furniture must flip a switch in his brain because he tilts his head slightly right as he yawns and Theon walks past behind him in the hallway. “Gotten into feng shui or something?”
Fuck his life.
The cold light of day has Robb sick to the pit of his stomach. He’d much prefer to hide in bed for the entire day and refuse to face the reality of things. He might well have done if it weren’t for Jon nagging him via text message; telling him if he doesn’t join them for Sunday dinner he’s going to a) send out a search party because never does he willing skip on Cat’s Yorkshire Puddings, and b) tell Sansa his limited knowledge of the situation without Robb there to defend himself.
With silence outside for the past hour, he deems it safe to leave his room in search of caffeine, and so he does, half sliding along the hall in socks in a bid to make as little noise as possible. It all proves to be a waste of time.
He flicks on the kettle and leans over the counter to fill in the crossword Patrek has left out without any disturbance, but the minute he’s pouring boiling water into a mug there’s a voice behind him.
“Morning,” Theon says brightly, and Robb is vaguely aware of him making a joke about it actually being the afternoon, but he’s too busy jumping out of his skin to hear the rest of it.
“Ah!” He yells at the splash of scalding water on his hand. “Shit.” Wincing, he uselessly shakes it to rid himself of what remains on his skin, but Theon is already pushing him aside to throw a tea towel on the puddle on the side and then to the sink, where he turns on the tap and guides his hand under the cold stream.
“Sorry,” says Theon, a little abashed. “I didn’t mean to surprise you. I heard the kettle boil and… “ Robb hears the little huff of a sigh, “I thought I’d come say hey.”
Robb takes a deep breath, looking from his red hand going numb up to Theon’s perfect face. He’s painfully handsome to look at even across a room, it’s enough to threaten him a heart attack up close. “Hey,” he breathes, managing a smile, not completely devoid of humour, and is rewarded with a broad grin that takes his breath away.
The dark eyes watching him flick down to his lips and he feels himself freeze at how Theon leans forwards ever so slightly.
Theon winces. “Ow,” he says, lifting his hand to have his thumb stroke carefully along the grove between Robb’s swollen lip and tender chin. He looks back up to check on Robb’s reaction. “That does look sore.”
This cannot be happening. Oh shit, he’s leaning in towards him. He can’t do this... Theon’s lips look like they're just begging to be kissed though. There’s going to be hell to pay for this. Will it be worth it? He can feel the warmth of Theon’s breath, and the smell of mint… and Patrek’s shower gel.
Snapping out of it, he forces out a self deprecating laugh. “Accident prone, even in my sleep, I guess.” He swallows and, despite knowing it does nothing for his acting casual bit, takes Theon’s wrist to move his hand away. Turning off the tap, he looks away and clears his throat. “Are you thirsty? I-I mean do you want a drink?”
“Sure,” Theon says in dulcet tones, eyes sparkling. He contorts his body for Robb to pass until he’s free to lean back, propped up on his elbows while he watches him sort out the mess. “What are you offering?”
He retells that last part of the story - the way Theon nips his lip, the way he speaks, the way he looks at him, and how he himself tries to maintain boundaries - and the looks in the cinema over and over to Jon and Sansa, who are definitely sensing he’s leaving out something important… Something like his night time habits and how deep in he is.
He can tell how eager Sansa is for the gossip when she asks, “and then what happened?”
Robb shrugs, poking at the crumble still left in his bowl despite everyone else having already fled the table. “I made him coffee, asked where Patrek was -”
“Good,” Jon interrupts him with Sansa nodding in agreement. He has a good mind to tell them he’s not an idiot, he knows it was the right thing to do.
“Do I need to tell him?” He asks them, panicked. “What would I even say? ‘Hey, Patrek, your boyfriend keeps smiling at me and being nice and - touched starved as I am - I can’t stop reading too much into it?’”
He can’t help but feel a little disappointed when neither of them jump in to say he’s not reading too much into it.
“Poppet,” Sansa pulls a sympathetic face and reaches out and pats his arm patronisingly. “It’ll be ok.”
“Will it though?”
“Hasn’t he only been in the picture for like a week?” Jon asks. He nods along when Robb does. “And doesn’t Patrek… y’know… get around?”
For whatever reason, their sister chuckles then and looks down into her drink, but Robb sees what he’s saying. Chances are it would be over in a couple of weeks. He could maybe stay somewhere else for some of that time. But is it ever acceptable behaviour to make a move of a friend’s ex no matter how short the relationship?
“This feels different - you haven’t seen them together.” It would be typical for him to wait it out and this to be the one to stick, then before he knows it he’s stood watching them cut a huge white cake together in matching suits.
“You could even just be honest about your feelings,” Sansa suggests. “Patrek might be a little more sensitive and be less… I don’t know… in your face.”
“It’s not even that! They’re not all over each other outside his room or anything.” He watches his brother and sister exchange funny looks with each other. “What do I do?”