Work Text:
Jon almost cancels their Saturday plans on Friday afternoon. Mr. Mormont is a pretty considerate boss and someone who generally understands that employees have lives outside of work. Alliser Thorne, however, seems to think that every person at the firm is just sitting around waiting for him to drop last minute assignments on their laps. And he also really fucking hates Jon for some reason.
Jon stares at the request from Thorne to review all the work they’ve completed this week because he’s convinced that the map of the underground utilities is inaccurate. If he does find any issues, he’ll have to also update the presentation they’re supposed to give to their client on Monday morning.
He really should cancel the plans, but he can already imagine the sad emoji Sansa will send followed by reassurance that it’s alright and they can go on a different day. Knowing her, she would also come by his office to drop off dinner if he said he had to work late. Jon wouldn’t normally pass on the opportunity to see her, even for five minutes, but if he sees her then he will spend the rest of the night thinking about her pretty face and bright eyes and how intelligent and caring she is and how his big, fat, embarrassing crush gets harder and harder to hide everyday.
He promised her months ago he would go with her to Ikea for a new dresser and an area rug for her studio apartment. He even borrowed his friend Grenn’s truck so he can haul everything back to the West Village.
Jon knows it’s going to take ages for Sansa to pick something and then she’ll insist on buying him lunch for the trouble, which will turn into spending the rest of the day together and running errands, getting groceries, and a million other things they both need to do since he’s already driving and they should take advantage. It’ll be midnight by the time he makes it back to Williamsburg because they will surely end up back at Sansa’s place for dinner and the usual movie.
He could work on Sunday, but that would mean no real down time for a couple of weeks since he’s traveling next week for a conference. Besides, these Saturdays have become a staple since Sansa moved to New York for grad school seven months ago. They started as him checking in because her parents and Robb asked him to, but now they’re the best part of his week—even if he sees her during the week too, because his office is only a few blocks from NYU. He could tell her he has to work or just that he’s tired.
Or.
He could stay at the office today after everyone has gone home and work until he’s done.
The decision is actually not very hard to make.
Jon puts on his headphones and his focus playlist and starts reviewing one by one the maps of the utilities and how they overlap, making sure it matches the map they created for the client weeks ago. Thorne must’ve been saving the request to fuck with his weekend specifically because although he emailed Jon this afternoon, he’s been off since Wednesday. Jon has to remind himself that if things go according to plan, he will get promoted to a different team and won’t have to deal with Thorne as much.
It’s almost eleven when he sends the email with the updated maps and presentation. Jon is exhausted, but at least the work is done.
He gets home and his roommate’s bedroom door is closed. He can’t remember if Sam is on night shift this week at the hospital.
He sees Sansa texted him when he puts his phone to charge.
Sansa: havent heard from you for a few hours but thats ok bc you won’t be able to get rid of me all day tomorrow 😁
She always gets him to smile even when he’s exhausted. Actually, maybe especially when he’s exhausted because he forgets to hide how much he likes her. Jon types back with his eyes half closed.
Jon: Noted.
They grew up in the same small town in Vermont. As Robb’s best friend since the first day of first grade, Jon was always around the Starks. Sansa, however, never seemed interested in getting to know him. Even in high school they never quite landed in the same circle. They overlapped in student council for a year before he graduated, but she was always rushing out after meetings. Jon thinks she must’ve been a part of every club plus student council and cheerleading.
They kept in touch loosely after he went away to college in Boston and she went to California. Then she started coming to New York for grad school interviews and Robb asked if she could stay at his place instead of paying for a hotel and Jon had said yes of course. Those three days were some of his favorites in his time in the city and by the time Sansa was going back to Vermont, Jon had found himself hoping she would decide to move to New York. Not only do they have a lot more in common as adults than they ever did as kids, but Sansa has somehow become even prettier. But that’s not where his attraction to her comes from.
There’s something magnetic about Sansa Stark. It has never surprised him how quickly she took to the city. Sansa is friendly with everyone, which makes it look like she must have a hundred close friends, but Jon has learned the difference. She knows people. She talks to people. She shows up. She’s a friend to everyone, but only close to a few. Jon likes that he’s one of them. In turn, he can be quiet around her and she doesn’t treat it like something that needs fixing.
His phone buzzes again.
Sansa: also i’m bringing you coffee and something sweet so you can’t be grumpy.
Jon closes his eyes and counts to twenty and repeats to himself that they’re just friends. He picks up his phone again
Jon: I’m an adult man, I don’t get “grumpy”
Sansa: sure 😋good night!
Jon: Good night 🙄
***
There’s a text from her time-stamped 8:42 when he wakes up at nine.
Sansa: leaving now!!
He smiles, which feels ridiculous given that he’s barely awake and sends a thumbs up.
He meets her downstairs. She hasn’t seen him because she’s turned towards the street, so Jon allows himself a few seconds to look at the way the red of her hair shines in the early sunlight. She’s wearing a chunky red sweater with jeans and her big navy coat. She’s going to get cold later, he knows it, and he will give her his scarf even if she will try to decline and then he will feel like a creep when he can smell her perfume on the fabric.
Her cheeks are pink when she finally sees him. She hands him his cup and a bakery bag. The coffee is perfect.
“You look tired,” she says.
“Worked late,” he shrugs.
“Why?” Sansa asks as they cross the street to where Grenn’s truck is parked.
“Last minute assignment,” Jon replies.
“You should’ve told me. We could’ve done this some other time. I mean, I would have been sad, but I would have understood.”
“I wanted to see you. I mean, I know we planned this months ago and I already had Grenn’s truck.”
Jon focuses on driving and not running over a pedestrian. His heart tries to beat out of his chest. Maybe she didn’t realize what he said or maybe she doesn't care because he’s just a friend and nothing more. He’s overthinking it.
Sansa keeps talking and telling him about her classes and her job at the Student Center. She’s doing her master’s at NYU in Global Affairs. She continues updating him on things and asking about his week. They saw each other two days ago and have spoken everyday this week, but they still find new things to discuss.
Sansa digs into the bakery bag and passes him an almond croissant one-handed while he drives, but not before taking a bite herself.
Every so often she touches his arm as she speaks. Jon tells himself she does this with everyone. That it doesn’t mean anything. That he’s not special.
It still makes Jon’s skin feel on fire.
“You’re quiet,” she says as she goes through his playlist to pick something to listen to.
“Just afraid of what you’ll decide to play,” he jokes.
Sansa huffs. “Please. As if I’m the one with the bad music taste.”
They argue about his choice of music (the same 10 bands he’s been listening to since he was a shy and sulky teenager) versus hers (the poppiest pop followed by classical) until she settles on a slow song by one of his favorite bands.
“Ugh. You’re really the best,” she says. “I’m going to buy you lunch—no, I don’t want to hear it. Before you start complaining, I’m also being selfish because, first of all, I want Swedish meatballs and second, I’m going to ask you to come over and build my furniture.”
“As if I didn’t also ask Grenn to let me borrow his tools because I knew you would ask,” he replies with a sigh, but can’t hide the smile.
Ikea is the usual chaos, but as they move through the displays and Sansa talks him into buying a few things for his place, Jon starts noticing something he really should’ve noticed a lot earlier. There are pink and red balloons everywhere, plastic flowers arranged into hearts, little trinkets to give your partner on Valentine’s Day. He sort of knew the day was coming because it’s hard not to, but he didn’t realize it was today. It’s not until Sansa is sorting through the rugs display that it fully hits him that he’s spending Valentine’s Day with the person he’s in love with.
The lighting suddenly feels too bright. Now that he’s aware, every other person in this Ikea seems to be with their partner. Sansa’s red sweater and pink hair ribbon seems like a premeditated choice now and not something she just put on for no reason.
At some point she hooks her fingers around his sleeve and tugs him closer so he can look at a rug with her. Not only that, but she guides his hand to send the fabric but all he can feel are her fingertips on his fingers.
“Did you know it’s Valentine’s?” He asks before stopping himself.
Sansa’s mouth twitches.
“Did you just figure that out? How did you not know?”
“It’s been such a busy week,” Jon defends himself. “I knew it was coming, but I didn’t notice it was today.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Sansa says.
He shrugs and wishes her the same.
They find the dressers. Sansa insists on one that Jon knows for certain is too big for her studio because he measured the space weeks ago and saved it on his phone. Jon points out she doesn’t have room.
They argue briefly about it until Jon shows her the measurements and helps her picture what something smaller would look like. Jon wonders if other people see them buying furniture together and think they’re a couple.
They go back to the rugs after choosing a dresser and get a pretty floral one with big poppies.
Sansa treats him to lunch as she had announced and he spends a lot of it trying not to imagine what would happen if he confessed his feelings for her. He won’t, however, her friendship means too much to him to risk losing it.
They load everything into Grenn’s truck with little trouble. Sansa hugs Jon and kisses his cheek in thanks after he’s done. It puts a smile on his face.
On the drive into Manhattan she rests her hand on his forearm while he’s merging like she’s steadying him.
They go through every grocery store aisle because neither is in a rush. Sansa insists on getting him his favorite type of candied nuts. He usually refuses to buy them because they seem like an unnecessary expense.
“I’m doing this more for myself than for you,” she jokes as she puts them on his section of the shopping cart. “I’ll eat them all when I come over.”
They pick up her things from the dry cleaner and then go to UPS to get a package her mother sent her. Jon gives her his scarf because just as he predicted, she complains about the cold as they walk out of the store.
Everywhere they go they’re bombarded with reminders that it’s Valentine’s Day. It wouldn’t be so awful if he weren’t spending the day with someone he’s in love with. It doesn’t matter, though. He would spend entire days running errands with Sansa and it would make him as happy as anything else done with her. He just wants to be in her presence, to have her smile at him, and to hold her hand. Even if they'll only ever be friends.
The doorman in her building helps him bring everything up to her apartment. Sansa insists she could help. Jon knows she could, but he wants to do this for her.
“Thank you,” she says with another squeeze to his shoulder after the doorman has left.
Jon shrugs and turns away from her to hide his blush. “You would do it for me.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I would.”
Sansa’s West Village studio has high ceilings that make it feel bigger than it is. In reality, there is a narrow strip of kitchen with two burners and a tiny sink and she only has space for her bed, a small round table and two chairs that doubles as a desk, a nightstand, a bookshelf, and now the dresser.
Jon busies himself unpacking the dresser pieces out of the box while she puts away groceries and opens her mother’s package, which contains a collection of cookbooks. Sansa looks thrilled and also a bit emotional as she reads a note from her mother. Jon could look at her for hours.
“Okay,” Jon says and he pulls out the little instruction booklet and spreads the pieces out on the floor.
Sansa reads the pictures over his shoulder and leans in too close. Jon would usually be in favor of her closeness, but he wants to make sure the dresser doesn’t fall apart.
She takes off her sweater saying she feels warm. Jon tries not to stare. He really tries. But Sansa is wearing a pink tank top under and he doesn’t think she’s wearing a bra because he can see the outline of her nipples.
Jon wonders what it would feel like to suck one into his mouth and feel it stiffen on his tongue. The thought makes him feel like a pervert so he looks away.
It takes a lot longer than it should because they keep getting distracted, but they push it against the opposite wall once they’re done.
“You’re my hero,” she says.
“It’s not that serious.” Jon rolls his eyes, but feels warm all the same.
Sansa squeezes his hand as she moves past him.
“Still.”
They move the bed and place her new rug under it. Everything feels very intimate, though it’s probably just his mind playing tricks.
Sansa steps back and puts her hands on her hips to admire the room when they finish.
“It’s perfect,” she says. She looks pretty and satisfied. “It’s almost seven. Wanna order dinner?”
“Okay.”
Jon sits at her little table while Sansa scrolls through the delivery app making a face.
“Everything is insane.”
Jon opens his own phone and checks.
“Well, yeah. It’s Valentine’s Day.”
“I hate Valentine’s Day,” Sansa murmurs.
Jon arches an eyebrow.
”You love Valentine’s Day. Look at what you were wearing today.”
“Well, I hate not being able to order what I want to eat,” she argues. “And I would kill for some carbonara right now.”
“I’ll make it for you.”
Sansa tries to argue that he’s already done enough for her today, but he ignores her and starts pulling ingredients out of the fridge.
“I’ll open the wine then.”
Jon knows exactly where everything is in this kitchen in the same way Sansa knows where everything is in his apartment. He cracks the eggs and shreds the cheese while Sansa offers to cook the pancetta. Jon has only ever made carbonara using bacon, but of course Sansa would have pancetta. He wants to decline her help, but it feels very domestic to be cooking together.
Sansa bumps her hip against his when she passes behind him. Jon’s whole body goes stiff. If he didn’t know better, he would think she was doing it on purpose.
“You’re in my way,” she teases.
“I’m literally using the stove,” Jon says.
Sansa laughs and reaches over him for a bit of cheese. Her arm crushes his chest.
Jon grips the counter edge until the feeling passes.
They cook together in a very efficient way like always. He tastes and then makes her taste. He tries not to notice the way her lips wrap around the fork. The pasta is perfect and he feels an odd sense of pride. He lets Sansa choose what they will watch and set her laptop on the bed. She chooses a romantic comedy.
“For the holiday,” she explains.
They make it through twenty minutes of the movie and half the bottle of wine. Jon takes the dirty plates and puts them in the sink. He tries to wash them, but Sansa insists she will deal with them tomorrow.
“We can sit on the bed,” she says, stretching her arms over her head. The tank top lifts revealing the skin around her bellybutton. “My back hurts.”
Jon’s stomach flips.
“Okay.”
Sansa usually has strict rules about outside clothes on the bed, but says she needs to do laundry anyway. This is not the first time they have ended up in this exact situation—sitting on her bed—but it feels different today.
Jon sits stiffly at first, leaving a gap that feels ridiculous. Sansa scoots closer until their shoulders touch. She rests her head against his upper arm. He shivers.
“Are you cold?” She asks. “I can give you a blanket if you are.”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
Halfway through the movie there’s a scene where a couple is kissing in the rain. Sansa makes a face and takes a sip of wine.
“What’s that face?” Jon asks her.
Sansa rolls her eyes.
“Nothing.”
Jon watches her profile. Her lashes. The line of her mouth around the rim of the glass.
“Do you ever miss it?” She’s looking at the screen, not at him, when she asks.
“Miss what?”
“Being in a relationship,” Sansa answers.
His last relationship ended almost a year ago. He went on dates with a couple of girls after. One didn’t make it past the first date, the other one turned into a brief stint of hookups that ended when the girl got back together with her ex-boyfriend. And then Sansa moved to New York.
“Do you miss it?” She repeats.
“Sometimes.”
“Are you dating anyone?”
Jon’s mouth goes dry.
“No. You would know if I had a girlfriend, Sansa. We’re always together.”
“True,” she laughs.
The movie continues playing. The couple is now arguing about something, but Jon has lost the plot if he’s honest. He can feel the heat of her shoulder against his.
It’s not an odd thing to ask someone, but he’s realizing now that despite how much they speak, they never speak about relationships. Why ask him now? Is she suggesting something? Maybe she got a boyfriend and is trying to figure out how to break the news.
“Are you?” Jon asks.
He braces for the answer. Who wouldn't want to be in a relationship with Sansa? Sweet, careful Sansa, so brilliant and kind and so beautiful he has actually seen people stop mid-walk to admire her.
“No,” she answers and sits back against the headboard.
Jon tries to keep his face neutral.
“Do you want to?”
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head like she’s irritated with herself. “I think I miss being someone’s person.”
You’re my person, he wants to say. Of course he doesn't.
Sansa keeps going. She’s a little flushed now, wine and honesty mixing. “I miss the intimacy,” she says and immediately winces. “Not—sorry. That’s embarrassing.”
Jon’s hands are still folded in his lap. His breath feels too loud no matter how much he tries to control it.
“It’s not embarrassing,” he tells her.
Her eyes are on his lips when he looks at her.
Jon feels his whole body go still.
“Come here,” he whispers, despite knowing better.
Jon cups her jaw and leans in. He lets her linger at the edge of the kiss. Lets her choose if she should follow it. This is a terrible idea. Sansa kisses him anyway. The first brush of her mouth against his feels like she’s still not entirely convinced he won’t pull away. Jon kisses her back. It’s better than anything he’s imagined.
She shifts closer and unhooks her legs to swing a knee over his lap and settle on top of him. The laptop is closed and pushed to the nightstand.
Jon feels himself get hard. Everything about her—the weight of her, her heat, the softness of her skin—adds to his desire for her.
Sansa inhales a sharp little breath that tells him she feels it too. Her eyes flicker down, then up again.
“Jon,” she gasps. He wants to swallow the sound.
“Sorry,” he apologizes. “We can—we can stop right now.”
Sansa shakes her head and kisses him again. She tilts her hips and chases the little friction their jeans must offer. One of his hands slides down her spine. She makes a small noise into his mouth that makes his cock twitch in his pants. He pulls the ribbon of her hair and it falls around her shoulders.
Jon hesitates when his hands find the hem of her tank and gives her enough time to catch up. Sansa lifts her arms without being asked. That simple, trusting movement just about wrecks him.
Jon peels the tank up and over her head. For a second he just looks. He’s met with her bare breasts and the line of her collarbone and her skin flushed pink from wine and nerves. In his guilty dreams he never imagined he would have her like this.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says.
“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes, but smiles.
He bends and kisses from the side of her face to where her pulse beats under his mouth. Her skin is hot. She tastes like salt and lotion and he wonders what the rest of her tastes like. Her nipples brush his chest when she leans in. Jon has to bite back a sound.
“Yes,” she moans.
He takes a nipple into his mouth and feels it stiffen into a peak between his lips, just like he thought about.
He can feel her roll her hips slowly, almost imperceptibly. Every shift drags her against him and sends a quick, bright line of sensation through him. With his hands on her hips he helps her move.
“What do you want?” He asks against her skin. It comes out low and a bit desperate. Sansa shivers and brushes her mouth over his.
“I want you.”
He has dreamt of her saying those words. He knows they should stop. Ask what this is. Ask what it means. They will have time later for that and so much more. Sansa cranes her neck to kiss him again. She bites his lip and he’s not even embarrassed of the moan that comes out of his mouth. Her tongue pushes between his teeth and brushes his. Sansa sucks on it. It sends a jolt straight to his cock.
Jon catches her by the hips and flips them so she ends up beneath him. Her hands slide down his back to shove his t-shirt up impatiently.
“Take this off.”
Jon pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it toward the floor. Her hands go straight to his chest, fingertips trace down over his ribs and around his waist. She palms him over his jeans. His stomach clenches.
Her body fits against his perfectly. It feels so natural to slot their hips together. His hands travel down to the button of her jeans to undo it. Sansa helps him with the zipper and together they slide the denim down her long legs. Jon can’t help but kiss the inside of her knee and then her ankles when he removes her pink socks.
Sansa is wearing a pretty blue cotton thong that makes him feel insane. He knows it would embarrass her if he pointed out he can see how wet she is.
He leans over her again to kiss and lick and nip his way down her body until he reaches her lower belly. Then he presses a kiss to her mound over her underwear that makes her gasp. One of her hands slides into his hair.
“Fuck,” Jon says, almost breathless. “Let me eat you out.”
“Yes,” Sansa moans, but instead of taking off her underwear, she reaches for Jon’s waistband. He undoes his jeans and pushes them down as Sansa slips one hand inside his boxers. The first touch of her hand nearly makes him come, which is a bit embarrassing for him and he can’t even blame it on the fact that it’s been a while. It’s Sansa’s effect on him. She strokes him briefly, but Jon pushes her hand away to help her lie back down.
He hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear.
“Okay?”
“Yes,” she says and lifts her hips for him without hesitation.
He pulls the fabric down her legs and Sansa kicks them off the rest of the way.
She looks a little shy now that she’s bare and spread open for him.
Jon lowers himself between her legs and mouths over the skin of her inner thighs first. Her skin seems sensitive there. She jumps slightly when his lips touch her. He takes his time, kissing up one thigh, then the other, feeling the faint tremor in her muscles, the way they tense and ease under his hands.
The first faint taste of her hits him when he seals his mouth over her. The way she shudders against his tongue makes him groan against her. Any thought he had left disappears and he has to press against the bed to get some relief.
Sansa arches against the mattress and Jon pushes one of her legs over his shoulder to keep her like that. Her fingers fly to his hair like she needs to anchor herself.
He finds his rhythm by instinct. He drags his tongue slowly at first, then adjusts the pressure when she gasps a little louder, when her hips jerk, when her fingers tighten in his hair. He wraps his lips around her clit and sucks. Sansa gasps and props herself up on her elbows.
“Too much?” He asks.
Sansa laughs and he feels her body shake. “A bit.”
Jon licks into her as if he were apologizing. She seems to like that more. Her breath comes in short, sharp pulls. He can feel her tension build slowly, then faster, like a wire winding tighter.
“Do you want my fingers too?”
Her head jerks. Her eyes are glazed. She nods and pushes her hips into his face.
“Yes,” she sighs. “Please.”
Of course Sansa would say please when he’s going down on her. Not even pleasure can stop her from being polite. Jon slides one hand from her thigh to the slick heat between her legs and lets his fingers stroke through what his mouth has already worked. Sansa jolts and a soft cry escapes her.
The way she grips him and sucks him in when he presses a finger inside of her is almost too much for Jon. He might come untouched in his boxers. He groans under his breath and has to pause for half a second just to breathe.
“You feel…” Jon doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t trust what might come out of his mouth.
He tries to match the movement of his fingers with his tongue on her clit. Sansa clenches around him when he adds another finger. He can only imagine what it would be like to be inside of her.
One of her hands flies to the back of the bed to hold onto the headboard.
“Jon. Don’t stop.”
Steady and focused, he keeps pushing her higher, following every shudder and broken breath. She’s close, he can feel it. When he looks up, she’s grasping her breasts and her pretty mouth is open mid-moan.
He adds a little more pressure and softly sucks on her again. This time she seems to welcome it and she finally tightens around his fingers as her back bows off the bed. She sounds so pretty when she comes and if she allows it, Jon will spend as much as time as he can trying to pull that sound out of her again. He keeps his mouth on her through it, replacing his fingers with his tongue to feel her as he drinks her in and rubbing circles on her clit with his thumb.
Jon only eases off when he feels her flinch from overstimulation. He presses kisses to her inner thighs and then lays his head on her hip. He’s dizzy with how much he wants her and how much he loves that he gets to do this for her. He would spend hours with his mouth on her cunt if she let him.
When he looks up, she looks wrecked and beautiful and a little stunned.
“Hey,” he says, a bit out of breath.
Her mouth curves. “Hi.”
Sansa reaches for the hand he has on her hip and tugs him over her.
Her thighs slide up along his hips and she starts pushing his boxers down. Jon helps her the rest of the way before he presses himself against her. He could die right now and he would die a happy man just from feeling her heat directly.
He sucks in a sharp breath. She feels him, too.
“Fuck me,” Sansa breathes. It’s strange to hear her curse, but it just makes him want her more to see her lose control.
He braces one hand by her head, the other on her hip.
“Touch me,” he says. “Please.”
Sansa presses her thumb between his lips. Jon sucks on it lightly and bites it. Then she slides her hand between them to wrap it around his cock. She rubs the head with her thumb. Jon can’t help but thrust into her hand.
“Like that?”
Jon nods and hides his face against her chest. Sansa spreads her thighs further and slides a bit up so their hips are flushed. Jon drives his hips forward and watches her gasp when the head of his cock brushes her clit.
“I don’t have a condom,” he says.
Jon wishes his brain didn’t jump to the responsible thing. He's not even sure how it’s possible to form normal thoughts when Sansa has started rubbing herself against him. She’s letting out little moans that tell him she’s close again.
“I’m on birth control,” she says as her hips continue flexing under him. “You can pull out. Please. I want you inside me.”
“It’s been a while for me,” he admits.
“Same for me,” she says and braces her hands on his shoulders. She’s so wet and hot against him, he knows he won’t last long.
Jon kisses her as he reaches between them. He guides himself into her. He pushes forward slowly, watching her face. Her mouth opens on a quiet sound. She is tight and warm around him and it is everything he’s been trying not to imagine for months.
He pauses.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sansa croons.
Jon forces himself to wait. He kisses her temple and the corner of her mouth while her body adjusts around him. He also has to let himself get used to the way she feels. Every little shift sends pleasure skittering down his body. Sansa urges him deeper with a tilt of her hips. He pulls back and pushes in again.
He finds a rhythm, urged by her legs wrapped around his waist. The sensation is overwhelming. Every thrust feels like an admission. I want you. I love you.
He presses his forehead against hers. Her breath fans hot over his mouth.
“You feel incredible,” Jon breathes. “I can’t—”
She cuts him off with a kiss, urgent and messy, like she doesn’t want him to apologize for wanting her. He pushes an arm under her ass and hitches her leg higher. He sinks deeper with the new angle and she makes a sharp little sound against his mouth, breaking the kiss.
“There,” she whispers. Her eyes flutter shut. “There.”
He tightens his grip on her hip and does it again. Her whole body reacts, back arching, hands clutching at his shoulders.
“Like that?” He checks.
Sansa’s reply comes in the form of her sucking on his skin.
He keeps thrusting into that same spot, but faster. His own control frays quickly; he knew it would. Jon has wanted this for too long to make it last. Sansa is too much. She’s all soft skin and hot slickness and the little broken noises she can’t seem to hold back.
He’s too aware of how much he loves her. It sits right under the pleasure. But he’s so close. Jon tells himself there will be other times where he can stretch this out. He’ll be able to take his time with her.
“Touch yourself for me,” he begs against her hair.
Sansa’s hand slides down between them. Jon looks down. The sight of her touching herself like that makes him go hot all over.
“Jon,” she gasps. Her head tips back. “I’m—”
He can tell she’s close. He can feel it in the way she tightens around him. He keeps the rhythm, driving himself up against the edge with her.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Come on, Sansa. I’ve got you.”
Sansa makes a broken sound and her body clamps around him. Her head tips back. She comes with her thighs trembling and her mouth open on his name.
Jon lasts a few more thrusts and then he forces himself to pull out. He sits back between her legs and wraps his hand around himself. It doesn’t take more than a few strokes until he’s coming over his fingers and across her stomach in hot streaks.
Jon hovers over her, staring at the mess, at her flushed skin, and the way her breasts tremble as she catches her breath.
“Shit,” Jon mutters. “Sorry. I should’ve asked.”
Sansa lets out a little breathless laugh.
“It’s alright,” she assures him.
Jon lies on her side. Sansa closes the gap and holds onto him. Jon feels her take a deep breath. He kisses her forehead before sliding off the bed and padding to her bathroom. He washes his hands and cleans himself up. He grabs a clean washcloth from under the sink and runs it under warm water.
Sansa is still lying where he left her when he comes back, but she’s pulled her duvet over her lower body. There’s a streak of him across her bare stomach.
“Hey,” he says, showing her the washcloth “Let me.”
Sansa is flushed and sweaty and so pretty. She nods.
Jon sits on the edge of the bed and moves the cloth in steady strokes over her skin. He’s as gentle as he can because he knows she has sensitive skin. They just had sex, yet this feels like a higher form of intimacy.
“Thank you,” Sansa says. She takes the washcloth from him and points towards the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Jon finds his boxers and puts them on. He folds their clothes as he waits for her. Maybe they will speak about this tonight or if maybe they'll just go to sleep. Maybe they could finish the movie, though they might need to start it over. They could also just go to bed. Maybe kiss some more. They don’t even have to have sex again. He should wait to tell her he loves her, though the idea that Sansa maybe loves him too makes him feel like he’s floating on a cloud.
He hears the toilet flush and a minute later Sansa comes out of the bathroom wearing her bathrobe.
Jon can tell something is wrong as soon as she steps out.
“Hey. Are you okay?” He asks.
Sansa blinks and then looks at him.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
Jon waits. Her mouth opens like she’s about to say something. She doesn’t. Her eyes flick down and away. She crosses her arms over her chest.
“Hey,” Jon says again. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sansa replies. Jon can tell she’s lying. He’s known her since they were kids, has seen her lie to her siblings and her parents. The fact that she won’t meet his eyes says enough.
Jon can feel heat creeping up his neck.
“Sansa.”
She doesn’t look at him.
“It’s kind of late,” Sansa starts. “You should probably go home.”
All the happiness he just felt slips away and is replaced with something much darker.
“You want me to go?”
“Yeah” she nods.
“Did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you?”
He has the thought that maybe he misread the situation. He wants to throw up. What if he missed a moment where she tensed and he didn’t stop?
“Are you sure?” he presses. He can hear the edge of panic in his voice and hates it. “If I did something you didn’t want, if I—”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Sansa cuts in. “I just want to go to sleep.”
Jon doesn’t believe her. Everything feels off now.
“Okay. I can…I can clean up in the kitchen and then—”
“No,” Sansa interrupts him. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow.”
Sansa looks like she’s trying to shrink inside her robe. She’s speaking to him like he’s a guest who overstayed, not someone who was literally just inside her. Not her best friend.
“What’s going on, Sansa? You’re freaking me out.”
Her eyes are shiny, but not in the way they’d been before, heavy with lust. Now they’re more like she’s about to cry.
“I’m just tired, Jon,” Sansa replies. “I don’t want to have a huge conversation right now.”
“I’m not trying to have a huge conversation,” Jon says. He can hear the edge in his own voice and forces himself to lower it. “I just…Did I misread this? Because ten minutes ago you were—”
“Please don’t,” she cuts in and puts her hands up. “This was nice, but we never have to talk about it again.”
The words feel like a blow.
“Oh.”
“That came out wrong,” she winces.
“Yeah?” Jon asks. He’s trying really hard not to raise his voice. Maybe this is all a misunderstanding.
“I don’t want to fight.”
“I don’t either,” Jon answers, but realizes he’s lying. Some part of him does. Fighting at least means she cares enough to get mad. “But I don’t understand what changed so fast. We were fine. You seemed like you enjoyed that. You kissed me, Sansa. You told me you wanted me and then asked me to fuck you. What was I supposed to think?”
Jon sees her flinch at his language. He drags a hand over his face. He feels raw and embarrassed.
“Look, if this was just…If you just wanted to scratch an itch or something, you could have—”
“Don’t say it like that.” Her voice sharpens.
“How else am I supposed to say it?” He asks. “I feel like an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” he says. “I kind of am.”
His chest hurts. He thinks about the way he kissed her, the way she said please, the way she looked at him when she came. He thought—stupidly—that meant something. That it was more than just bodies and wine and Valentine’s Day loneliness. He thought maybe this was them crossing some line together. That she felt it too.
“Can we just move past this?” Sansa asks.
The words are like cold water. He actually takes a step back.
“I don’t want to just move past this,” he says slowly. “I’m…confused. You’re acting like this was nothing.”
“I didn’t say it was nothing,” she snaps. “I just…I don’t want it to be a whole thing.”
“It is a big thing,” he says. “We’re not strangers. We’ve known each other our whole lives. I’m not some guy off an app you can ghost and never see again.”
“People have sex without it being—”
“Don’t finish that sentence. Please.”
Sansa presses her lips together.
“I’m sorry.”
He nods, but it feels useless.
“Are you?” He asks. It’s out before he can stop it.
“Yes,” Sansa says. “Of course I am. I didn’t mean to make things confusing.”
The room feels small. Jon wants to be anywhere but here. He wants to crawl into bed and hold her. He wants to go back to five minutes ago when Sansa was in his arms and they were happy.
“I miss being close to someone,” she says suddenly. “I miss…touch and—and intimacy. And feeling wanted.” She shrugs. “You’re my closest friend here. I mean. I trust you. I didn’t plan for this to happen.”
“You wanted to feel close to someone for a night and I was here. I was just a body. I get it. I wanted…I don’t know what I wanted.” He did. He wanted this to be the start of something. It feels pathetic to say it out loud. “We were not on the same page. I’m sorry for assuming.”
She doesn’t deny it. That somehow hurts more than if she argued. They’re both quiet. Sansa looks down at her feet.
“I think I need some space.”
“From me?”
“Just for a little while. I need to think. And I don’t know how to do that with you right here.”
He feels something in his chest crack.
“Right,” he says. “Sure. Yeah.”
She winces again.
“Don’t say it like that.”
“What do you want from me, Sansa?” He asks.
“Jon,” she says, and now she sounds like she’s the one about to cry. “Please. I’m asking you nicely. I just…I need time.”
That last part really does it. He looks away so she doesn’t see his face.
“Got it,” he says. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother you again.”
He'll take his pathetic little feelings home with him.
“Jon.”
“It's fine, Sansa, You don’t have to comfort me about it. That would kind of defeat the whole ‘space’ thing.”
Jon bends to pick up his jeans, t-shirt, socks. His back feels exposed while he’s turned away from her. He’s hyper-aware of every stupid movement of his body. His hands fumble with his belt. He can’t find one of his socks and he almost decides to leave with only one on. He shrugs his jacket on. His keys rattle in his hand. He feels like he’s sleepwalking.
“Are you going to be okay to drive?” She asks after a minute, arms still wrapped around herself. The question almost makes him laugh. Then he feels like an asshole because despite what just happens he still loves her and she’s still his friend.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m fine.” He’s not, but he’s not drunk. Just so fucking heartbroken.
“Good night,” she says. Her voice is small.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll, uh. Yeah. Good night.”
Jon walks to the door. He thinks about turning back around and saying something that could fix this or at least make it less awful. Instead he hears himself say, “Lock your door,” without looking back.
“I will,” Sansa answers.
Jon closes it behind him and stands in the hallway for a second. He hears the soft click of her deadbolt sliding into place. It feels final. He feels like he’s about to cry. He presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth because he’s heard that helps.
The night air hits him as soon as he steps out of her building. He walks to Grenn’s truck on autopilot.
The drive back to Williamsburg is a blur of red lights. Sansa crosses his mind in flashes of her under him, her saying I want you, and what came after. He feels a nauseous mix of arousal and humiliation and loss. He finds a spot near his building. He puts the truck in park and kills the engine, but he doesn’t get out yet.
Jon drops his forehead to the steering wheel and lets out a breath, telling himself he’s not going to cry. He’s twenty-six, not fifteen. He’s too old to be this dramatic over unrequited feelings. Everyone has had their heart stepped on at least once. It’s on him really, he shouldn’t have assumed it was anything else than a quick fuck. But he also knows Sansa. Like him, she’s not one for one night stands, so it’s still confusing. Or maybe it really was just Valentine’s Day loneliness getting to her.
His eyes sting harder. He blinks fast, then stops fighting it when one hot tear slips free and falls onto his jacket. Another follows. He sits there like that for a while. His head hurts. He wishes he had canceled their plans.
***
Jon shoves his scarf in the back of his closet because it now smells like her.
He showers and goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, but every time he closes his eyes he’s back in Sansa’s apartment. At some point he must drift off, because he wakes up with his neck stiff and his phone tangled in the sheets beside him. There’s an endless pit where his heart used to be.
There are no new notifications.
Sunday drags. Jon makes coffee and toast. Both go cold and are left on the kitchen counter. He tries to do laundry, but it just gives him more time to think. Every mundane task reminds him of some conversation they’ve had.
He drives Grenn’s truck back to Queens. He keeps the radio off. The city looks flat and washed-out through the windshield. He texts Grenn he’s outside his place and his friend comes out.
“Hey man,” Grenn says, clapping him on the shoulder. “How was Ikea hell? You survived?”
“Yeah,” Jon says. “Fine.”
“Did Sansa find the stuff she needed? Say hi to her for me.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He attempts to read through his presentation notes when he’s on the subway, but his brain serves up another image of Sansa and he can’t concentrate.
There’s still nothing from her when he gets home. He thinks about calling her, but she asked for space so he doesn’t. He’s trying to respect her wishes. It doesn’t make the silence hurt any less.
***
The presentation on Monday goes surprisingly well.
He wears a suit and stands in the conference room with Mormont at one end of the table and the clients along the other, running through slides he’s seen a hundred times in the last few days. His voice stays steady. No one in the room could know that he spent half the weekend feeling like he had been skinned alive.
Thorne hangs back near the door as people file out of the room.
Jon steels himself for some comment about the utility maps or the formatting of the charts, some nitpicky criticism about something that doesn’t actually matter. Instead Thorne clears his throat and says, “That was solid work, Snow.”
Jon blinks.
“Thank you.”
“Keep it up,” Thorne says and then he’s gone.
Jon stands in the empty conference room for a second. He only feels a tiny bit of relief that this part of his week is done.
***
Sansa calls Wednesday night. Her name lights up his screen while he’s at his kitchen table reviewing a proposal that’s due next week. Jon stares at the caller ID. His thumb hovers over the screen.
He could answer. They could rip the bandage off. They could have the conversation she didn’t want to have on Saturday. He lets it ring out. The call drops and he sees she didn’t leave a voicemail. Jon feels pathetic and childish and still can’t make himself call her back.
***
He goes to work the next day like nothing is wrong. He answers emails. He double-checks a drainage plan. One of the junior engineers asks if he wants to join them at a new ramen place. Jon says he’s swamped and eats his sandwich alone at his desk instead.
Talking about what happened with Sansa is impossible. He realizes she’s the only person he wants to speak to about it.
***
Jon takes the early train to Boston on Friday. He shoves his bag into the overhead compartment when he finds his seat. The city rolls by in a blur of rooftops and graffitied walls and stretches of grey water.
He tries to read through his notes for his main project. Turns out the presentation was in fact great and the firm is one of the finalists for the contract. He manages to work for a while until he reads a line about tree canopy and it reminds him of Sansa always saying she misses the trees in Vermont. He closes the folder and watches the scenery instead, which doesn’t help. At all.
The conference is what conferences always are. Too-bright hotel ballrooms full of round tables and bad coffee. Lanyards digging into his neck. Panels with titles like “Resilient Infrastructure in Emerging Markets” and “Sustainable Transit-Oriented Development.” He takes notes because that’s what he’s supposed to do, nods at the right times, collects business cards for people who would be a good connection.
He goes back to his room early and spends more time that he’ll her confess looking through his text messages with Sansa.
On Saturday, in between sessions, he checks his phone and sees a missed call from Sansa.
The time stamp says it came in two hours ago, when he was stuck in a breakout about stormwater management. She didn’t leave a voicemail.
He puts the phone back in his pocket. His heart is beating too fast. He tells himself he’ll call her back after the next panel. Then after the one after that. Then when he’s back in his room. By the time he’s lying on the hotel bed, shoes off, tie tossed somewhere on the chair, he’s run out of excuses.
Jon taps on her contact. His entire body buzzes as he waits for Sansa to pick up.
“He—”
“Hi, this is Sansa Stark. Sorry I missed your call! Leave a message and I will get back to you.”
It’s the first time Jon hears her voice in a week. The sweet sound makes his throat close up like he’s having some sort of allergic reaction.
“Hi,” he starts after the beep. “I’m sorry I missed your call. Again.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t really know what to say. I hope you’re okay.”
He hangs up before he can leave her some sort of pathetic love confession and turns off his phone for the rest of the night.
***
Jon takes the train back on Sunday after the closing lunch of the conference. He doesn’t even attempt to work, opting to sleep instead.
About an hour outside the city, he wakes up with a stiff neck and a headache. The window shows him his own reflection superimposed over bare trees and warehouses. He looks tired and sad.
Sansa hasn’t called him back. He only has a steady and miserable thought looping through his head. He’s either going to have to fix this or lose her forever.
A plan starts to take shape as he waits for the subway and it’s fully formed as he transfers to the J.
Jon can’t lose her. Even if she never wants what he wants and he has to bury every stupid feeling he has, he can’t lose her friendship. She’s too important. The idea of losing the friendship they’ve built scares him more than the idea of staying in love with someone who might not love him back. He’s going to go to her place tonight and apologize for being an asshole. He’ll tell her they can forget about what happened. He’ll eat his feelings and swallow the taste. Whatever crumbs of her attention she’s willing to give him will be welcomed.
Jon walks up the stairs to his apartment rehearsing what he might say. He should’ve gone straight to her place, but he’ll just drop off his bag and go.
He unlocks the apartment door, pushes it open, and freezes. Sansa is sitting on his couch.
She stands up quickly when she sees him, like she’s been waiting for the sound of his key in the lock.
“Hi,” she says.
Jon’s hand tightens on the doorknob.
“Hey,” he manages.
“Sam let me in before he left to Gilly’s,” Sansa says “I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah,” Jon says automatically. “It’s fine.”
They look at each other. He drops his bag by the door. His heart is pounding in a way that makes him aware of his pulse in his fingertips.
“I picked up your groceries,” Sansa says suddenly. “I mean. You ordered through my account a couple of times and I placed an order for the stuff you usually get. I picked it up on the way here. Figured you wouldn’t have time to go to the store.”
“Ah, thanks.” His brain is still catching up and he’s not sure of what to say.
“And there’s pot roast in the oven,” Sansa continues. “My mom’s recipe. It still has like an hour to go, but—”
“You didn’t have to do all that,” Jon interrupts her. The longer she speaks the worse he feels about the whole situation. “You shouldn’t have. If you think you need to do something like this because you feel bad about what happened, let me stop you. We can forget about it and go back to normal. I promise I will never bring it up.”
“I didn’t do this because I feel like I owe you something,” she replies, looking upset. “You’re always taking care of me. I thought I would do something for you, too.”
“I was actually—” he starts.
“I —” she says at the same time.
They both stop.
“You go,” Jon says.
“Can we sit?” Sansa asks.
Jon nods and moves to the armchair so she’ll take the couch. He can’t stand the idea of sitting next to her right now. That’s something that will need to change. All the touching. He’ll find a way to stay sane and maybe one day, he will get over it.
Sansa takes a breath.
“I’m sorry,” she says. The word hangs there. “I’m really, really sorry about last week. About all of it, actually.”
“I’m sorry too,” he says quickly. “I was—”
“No.” She holds up a hand, shaky but firm. “Can I go first? Please? Or I’m going to lose my nerve.”
He shuts his mouth and nods.
She looks down at her hands.
“I freaked out,” she says. “Obviously.” A grim little smile flickers and disappears. “I didn’t…I didn’t express myself well. At all. I’ve been replaying it in my head all week. Every time I think about something I said I want to crawl under the bed and never come out.”
He doesn’t say anything, even though a part of him wants to reassure her they’ll be fine. He’s already resigned himself to shoving his feelings down for the sake of their friendship.
“I was scared,” she says finally. “That’s the truth. I was really, really scared.”
He frowns.
“Of what? Me?”
“No,” she says quickly, looking horrified. “No. Not you. Never you.” She rubs her forehead. “Of…everything. Of how fast it felt. Of the fact that I knew as soon as we kissed that this wasn’t gonna be casual for you or for me and that if we messed it up we’d lose each other. I panicked.”
Jon sits back, trying to absorb what she’s saying. She hugs her arms around herself.
“It was just easier to say we didn’t have to talk about it again than to say ‘I am in love with my best friend and also terrified that if we try to date it’ll end and then I’ll have lost the only person who makes this city feel like home.’”
His brain short-circuits halfway through that sentence.
“You’re what?” He says.
She looks miserable.
“In love with you,” she confesses. “Have been for a while.”
He wonders for a moment if maybe he hasn’t woken up and he’s still on the train from Boston. He stares at her. “Then why…” His voice cracks. “Why would you say all that stuff?”
“Because I’m an idiot,” she says immediately. “Because I was trying to sound chill and emotionally sophisticated and instead I sounded like I didn’t care about what we had done. Because I’ve spent a long time telling myself that it was just a crush, that it would pass, that you deserved better than me being a mess about it, so I tried to…compartmentalize. Like, ‘I miss sex, I miss being touched, and also I am deeply in love with this person’ are separate boxes. Spoiler: they’re not.” She blows out a breath. “I was selfish. I wanted you. I wanted to feel close to you without admitting what that meant. And then I was in the bathroom and I was thinking how i’ve never felt closer to anyone before, but I trust you and no one has ever looked at me like you did when we were together and I just sort of woke up halfway through and realized what I had done and all that came out of my mouth was the worst, sharpest, least true version of what I was feeling.”
Her eyes are shiny now, but she doesn’t look away.
“You were so hurt and so angry and I wanted to die,” she admits. “Because it wasn’t true. I wanted intimacy with you. Specifically with you. The idea of doing any of that with anyone else makes me feel…nothing. Or panicky in a bad way.” She makes a face. “I never wanted you to feel like it didn't matter to me.”
He watches her and wants to wrap her in a hug and promise her the sun and the stars if that's what it’ll take to make her happy.
“I was going to come to you tonight,” he says quietly. “To apologize. Even if you didn’t…feel the same. I couldn’t stand not having you in my life.”
Her eyes open. They’re wet. “You were?”
He nods.
“I decided it on the train back. I was going to knock on your door and say I was an asshole and that I’m fine being your friend if that’s all you want, and that I would get over myself eventually.” He shrugs one shoulder. “It felt pathetic, honestly. But losing you felt worse.”
She lets out a shaky laugh that sounds like it might turn into a sob.
“You’re not pathetic,” she says. “You’re…” She trails off, looking at him like there’s too much she wants to say and not enough room.
Jon licks his lips.
“I’m in love with you, too,” he blurts out. His heart is hammering in his chest now. She’s staring at him wide-eyed. “I’m in love with you, Sansa. And I was so hurt because I thought it meant you wanted me, not just sex. I know you don’t owe me anything. I just felt like an idiot. I made this whole story up in my head and then you were standing there in your robe talking about moving past it and needing space and it felt like you were shutting a door I didn’t even realize we had walked through.”
“You love me too?”
Jon lets out a short, choked-off sound, “I am. Have been for a while.”
“For how long?”
“Too long,” he says. “Since you moved here, I think. It crept up on me. And I just decided I could live with it if it meant having you around.”
“You should have told me,” Sansa sniffles.
“I was going to eventually,” he says. “In, like, ten years. When you were happily married to someone else and I was still pathetically in love with you.”
Her laugh this time is wet and real. She wipes at her cheek.
“I kept waiting for you to start dating someone,” she admits. “I had this whole mental script to be a good supportive friend and not act like my heart was being ripped out.”
He stares.
“Sansa.”
“You’re smart. And good and hot and decent. You would be surprised how difficult it is to meet a decent guy. You care about people. I didn’t want to ruin the one thing that was making this whole grad school, new-city, new-life thing feel manageable. I told myself this was just a little crush I could live with. Just hoping you would never notice it.”
He can’t take his eyes away from her face.
“We’re idiots,” he says.
“Yeah,” she says. “Complete idiots. I hurt you because I was scared. I should have come after you when you left. Or I showed up here when you didn’t pick up on Wednesday instead of just staring at my phone like a coward.”
“Sorry I missed that,” he says. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“I stared at your name for ten minutes waiting to see if you would text ‘sorry missed this.’ You didn’t. So I decided you were mad at me forever. And then on Saturday—well, you’re not gonna believe this, but that was a butt dial. I didn’t even notice it until I saw the missed call. I knew you were traveling and I didn’t want to bother you. I have listened to your voicemail like fifty times. Then I decided to come here.”
“I’m glad you did,” Jon confesses. “I was hurt. And embarrassed.” He looks down at his hands. “I felt stupid for thinking it meant what I thought it meant.”
“It did,” she says, leaning forward. “It meant so much to me. I felt so…exposed, I guess? I didn’t know what to say or do. I’ve had shitty relationships, Jon. With men who said the right things and then did whatever they wanted because they were lying to me the entire time. But that’s not you. You’re honest and good. And I really didn’t know you felt that way, I promise. I was so overwhelmed during the argument and a part of me wanted to tell you the reason I was freaking out is that I felt like I had used you for sex when I wanted so much more.”
“What do we do now?” He asks.
“What do you want?”
He could lie. He could say he wants things to go back to how they were, that friendship is enough. He could hand her an easy out.
““I want to be with you,” he says instead. He’s tired and in love and there’s no point in not being direct. “I want us to be together. If you’ll have me.”
“I want that too,” Sansa says. “I thought it was just…” She shrugs. “A ridiculous fantasy. Like, ‘ah, imagine if Jon actually liked me back.’ And then you said all those things the other night and I…short-circuited. I went straight into damage-control mode instead of just letting myself be happy.”
“All I want is for you to be happy, Sansa.”
“That’s what I want for you, too. We could be happy together.”
They sit there, two idiots, in love and brave.
“So,” Jon continues. “We try dating? No weird pretending it didn’t happen?”
She gives him a smile that’s a little scared and careful, but real.
“Yeah,” she smiles. “We try.”
He nods.
“Perfect.”
“I love you,” she says suddenly. Her cheeks flush immediately.
“Say it again,” he asks because he’s greedy.
She rolls her eyes, but her mouth is soft. “I love you,” she repeats and Jon offers her his hand so she comes to stand in front of him.
“I love you too,” he says.
“I like hearing it.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Me too.”
Jon tugs her down into his lap. Sansa settles there like and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The first kiss after that is slow and sure. There’s nothing to hide behind now. Sansa opens for him easily and traces his lips with her tongue. It makes something shift inside of him.
“Missed you,” she breathes against his mouth.
“I missed you too,” he says.
The kissing turns heavy fast. The heat rises under his skin. Her body is soft and insistent against his. Her sweater rides up. The bare skin under it is soft where Jon touches her. Sansa shivers and presses closer. Pride swells in his chest when he realizes she’s been waiting for this as badly as he has. He can feel himself getting hard.
He breaks away long enough to rest his forehead against hers. He needs to catch his breath.
“We should probably go to my room,” he manages. “In case Sam gets back. And I need a shower. I smell like the Amtrak."
She huffs out a little laugh, thumb dragging over his lower lip. He playfully bites it.
“You smell like you,” Sansa says. “But yeah, go shower.”
She stands up and he sees her smirk a bit when he has to adjust himself in his jeans. Sansa laces their fingers together before he can move away. Her grip is warm and sure.
“I’ll make tea while you’re in there,” Sansa says. “You can tell me all about the conference and all the very sexy infrastructure talks you went to.”
“I’ll tell you anything you want,” Jon offers.
“I might take you up on that,” she says with a smile. She leans in and takes another quick kiss from him before letting him go. “And after you shower, if we wait a little longer, we can have pot roast. And after, if you want, we could go back to my place. You can stay over and just leave for work from there in the morning.”
“Yeah?” He asks.
“Yeah,” she says. “I don’t really feel like saying goodnight yet.”
Jon squeezes her hand, “Me neither,” he says.
Jon knows they still have a lot to figure out. They will have to tell her family and all their friends. They can’t allow themselves to lose the easy friendship that got them here. But there’s still this steady, ridiculous warmth in his chest because he loves her and she loves him back and, as long as Sansa keeps reaching for his hand like this, they can figure out the rest.