Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8339041.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Jon_Snow/Sansa_Stark, Harrold_Hardyng/Sansa_Stark, Jon_Snow/Val_(past)
  Character:
      Sansa_Stark, Jon_Snow, Petyr_Baelish, Harrold_Hardyng, Satin_Flowers,
      Ghost_(ASoIaF), Edd_Tollett
  Additional Tags:
      Future_Fic, R_plus_L_equals_J, Seduction, Unplanned_Pregnancy,
      Cunnilingus, Smut, Somewhat_inspired_by_Parade's_End, thoughts_about
      abortion, Blow_Jobs, Outdoor_Sex
  Series:
      Part 1 of An_Honourable_Man
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-21 Completed: 2016-11-01 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 8146
****** Satterthwaited ******
by Lemoncake_Chioni
Summary
     When Sansa Stark flees the Vale with Jon Snow, she makes an alarming
     discovery. Another revelation might help her deal with her unexpected
     situation.
***** Late *****
Chapter Summary
     When Sansa Stark flees the Vale with Jon Snow, she makes an alarming
     discovery. Another revelation might help her deal with her unexpected
     situation.
Chapter Notes
     I saw my copy of Parade's End lying on my desk next to Testament of
     Youth, which has Kit's face on it.
     For some reason my mind connected Jon Snow and Christopher Tietjens.
     I can definitely see some similarities. I also think Sansa might
     become a little like Sylvia.
     There's a lot of potential there, but for now this is what I came up
     with: the beginning.
Sansa had counted and recounted the days over a dozen times since she had
emerged from her tent and mounted her horse that morning. There was no doubt
left in her mind. Since that first horrifying time in the Red Keep, her moon
blood had always come so regularly, she could even tell what time of day it
would arrive. But now she was four days late. To another woman, those four days
might have meant nothing, to Sansa it was a certain sign that the moon tea
she’d been using had failed to do its work.
She had left the herbs in her chambers at the Gates of the Moon. They’d had to
leave quickly under the cover of night and she had assumed she wouldn’t be
needing them anymore. Perhaps she had stopped using them too early? Perhaps
they simply didn’t work? You’re a stupid girl, Sansa. You knew this was bound
to happen sooner or later.
At the time, surrendering her maidenhead to Harry Hardyng hadn’t seemed such a
stupid decision. After so many months, the other tricks she’d learned to please
a man had ceased to satisfy Harry’s hungers. While she didn’t truly mind that
he’d started visiting brothels again or that he was sneaking around with some
of the serving women, she could tell that he was starting to lose interest in
her and their betrothal.
She’d gone to Petyr with her fears. First he’d been angry with her, convinced
that she wasn’t trying hard enough to please Harry. He’d made her share every
detail of their trysts.
"I just need a little more time, Alayne. I’ve found a way to finalize the
annulment. A delegation from Lord, wellKingStannis is bound to arrive in two
moons. Stannis doesn’t hold to the Seven, so we won’t need the High Septon’s
approval. I am quite certain we could have the wedding as soon as three moons
from now. I suppose there would be no harm in starting to fulfil your wifely
duties a bit early, though it would be prudent to procure some moon tea.”

Sansa had discovered that those wifely duties weren’t exactly pleasant. She had
known that losing her maidenhead might cause her some pain or discomfort, but
she didn’t expect it to hurt the second time, or the third or the times after
that. It was never painful throughout, but she couldn’t help feeling that
coupling was a rather dull experience for a woman. She’d heard Mya and Myranda
giggle about the pleasure they found with the men sharing their beds, but
unfortunately Harry hadn’t been able to bring her that.
Sansa closed her eyes, allowing the rocking motion of her horse to soothe her
panic. What’s done is done, you just have to find a solution now. Returning to
Harry or Petyr was out of the question. Harry wouldn’t take her back at this
point and it wasn’t as if she wished that anyway. Petyr would be all too
pleased if she came running back to him, if he could claim her for himself. No.
She knew that if moon tea failed, there was always the tansy. But she had no
idea how to make it or where to find it. She couldn’t imagine any of the men
here knew anything about it. And even if they did, she didn’t wish to share
this secret with anyone, not yet.
Perhaps she wouldn’t need to use the tansy. Early pregnancies were delicate, it
was winter, and she still had months of hard travel ahead of her before they
would reach Winterfell.I can’t count on that. I must find another solution.

The column came to a sudden stop. Sansa raised her head as a hooded figure on a
black horse approached her. The man swung down from his horse and put his hands
on her waist to help her dismount. “We’ll have to make camp here for the night,
my lady. It’s no use pressing on tonight.” 
She nodded as he drew back his hood. “I wish you’d call me Sansa though, Jon.”
One corner of his mouth pulled up into a half-smile. He whistled. Ghost came
running towards them out of nowhere. He nuzzled against Sansa’s arm. She smiled
and looked up to find Jon staring at them intently. “He’ll keep you safe and
warm while we set up camp.”
Sansa nodded absently, burying her hands in Ghost’s fur. “Sansa, are- are you
well? I don’t mean to pry, but something seemed off today?”
The uncertainty in his statement almost turned it into a question. She
considered him for a moment, the intense look in his dark eyes, the slight
blush on his cheeks. “I suppose I’m just not used to riding all day, Jon. I
need to stretch my legs for a while. Walk with me? I’m sure your men will be
able to set up camp without you.”
Jon looked around before offering her his arm. Sansa took it and led him away
from the bustle, Ghost no more than a foot behind them. “I’m sorry,” he
muttered after a couple of minutes. “I obviously didn’t think this through. I
admit I didn’t consider your comfort when I decided to do this.”
Sansa leaned in to him, pressing herself closer. She felt Jon stiffen a bit.
“Please don’t apologize, Jon. You came for me when no one else did. I can take
a little discomfort if it means finally returning home.”
Jon frowned. “It’s not as it was, Sansa... “
“We’ll rebuild it. Together.”
Jon stopped at that, looking down at her, offering her another of his half-
smiles. “Together. I like that.”
His ears turned red at his words. Sansa reached out to grab his hands. “We’re
the last Starks, Jon, we need to stay together.”
His response was immediate: “I’m not a Stark. I never was.”
Sansa felt a pang of guilt at his words. “You were more Stark than I ever
was... You still are... Your mother was a Stark, Jon.”
Her words didn’t seem to lighten his mood, so she decided on a small
confession. “I used to think about you,” she whispered, looking down, “I used
to think that it would be so sweet to see you again. I was right.”
She smiled up at him, watching his entire face light up at her words. He
squeezed her hands and cleared his throat. “Thank you, Sansa.”
“No, Jon, thank you,” she said, standing on her toes to press a kiss to his
cheek, standing close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. His breath
hitched and his grasp on her hands tightened before he dropped them.
She retreated quickly enough to see him swallow heavily. As she turned around
to walk back to the camp, Sansa couldn’t hold back the smile tugging up the
corners of her mouth. The solution to her problem seemed to have presented
itself in quite an unexpected form.
***** Inclinations and Inexperience *****
Chapter Summary
     Sansa is becoming a little frustrated with Jon.
Chapter Notes
     Satin!
     I really wanted to include him in this...
     1. Because I lowkey ship him with Jon
     2. I can't imagine Sansa having a conversation like the one in this
     chapter with Dolorous Edd or Sam. I like to believe Satin is the
     right man for the job.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Sansa knew she was beautiful. She'd heard it so many times over the past few
years, it had ceased to affect her when someone told her so. She was also
clever, she had learned how to use her beauty to drive a man insane and to make
him do her bidding. As a girl she had learned that courtesy was a lady's
armour, but under Petyr's careful guidance, she'd acquired a
woman's arsenal. "Looks, smiles, touches, the right word at the right moment...
Those are a lady's weapons, sweetling. And let me assure you, they can be quite
as effective as a sword or an arrow, and perhaps even more dangerous."
Sansa's experiences had also taught her that, when it came to women, there were
as many preferences as there were men. This had never proven problematic
though, as most men were easy to fool, as long as you had them convinced you
could be whatever they wanted you to be. And if you made a man believe you
wanted him and only him, that you had chosen him above all others, he was
yours. Jon Snow had always been nervous around girls, but Sansa had been
confident that his awkardness during their latest conversations had meant that
part of him already wanted her, that he was at least attracted to her. So when
she had decided to seduce him, she had thought that would be the easy part. 
She had spent the last couple of days demonstrating to Jon that she wanted him.
Very much so. His involuntary responses to her little tricks told her that her
plan was succeeding, that her wiles were definitely exciting his desire for
her. She remembered Petyr's words. Give him only a little bit of yourself at a
time, just enough, not too much. And when the opportune moment comes to give
him more or perhaps even give yourself completely, let him come to you. You've
been doing all the work of course, but men like to fancy themselves hunters,
they like the idea of conquering a woman."
Some men needed more encouragement than others, but in the end, they all took
what was offered, often attempted to take even more. All of them, except for
Jon. Last night he had practically fled from her embrace. Sansa was at her
wits' end. She wondered if part of him still considered her his sister, even
though their relationship had never truly been like that. If I had time to play
the long game, I'm sure he'd give in eventually, but time is the only thing I
don't have right now. 
There was one thing she had not tried yet, but she was reluctant to resort to
it. Jealousy was a dangerous game to play. Sansa took a moment to look around
at the men huddling around their fires. She didn't find much to work with.
She'd learned to entice the old and ugly without faltering for a moment,
keeping a fake smile plastered upon her face the entire time. Men were easily
convinced they themselves were desirable, but if you wanted to persuade them
you were attracted to another man, the allure had to be quite evident.
Her eyes fell upon Jon's squire, a young man named Satin. The only right word
to describe him was pretty. He had gorgeous dark curls, not unlike Jon's,
and his eyes were just as dark as Jon's, though brown, and framed by lashes so
long and thick most girls would envy him. His face looked very soft, despite
the presence of a short beard. Yes, I could work with that. Sansa had noticed
that Jon and Satin seemed to be very close. Jon didn't have many friends, she
sincerely hoped her plotting wouldn't cause a rift in their friendship. She
supposed some talking and a little smile here and there weren't bound to cause
too much damage.
Sansa rose and scanned the camp again. Jon was sitting with the sour-faced
Eddison Tollett. His squire was seated directly in his line of sight, but far
enough for Jon not to be able to overhear any conversation. Perfect. She walked
over to the young man, smiling down at him. He looked up too and smiled back.
He acknowledged her with a nod. "My lady."
"May I sit with you for a moment?"
"Of course. I'm delighted you'd choose to grace me with you presence."
Sansa almost rolled her eyes at that, but she'd learned to control those urges
long ago. She was a little surprised at his turn of phrase though. She'd
assumed he was lowborn. She sat down next to him on the log he was straddling.
"Satin, right?"
"That's what they call me. I suppose it's as good a name as any," he quipped.
Sansa let out a short peel of laughter, throwing her head back just a little so
she could glance over at Jon, who jerked his head in her direction at the
sound. For the briefest of moments, he looked her straight in the eyes, before
Sansa steered her attention back to the man in front of her. "You were in the
Night's Watch as well, were you not?"
"I was, my lady. Lord Snow made me his steward and squire when he was elected
Lord Commander."
"That's what I heard, " Sansa answered, tilting her head, "I also heard you
fought in the Battle of Castle Black and that you were by Jon's side the entire
time when he and King Stannis took Winterfell from the Boltons."
Satin nodded, putting his hands on his knees. "He only did it because he
thought they had your sister. He didn't want Winterfell for himself. Stannis
had offered it to him before, but he refused it, telling the King it belonged
to you. He's a good man, your brother, cares very deeply about his family."
Satin looked at her intently. Why are you insisting on calling him my brother?
What are you implying with all of this? She dismissed these thoughts, focusing
on her task. "I'm sure you're a good man as well, Satin. And you must be very
brave."
It was Satin's turn to laugh now. Jon turned his full body in their direction.
"I don't know about that, my lady. I admit I was afraid the entire time."
Sansa covered the hand on his knee with her own. "That's the only time a man
can be brave."
Satin's eyes narrowed. She decided to change the subject. "What was your life
like before you took the black?"
The squire hesitated, lowering his eyes, so Sansa added: "If you don't mind my
asking."
He looked up. "Oh, I don't mind at all. But I don't believe my stories are fit
for a lady such as yourself."
Men. They really do believe women are all delicate little butterflies, don't
they?  "I suppose there is only one way to find out," she challenged him. Jon
was glancing in their direction again.
"I used to work in a brothel in Oldtown."
Sansa considered him. She'd assumed all brothel guards were the large and
brawny type she'd seen with Petyr. "To protect the girls?"
Satin barked out a laugh. Jon was staring daggers at his back now. "Let me put
it this way, my lady, I was one of the girls."
"Oh." 
Sansa blushed. Part of her registered how Jon's face twisted when he noticed
that. She knew some men had those inclinations, had even met one or two. She
felt a little silly at being caught by surprise by Satin's confession. 
"Well, life at the Wall must have been quite a change for you then," she
managed. 
"No more sunny afternoons and no more pretty clothes, but at least I had a
little more choice as to whom I let into my bed there." 
Satin clasped a hand over his mouth, Sansa flushed a deeper red, Jon was
staring again. She wrung her hands in her lap. "I didn't know so many men had
those preferences."
"Oh, some men prefer girls, some prefer boys, others, myself included, like
both. There was a brothel not very far from Castle Black. Many Brothers went
there occasionally. But when there aren't any women around, men tend to turn to
each other to relieve their needs, even if they wouldn't do so otherwise."
Sansa's mouth fell open just a bit before she remembered to collect
herself. Oh! No! No! No! No! She must have interpreted Jon's awkwardness all
wrong. He was probably actually embarassed by her advances, maybe even
repulsed. She couldn't believe this hadn't occurred to her. She'd seen how
close he was with his steward. "Did... Does... What about Jon?"
Satin narrowed his eyes again. "Are you asking me whether Lord Snow visits
brothels or whether he likes men?"
Sansa giggled nervously. "I don't know... Both, I suppose."
Satin was still looking at her suspiciously, but after a couple more moments he
answered. "I think Lord Snow has never visited a brothel in his life. And he
doesn't like men, not like that." 
There was a gleam of sadness in his eyes when he said that. Sansa reached out
to comfort him, even as she let out a sigh of relief. Satin looked a bit
startled at her touch. Jon had had enough. He was marching in their direction,
a furious look on his face. When he was close, Sansa rose to her feet and
offered him her brightest smile exclaiming: "Jon!"
Satin scrambled to his feet, eyes growing large at the rage evident on Jon's
face. He retreated quickly with a curt nod to his master. Jon took Sansa's arm,
more roughly than he ever had and growled: "Come, it's time to retire."
Sansa reined in the smile threatening to pull up her lips. They were quiet
until they entered her tent, where Ghost joined them. Jon faced her. "I don't
like it when you talk to the other men like that."
That's direct. "Technically, I was only talking to one man. I didn't even know
you noticed."
That only seemed to increase his fury. "Damn you, Sansa! Of course I noticed! I
think everyone noticed! Don't you realize you were making quite the spectacle
of yourself, blushing and laughing like that and... and..."
Ghost approached them, whining low in his throat. Sansa snapped: "Since when
does having a pleasant conversation equal making a spectacle of myself?"
Jon looked at her incredulously, opening his mouth, apparently reconsidering
what he was going to say. "Perhaps I didn't express myself adequately."
Sansa glared at him. "Perhaps."
Jon took a deep breath, closing his eyes before taking a step to shorten the
distance between them, he looked her straight in the eyes. "Sansa, the only
reason I am this angry, is because I'm worried about you. Most of these men are
not used to the company of women. And you're... Gods, a blind man could see how
beautiful you are! You don't understand what these men think when they look at
you. I know how most of them would act around you if I wasn't here. And I know
that the way you were sitting there talking to Satin... That could only be
encouraging to them."
Now is not the time to begin acting like my brother, not when you're having
those thoughts yourself. She couldn't believe that Jon actually thought her to
be this innocent. His last comment infuriated her so much that she didn't allow
herself to think before blurting out: "I think you know nothing at all, Jon
Snow!"
Jon looked at her as if she'd hit him, cringing back a few steps, before
turning to leave the tent, ordering Ghost to stay. 
And then the realization hit her. He knows nothing. He is the innocent. She
laughed. Jon didn't act on his feelings for her because he didn't know what to
do. So in this case it might be better if I do the conquering. Her heart seemed
to drop a few inches. If he still wants me after this. 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Poor Sansa is clueless when it comes to Jon.
     I hope you enjoyed this.
     Next chapter will be the conquest so to speak. :)
***** Sansa the Conqueror *****
Chapter Summary
     Sansa resumes her mission...
Chapter Notes
     This is the explicit chapter...
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Sansa did not see Jon the next day. For the first time since they had passed
the Bloody Gate, he did not come to her tent in the morning, waiting outside to
greet her and lead her to her horse. That day, he did not fall back from time
to time to ride beside her for a while. When they halted at night to set up
camp, he did not show up next to her horse to help her dismount. Instead she
found Dolorous Edd, who seemed positively exasperated with having to assist
her. Sansa was standing in the middle of the half-built camp, when her
eyes caught Jon's dark curls lightly bouncing up and down as he moved
gracefully from group to group. As Sansa watched him exchange a few words and
slap one of the men on the shoulder, his eyes wandered around the camp and
their gazes locked for the briefest of moments, before Jon turned away
abruptly. Sansa brought her hands up to hug her own arms. She felt another hand
on her shoulder and looked up to find Satin standing next to her. The look on
his face was sympathetic, but there was also a hint of smugness in the way the
corner of his mouth quirked up. 
Later that night, Sansa was sitting with the squire again, sharing a skin of
the vile ale they all carried around. Jon had retired less than half an hour
before and Sansa's eyes kept drifting to his tent. Finally Satin let out a
sigh. "Why don't you just go to him, my lady?"
Sansa forced her eyes back to Satin. She nodded. "Thank you. I will."
When she entered the tent, Jon was sitting on his cot in his tunic and
breeches, elbows planted on his wide-set knees and head in his hands. She
closed the distance between them and Jon looked up at her, gripping the bed's
edge with both hands. His face gave nothing away. Sansa almost decided to turn
away and run for her own tent, but she unclasped her cloak and placed it over
Jon's lying next to him on the cot. She sank to her knees, bracing her hands on
Jon's legs. She allowed her thumbs to explore the warmth of his thighs for a
moment, before sliding her hands up his sides to wrap her arms around his
torso. She buried her face in his chest, drawing in his deep scent. She could
smell leather and sweat, but also pine, smoke and snow. Home. Jon's body had
gone rigid. She turned her head to place her cheek over his frantically beating
heart. "I'm sorry, Jon, I am so, so sorry. Can you forgive me?"
Jon relaxed somewhat, wrapping his arms around her. He lowered his head to rest
it on top of hers, inhaling and exhaling deeply before placing a kiss on her
hair. "There's nothing to forgive," he muttered in a gravelly voice, "I
overreacted. It wasn't your fault."
He started stroking her hair. "I'm the one who should be apologizing. Your
actions did not justify my rage. You didn't do anything wrong."
But I did, Jon, I did. She pressed herself closer, wrapping her arms more
tightly around him. Something stirred against her belly. Jon put his hands on
her shoulders and pushed her away gently, but Sansa stayed as close as
possible, keeping her eyes down. "I hate fighting with you, Jon. And I missed
you today."
She pulled back then, straightening up to look him in the eyes, hands flat on
his chest. His face was intense, his eyes dark with emotion and desire. He
cupped her temple with one hand and pulled the other back to rest on his knee.
"Sshh, Sansa, it's alright. I'm here now." 
Sansa reached up to brush a stray curl from Jon's eyes. His eyes fluttered
closed. "You're all I have in this world, Jon."
Jon lowered his face to press his lips to her forehead, but Sansa angled her
face up and pulled him down by his tunic to guide him to her lips. Their mouths
crushed together. His lips are so soft. She fisted her hand into his curls,
tilting her head to the side so she could kiss him fully. He responded eagerly,
slipping his arm around her waist, gripping it tightly, wrapping his other hand
around the base of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair. Their lips moved
together, pushing, pulling, encasing each other. This is the good part, Sansa
thought as her lips parted. Jon moaned into her mouth and she took advantage of
his open one to slide her tongue into it. When she met his, she could taste the
same ale she'd been drinking, deciding she liked the flavour a lot more on
Jon's tongue. Then he pulled back, rising to his feet and pushing her away
again. "Sansa, we can't."
She rose as well, looking at his dishevelled hair and his swollen lips, panting
as she tried to collect her thoughts. His eyes were even darker than before,
pupils ablaze, and his chest was heaving. "Don't you want me?" she asked in a
small voice.
Jon swallowed. "I do, but we shouldn't." 
Sansa closed the distance between them, pressing her body flush against his and
moaned: "We should, Jon. Please, I need you."
 Jon gave in, gathering her in his arms and kissing her roughly. He sucked her
bottom lip between his and bit it lightly, then licked it to soothe the sting.
Sansa wound her fingers into his hair, trailing her nails down to his neck.
Jon's tongue prodded her lips again, bidding entry. She opened her mouth,
welcoming him, and sucked on his tongue. Jon groaned, gripping her more
tightly. They continued like that for several minutes, desperately trying to
get closer to each other. Sansa clawed at Jon's chest through the fabric of his
tunic as she felt his hard cock pressing against her belly. He groaned and his
hands travelled down to her arse then, making Sansa whimper, pulling her face
away for a moment. He slid his hands lower, gripping the backs of her thighs
tightly to lift her up. 
She locked her legs around his waist and attacked his mouth again as he held
her to him, one hand on the small of her back, the other between her shoulder
blades. Sansa's hands flew to the top of her dress, tugging at the laces of her
bodice and shift until her breasts spilled free. Jon interrupted the kiss,
desperate to see what she was doing. When he caught sight of her naked teats,
he lowered the both of them to the ground, sitting back against the bed with
her straddling him. His eyes trailed over her bosom up to her eyes, a look of
adoration on his face. "You're so beautiful," he panted. 
Sansa felt a warmth spreading through her chest and belly, and lowered her
forehead to his, her chest heaving. Suddenly his warm rough hands were on her
breasts, kneading them gently. He kissed her lips, her cheek, her jaw. Sansa
mewled. Jon's mouth closed over a spot directly under her ear, sucking and
licking at it, as his thumbs flicked over her stiff nipples. Sansa threw her
head back, closing her eyes. Oh, this feels good, so good. Harry never did
this. Where did he learn all of this?  His mouth moved down her neck, peppering
kisses over her collarbones. Then it was gone and Sansa opened her mouth to
complain. 
She didn't get a chance to do so, when a mere moment later she felt her right
nipple and part of her breast being sucked into his warm, wet mouth, while he
kept massaging and stroking the left with his hand. Harry used to do something
like this. Biting and sucking at her nipples, gripping her breasts harshly with
his greedy hands. The way Jon was doing it couldn't have been more different
though. Sansa bucked her hips involuntarily, feeling again how hard he was. She
also felt an unfamiliar wetness between her thighs. She moved her hips again
to verify the feeling. Her movement pressed her centre against his manhood,
inducing a peculiarly pleasant ache between her legs. She started rocking her
hips to chase the sensation. Jon gasped and pulled away from her. Sansa looked
down, facing him, thinking the disappointment must be showing on her face.
"What are you doing?" she asked, surprised at how angry she sounded.
Jon chuckled, but then his expression darkened. "I'm trying to put a stop to
this before we go too far."
Sansa glared at him. "I don't want you to put a stop to this."
Jon kissed the top of her sternum. "Neither do I. But I don't want to dishonour
you. You deserve better than this, than me..."
Sansa frowned. So that's what this is about? Gods, if he only knew... "But I
want you, Jon. I want you. And... you can't dishonour me, not really, I'm not a
maid."
He looked up at her, she thought she saw anger flashing in his eyes. "You're
not?"
"Do you mind?"
She almost offered to pretend to be one, but Jon cut her off "No! Of course
not!"
Sansa smiled. She was fairly certain of the answer to her next question, but
she asked it anyway. "Are you?"
Jon's brow furrowed. "Am I what? A maid? No!"
She nodded. "I didn't think so. Not with all the things you just did, but...
before... because of your vows and all that..."
His eyes narrowed. "And what if I had said yes?"
She blushed. "I... I would have offered to teach you... To show you how it's
done."
The heat in his eyes increased at her words. "Maybe I can teach you some
things."
He reached over to the bed then, pulling their cloaks and a couple of furs to
the ground, lowering Sansa onto them, settling in between her legs. Sansa liked
the weight and the heat of his body on her. He repeated his earlier pattern
then, moving his mouth from her lips to her neck and then her breasts. Then he
pulled back, sitting on his knees, grinning at her. He's so handsome when he
smiles. He reached for the hem of her skirts and bunched them up at her hips,
placing them in her hands, then looking between her legs. He groaned. "You're
already so wet!"
Jon ran his hands up her legs, over her stockings, her bare thighs and her
smallclothes. He hooked his fingers into them and pulled them down, first
freeing her right leg and then her left, putting her foot on his shoulder. He
ran his nose up her leg, placing a kiss on her thigh where her stocking ended,
then biting at that spot. Sansa pushed herself up on her elbows to see what he
was doing. He continued pressing kisses to the inside of her thigh, making her
shiver. He turned his head to her cunt then and kissed the hair above it.
"What-
Her question was cut off when she gasped at the sensation of Jon licking up her
slit. He moaned again. "You taste so good."
He pulled her other leg over his shoulder and slid his hands under her hips,
gripping her arse cheeks. He lowered his head again. He kissed her between her
legs as he had kissed her mouth, working his lips, licking and sucking at her
cunt. He moved his tongue around, up and down, teasing her entrance and licking
at a sensitive spot right under it. Before long Sansa couldn’t tell exactly
where his mouth was or what he was doing. That strange ache she’d felt before
returned, only more urgent now.
Suddenly Jon moved up and his lips closed over a spot that made her cry out in
surprise and pleasure. Jon chuckled and she felt it vibrate through her core.
The ache increased, becoming more delightful. She arched her back and clenched
her thighs tightly around his head. Part of her worried she might be crushing
his head, but she was too far gone to be bothered. Jon had started sucking at
that sweet spot, which was swollen and throbbing by now. He flicked his tongue
out, now stabbing at it, then drawing swift circles around it.
His hands slid from her arse and his arm wrapped around her hips to hold her
up. His other hand snaked in between her thigh to join his mouth. When he
entered her gently with one finger she could hear how wet she was. Jon let out
a muffled cry which made Sansa buck her hips against his face. He put in a
second finger, crooking them as he started to move them inside her. She
realized she was grinding her cunt against his mouth and hand, seeking relief
for the tension that had become almost unbearable now.
Jon started sucking and using his tongue at the same time. His fingers hit a
spot inside her then and the tension broke, a wave of pleasure and relief
washing over her, blinding her. Sansa howled. She thought it was over then, but
sharp shocks of pleasure kept pulsing through her core, almost too much too
bear. Jon seemed to notice, as he pushed his tongue flat against her.
He laid her hips down gently, moving up to bury his face in her neck. His beard
was wet, she turned her head to kiss him. His mouth tasted of her, sweet, musky
and tangy. He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. and asked: “Did you like
that?”
Sansa nodded weakly. “Did you?”
She saw him smiling at her as the haze lifted from her eyes. “Very much, sweet
girl. What now? Tell me what you want.”
"I want you inside me," she managed to say. It wasn't even a lie.
Jon gazed at her with that intense look in his eyes. "How do you want me? Tell
me what you like."
He lowered his mouth to her neck, nibbling and licking at the sensitive skin.
Sansa swallowed. "I don't know."
He looked up at her and teased: "I thought you were going to teach me?"
She blushed as he returned his attention to her neck, trying to come up with an
answer. He closed his lips over her earlobe and flicked his tongue around it.
"I'm sorry. What do you like?"
"Don't be sorry," he murmured, letting out a hot breath over her ear, "I like
your mouth. I like your teats. I like kissing your cunt, making you peak with
my tongue."
Sansa's hips arched up at the memory and Jon chuckled. "You definitely liked
that, didn't you? I loved it when you howled like the she-wolf you are."
He pushed himself up on his elbow then, a strange gleam in his eyes as he
searched her face. "If I fucked you like a wolf, would you howl for me again?
Do you want me to do that?"
Jon rolled on top of her, his hands planted on either side of her head,
pressing his forehead to hers. "Tell me." 
"Yes," she breathed, "fuck me like a wolf."
Jon growled as he moved back to flip her over, pulling her to her hands and
knees and lifting her skirts. She heard him unlace his breeches. Then he was
using his hand to rub the head of his cock up and down in her wetness. Sansa
moaned. She was still sensitive there. He entered her in a long steady push,
filling her completely. It didn't hurt at all, she felt full and oddly
satisfied. Jon groaned. "You are perfect. So hot and wet and tight."
He gripped her hips and started moving in and out of her, slow but deep. As
Sansa arched her back, he picked up his pace, hitting a spot deep inside her,
bringing back that sweet ache. She could already feel the tension building. Jon
grunted as his rhythm faltered for a moment. "I won't last long, you feel too
good."
He released her hips, bending over her to cup her breast in his left hand while
his right slid between her legs. His fingers started rubbing at that sweet spot
his mouth had found before, while he kept pounding into her. She was getting
close. She moved her hips back, meeting him thrust for thrust. "Come for me,
sweet little wolf. Howl for me."
When her peak hit her, she pushed back so hard that for a couple of moments Jon
could do nothing more than rut against her. The feel of him inside her only
intensified the pleasure, it felt like she was squeezing him. She howled
again. When Jon resumed his movements, his pace grew erratic. His hands grabbed
her hips again, sliding her back and forth over his cock. He steadied her hips
then, starting to thrust again, harder and deeper than before. After a few more
strokes, she felt his warm seed pulse into her, as he let out an inhuman growl.
He collapsed against her back, falling to his side, pulling her against him. He
nuzzled her neck, panting, his heartbeat resonating through her body. After a
couple of minutes his softening cock slipped out of her, and his breathing
returned to normal. He kissed her shoulder. "Did I- I didn't hurt you, did I?"
She moved around in his arms to smile up at him. "You didn't hurt me, Jon. I
feel wonderful. Thank you."
He returned her smile and kissed her lips. He pulled more furs from his cot to
cover them. His brow furrowed. "I shouldn't have spilled inside you. I'm sorry,
Sansa."
Sansa tucked her head under his chin, closing her eyes. "Don't worry, Jon. I
know how to make moon tea."
She felt him draw in a breath, as if he wanted to say something else, but he
decided against it. He wrapped his arms around her tightly and kissed the top
of her head. "Goodnight then, Sansa."
"Goodnight, Jon."
Chapter End Notes
     Only one chapter left in this part of the series, it will be a
     shorter, epilogue-style chapter. The next part of the story will take
     place at Riverrun, a couple of months after the events of
     "Satterthwaited".
***** You Can Have My Everything *****
Chapter Summary
     Jon reflects on his nights with Sansa.
Chapter Notes
     The title of this chapter is a line from the Nine Inch Nails song
     Closer.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jon woke up in the dark. His heart was hammering, his throat started closing
up, until he remembered to breathe. He smelled her, floral, lemony, something
warm and spicy underneath. Sansa. The heat emanating from her half-naked body
pressed against his was almost unbearable. He was feverishly hot, but he pulled
her even closer, burying his face in her hair. He'd woken up like this after
that first night, quietly slipping out of his own tent to make water and wash
his face in a stream nearby. He'd sworn to himself it wouldn't happen again.
Before that night, he had detected the change in Sansa's behaviour, had noticed
that she would seek out his company more frequently, that she would talk to
him, reaching out to touch his face or his arm more often each time. He'd told
himself it meant nothing, that she was only clinging to him because he reminded
her of home. 
It hadn't prevented her actions from encouraging the feelings and thoughts he'd
tried to bury deep inside. When she'd bite that full, pink bottom lip or look
up at him from under her lashes with those deep blue eyes, his knees would grow
weak. He wanted to kiss her, hold her, touch her, taste her, fuck her. One time
she had thrown her arms around his neck, pressing her soft body to his,
enveloping him with her warmth and scent, and he had needed to push her away
and leave to keep from doing all of those things to her.
Then he'd seen her talking to Satin the way he thought she only talked to him
and he'd lost his temper. He'd told her he was concerned for her safety, which
hadn't been a lie. He trusted his squire and a few others, but he had no
illusions about most of the men. That hadn't been the real reason for his
rage though. Much as he hated to admit it, he'd been jealous. The feeling had
roared in his chest like a hideous beast at the sight of Sansa showering
attention on another man in a way he'd imagined reserved for himself alone.
She'd been furious, and rightly so. He'd figured she'd probably return to the
cool politeness she'd treated him with when they were children, which was
probably all for the better anyway. 
But then she'd overwhelmed him with her confession that she wanted him. Sansa
Stark, the perfect little lady who had been his sister, who'd grown into the
most beautiful woman he'd ever seen; who'd survived more than he could even
imagine and was still so strong and proud and sweet, wanted him, Jon Snow, who
used to be her bastard brother, who shouldn't be alive, who didn't even know
who he was anymore; and he hadn't been able to resist any longer. She'd given
herself to him so willingly and it had been so much more than he could have
imagined. She was perfect. She made him feel alive and warm. In her arms all
his insecurities melted away.
The next morning, in the cold light of dawn, shame had almost crushed him. He
was sickened by the guilt he felt at taking advantage of the girl he'd called
sister, at taking her so roughly on the floor of a tent, at spilling inside of
her. The idea that he might have put a bastard in her belly had nearly
suffocated him. All the fears and doubts he'd been experiencing since his
return from the dead and receiving the news of his true parentage had returned
tenfold.
Perhaps that was why he'd broken his promise to himself that very night. She'd
come to him in his tent again and kissed him without speaking a word.
Eventually she'd begged him to use his mouth on her again, to make her feel
good. He'd wanted to feel good again too. He'd knelt in front of her,
disappearing under her skirts, making her peak three times before she'd made
him stop, collapsing into him. Then she'd urged him back onto his feet and
returned the favour. At first he'd managed to wonder at her skill, but then
she'd sucked one of his balls into her mouth, almost immediately releasing it
to take in his entire length and all coherent thought had left him. 
When he'd found his release and she'd swallowed his seed, she had simply risen
to her feet and smiled at him, wiping her mouth. Then she'd turned around,
leaving him alone in his tent. When he'd recovered, he'd gone to bed, lying
awake until the last few hours before dawn.
Sansa had confessed to him she hadn't been a maid. She would have offered to
teach him if necessary, but she'd been quite shy that first night. She'd seemed
extremely experienced at pleasuring him with her mouth though. He had started
wondering again. How had she lost her maidenhead and to whom? Where had she
learned to pleasure a man like that? Why had she needed to make moon tea
before? He'd tried telling himself that it didn't matter, that she was his
now. Is she though? She didn't stay tonight. Apart from that, he couldn't
imagine why she'd want him.
He'd heard her voice in his head: "You came to me when no one else did. You're
all I have in this world." Did she believe that she owed him? He'd have to
speak to her about this, ensure her he didn't expect anything from her. He'd
known he wouldn't though, that he wouldn't risk losing this, whatever it was.
He'd been inside her at least a dozen times by now. One time they'd wandered
off into the woods and she'd cornered him against an ancient oak. He'd slipped
his hand under her skirts to work her nub, fucking her with his fingers until
she'd slumped against him. Then he'd switched their positions and pushed her up
against the wide trunk to bury himself in her cunt. When he'd spilled inside
her yet again, his senses had returned to him and he'd thanked the Old Gods and
the New that no one had followed them that day. He'd realized then how far gone
he must be.
He'd found comfort in a woman's body before. When the Red Woman had brought him
back, he'd felt so frightened and confused he'd wanted to lose himself. He'd
turned to Val. It had lasted a couple of months and she'd taught him everything
she knew. He'd enjoyed every moment of it while it lasted, but when she'd left
him, he had felt little to nothing. He tried imagining Sansa leaving him,
telling him she didn't want him anymore. Panic flooded his body. What in seven
hells is wrong with you, Snow? 
Jon knew it would be wise to prepare himself for it though. He knew this
couldn't last. She might need him now, but once they'd reached home, she would
certainly end their affair. She'd be the Lady of Winterfell and the Warden of
the North there and she'd need to marry some respectable lord. Despite Stannis'
promise to legitimize him when he returned, he was only Sansa's bastard cousin,
not even a real Northman, she'd never choose him. 
Sansa had told him that she wanted him, that she needed him, that she loved the
things he did to her, but she'd never once said that she loved him. Jon had
almost told her he loved her last night, gazing up at her while she was riding
him, her red hair billowing around her, glowing in the candlelight. He'd
swallowed the words at the last moment, letting out an incomprehensible groan
instead.
Remembering last night had made him even harder than he already was, waking up
with her pressed against him. He kissed her shoulder, tempted to wake her and
have her again before dawn arrived and the rest of the camp rose. He decided he
shouldn't. She'd been so tired the last few days, which was undoubtedly the
result of their nightly actvities. You're supposed to take care of her, she's
your family, but all you want to do is fuck her. You can't fool anyone, you're
not a wolf, you truly are a dragon. And a lustful bastard.
He manoeuvered himself out from under the furs, trying his best not to wake
her. He pulled on his breeches and jerkin and threw his cloak over his
shoulders. He almost crawled out of his tent, lifting the flap as little as
possible to shield Sansa from the icy winds outside. When he rose, he found
Satin standing a few feet away, eyebrows raised and his lips pressed together
in a thin line. He smirked at Jon. "Is she still in there?"
Jon stammered: "I- who- what are you talking about?"
Satin narrowed his eyes. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Lord Snow? Do you think we
are blind? Or deaf?"
Jon clenched and unclenched his sword hand. "We? Who else knows?"
Satin's mouth quirked up into a half-smile. "Oh, I suppose there must be a few
left who are oblivious to your trysts, but apart from that, everyone."
Jon closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. You fool, how could you
possibly think you could hide this?  "How do you know? Have they said
anything?"
Satin sighed. "They talk of course. Stannis' men complain about it, grumbling
it's not fair you're keeping all the pretty ones for yourself, wondering what
they could possibly see in you."
Satin was beaming at him. "Your former brothers jape about it, but they
understand. Most of the Wildlings wonder why it took you so long with such a
beauty kissed by fire. You stole her, took her away from another man even and
she didn't resist you. They'd like to know whether you're just shy or if it has
to do with the kneeler lady's sensitivities or something along those lines."
Jon allowed himself to laugh at that. Satin frowned. "She's not a Wildling
though, she's a lady."
"I know she is."
"Do you, Lord Snow? What are your intentions with her exactly?"
Jon was fuming inwardly. If he'd been a different man, he probably would have
reprimanded Satin and sent him away by now for questioning his superiors like
that. He knew the squire was right though, which only made him angrier. "I
intend to be here as long as she wants me."
Satin looked at him for a moment. "What about King Stannis? And your
betrothal?"
Jon jerked his head up. "There is no betrothal, you know that. Besides, Shireen
is a child."
"Lady Sansa was younger when they wed her to Lord Tyrion. You told me so
yourself. The girl has been smitten with you since she laid eyes on you at
Castle Black."
Jon shook his head. "So? You believe Stannis cares about his daughter's
infatuation?"
Satin huffed; "Of course not, but he cares about the throne, about the
stability of the realm, as should you. Uniting your claims-
Jon snapped: "Has anyone ever told you you're far too clever for a whore?"
Satin barked out a laugh. "I haven't been a whore for a very long time, Lord
Snow. The point is, Stannis is a dangerous man to cross. You have made him no
promises, but you know what he expects of you. He thinks you're an honourable
man, it would be unwise to prove him wrong."
Jon grunted an affirmation. Satin took a step closer. "Are you being careful,
Lord Snow? If you got the lady with child..."
Jon met his eyes without hesitation: "I'd do my duty."
Satin raised his eyebrows. "Your duty to the king? Or to your little cousin?"
Jon glared at him. "Family comes first."
 
Chapter End Notes
     I suppose this turned out a little longer than I expected. I really
     wanted to show how Jon's experienced things so far though. I hope I
     managed to give you some insight into his feelings about the whole
     affair.
     As I've said after the previous chapter, Jon and Sansa will be in
     Riverrun in the next part of the story. Jon will meet Ser Davos there
     and Sansa will be having a conversation with her Uncle Edmure, who is
     very concerned about her.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!