I long to be near you - Epilogue
Loving him was easy. Loving his father, however, was unbearable.
Epilogue rated ~M for a questionable attempt at smut and awkward indulgent fluff.
Part 1 - Part 2
For the past month, Jon and Sansa have been... flirting.
Shamelessly.
They're behaving like lovestruck youths... it is as if he is courting her.
Some mornings he brings her flowers.
(She tries and fails to picture a grumpy young Jon Snow bringing her flowers, “red like her hair.”)
And at night, he brings her lemon cakes to the solar.
And they've proceeded to kissing like reckless adolescents in corners of the castle. Behaving not at all as they should as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.
It was strange feeling so light hearted. But it was hard not to feel free. Winterfell was growing stronger, the North appeased and stable. And her husband of convenience smiled at her easily and readily and often.
And he teased her to giggles.
And surprised her before meetings with his lips pressed below her ear, sending shivers through her.
And then when Robb is tucked away in bed, they kissed. Not fast nor frantic, but slow deep kisses as if he was languidly exploring her and she him. (But sometimes frantic one, leaving them both breathless.)
One night he broke away, his forehead resting against hers.
“I may not be worthy of this, but I’m going to try my best to deserve it.”
- - -
They both anticipated this was coming, so when Jon suggested they retire early that night she readily agreed.
And then he was in her chamber. Her chamber. At night, with her, for the first time.
Her robe was quickly disregarded between kisses.
"Gods, you're so pretty Sansa," he breathes. "You're so so pretty."
She had been called the word so many times that pretty started to feel like a taunt… a silly simpering nothing of a girl… but the way he said it with reverence... she felt powerful.
His hands cup her breasts, thumbs stroking her hardened tips.
He paused to lay kisses on them, experimentally taking one into his mouth, the sensation unfurling warmth in her belly and causing her to release a small moan.
She was lost in the heady feel of his hands on her and his gentle words.
"My pretty wife, my strong, brilliant, wife," he whispers.
(Who would have guessed Jon Snow could be so romantic?)
He moves to lift her shift and she grabs his wrists tightly. She didn't prepare for this. (Had forgotten everything in the rush of his affection and she didn't want his desire for her to end...)
Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper, "Please leave it on. The scars... they're so ugly."
"I have scars too," he whispers back.
"Your scars are... on you they're manly," but she releases her grip on him. This past month had been too much of a dream to be true, it was time to wake up.
He pulls off her shift, and breathes deeply.
She feels herself flush under his gaze cringing at the thought of white marks and puckered red lines...
"I know, scars are unbecoming on a lady,"
"No, Sansa. They're beautiful. So beautiful."'
He kisses her deeply, whispering against her lips, how he's sorry for the pain, but so grateful for the scars because they meant she was here now.
He carries her to bed and kisses his way down her neck, her breasts, her scars, down her stomach, down… down.
She tenses slightly, her breathing hitches… and she tenses. She closes her eyes in embarrassment over her body’s response.
“I’m sor-” she starts.
"Shhh, don't be scared Sansa. Please. Not with me. Never with me."
He slowly coaxes her legs open, placing a kiss to her center which was then replaced by the feel of his tongue. Continuing his exploration lazily... tenderly.
She moans as he finds that pleasurable nub, his attentions creating a delicious feeling.
"Yes?" he asks.
"Yes." Yes, yes, yes.
She arches herself closer to him, to the building pressure.
"That's my girl," he grins against her.
Close, so close. Oh, so close.
"Jon!" She rasps as she dissolves in pleasure.
He moves to lie next to her, smiling.
"We don't have to do anything more tonight, love." He cups her cheek, his thumb stroking her face, "We have a lifetime."
(His eyes light up as if he himself had just realized that fact, that they had a lifetime.)
But she shakes her head violently in opposition to his hateful suggestion. She didn’t want to wait.
"No, I want you. I need you."
She pulls him towards her, and his shirt is pulled off. His trousers removed at rapid speed.
She feels empowered. He hisses as she takes him in her hand, placing him against her center. She gasps as he presses into her and-
Oh it was a lot, and he gives her a moment to adjust to the feel, and then he starts moving and it felt, oh it felt right.
And he moves faster, taken by his own need and once again she's closer and closer. Her fingers digging into the firm muscles of his arms.
"Jon... my love..." she gasps as the sensation snaps and breaks apart.
And he falls very shortly after, calling her name before collapsing softly on top of her. His weight on her was lovely.
She feels tears building at the corner of her eyes. (She was worried this type of pleasure was forever stolen from her.)
And now he's hovering over her.
"I’m sorry it was… I promise it'll get better, Sansa." Gods, he's so earnest.
She wipes the wetness from her eyes,
"Really? I mean, it was quite good already." Her flush furthering under his now amused look.
“Practice will only make it better,” he chuckles.
"Don't tease Jon, you know I've never done that like that before."
“Well, I can't say I have either,” he shrugs.
She released a snort, but he only shakes his head.
“Don't be unkind, I've never made love to my wife before. It… it’s incomparable. I feel… I feel everything.”
(The silly declaration is so achingly romantic, her heart swells.)
His head is now buried in her neck, and she strokes his damp curls.
It's a comfortable silence that he interrupts, “We might have a babe now."
"If we are so blessed. I wouldn't mind that, and Robb could use some company," she muses absently.
"Sansa... once you have your own true born children... you might feel differently towards Robb."
She stops her stroking, her voice stern, unyielding.
"Jon, don't you dare. Don't you dare ruin this. You know that's not possible."
"It's just... I know... a true born child? It’s different."
She sighs.
"None of our children will ever know a difference. There will never be a doubt in their mind how much their mother loves them. How much both their parents love them."
She feels him hesitantly nod in agreement, but her heart clenches at the reluctance.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I'm sorry I treated you less when we were children, but you know that Robb will never feel that way."
He murmurs against her neck, "I know, I do. I’m sorry"
A beat and she offers some consolation, "In a way though, isn't it better I never truly considered you my brother?"
A moment.
And he falls back on his pillow with a dramatic groan.
She smiles at him, "you know, with all things considered—"
And he reacts with a growl, pouncing and tickling her sides until she repents.
After which he wraps his arms around her, pulling her towards him, nestling her back to his front. She feels warm, safe. Holding her close, he whispers in her ear.
"My pretty wife, my strong, brilliant infuriating wife. Gods, I adore you."
- - -
Robb peers in reluctantly from the chamber doorway.
“Come here my, sweet boy,” she call to him.
She exchanges a smile with Jon as he ushers their son closer, her husband who looks so exhausted and disheveled as if he had delivered the babe himself.
(Instead of simply frantically pacing the chamber and harassing the poor maester.)
((She could have been scared but she glowed too much these past months to consider it. And she assured him that she was the right age, that she was healthy, it was a time of peace with no added stresses save a hovering husband.))
She has Jon lift Robb onto the bed and she tucks the boy carefully next to her, holding him close with her free arm.
Robb curiously examines the tiny bundle she has cradled against her.
A tiny wrinkly red-faced precious babe.
"Meet your baby brother, sweet one."
Robb’s dark violet eyes shifted quickly from the baby, to her, then back to the baby.
He looked up as if to say that this tiny bundle didn't look anything like any dueling partner he was promised, "He's so little, mama."
"That's why he has you," Jon said affectionately. "You'll protect him, won’t you?"
The little boy nodded his assent seriously, before cuddling closer to his mother and reaching a gentle hand to stroke his new brother’s forehead.
Sansa catches her husband’s eyes and they’re glittering.
He can only shake his head before planting a firm fond kiss onto her forehead.
This is what they had fought for all these years. Fought armies, and palace intrigues, and myths, and invaders, and each other, and themselves.
This moment.
A lifetime of this.
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Also on AO3.
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Thank you so much for reading and your kind responses! I really hope to revisit this world again.
