Theon can’t rightfully remember when this began. It may have been spring, but he figures summer would be closer--he remembers the sun and how it burnt Robb’s skin, how Robb had lazily traced patterns on his skin afterward when they laid there, sated.
They didn’t kiss, and this is the one thing that doesn’t change throughout the months.
It would be presumptuous of Theon to assume that Robb wanted to kiss him. He is a king now, and Theon is nothing more than a hostage in everyone’s eyes but Robb’s.
He straightens when the tent flap moves aside, one hand reaching for the dagger at his belt. Winter is here, and winter is a harsh time--summer is long since past.
“Why are you here?” Theon drops his hand, brow knitting in confusion. He had last seen Robb deep in conversation with his mother, and Lady Catelyn Stark was never one to let someone goes until she had made her point.
Robb draws closer, and Theon can see the dark bruise-like smudges under his eyes. He doesn’t flinch away at the feel of cold fingers closing around his hand, but follows Robb because he knows this is what Robb needs.
What Robb needs isn’t what Theon expects; Theon finds himself huddled under the furs with Robb, pressed together without any urgency, and this is quite unlike all the other times.
He’s never been naked with Robb and had it not begin and end with sex, and Theon is automatically nervous. He lays there and lets Robb nose at the curve of his neck, wondering how this could have happened to him.
Robb lifts his head and suddenly he is very near; Theon can’t see anything but him in the dim light: the way Robb’s hair is a curly mess, the full curve of his lower lip. His mouth goes dry, and Robb is looking at him funny. Theon’s eyes narrow, pride rushing to the call, because he is a Greyjoy and nobody makes fun of a Greyjoy. He has half a mind to tell him so when Robb speaks, voice low and vulnerable.
“You do know I lo--”
Theon cuts him off with a kiss, mouth pressing hard to Robb’s, because he can’t bear to hear the rest of it. Robb is a king now, kings marry and produce heirs--Theon has no place in that future save as a loyal bannerman.
Robb’s thumb rubs at the crease between Theon’s eyebrows when they part, and he’s smiling for the first time in weeks. “You’re going to end up looking like Old Nan if you keep frowning like that.”
Theon rolls his eyes and harrumphs, and Robb settles back against him, mouth pressing to the side of his neck.
It isn’t long before Robb is snoring faintly, but Theon can’t sleep. He lays there long into the night, and when he finally sleeps he dreams of sea and salt. Robb is there with him, smiling and happy, and they are together.