“Kneel for your king.”
Theon cocks his head, his smirk fading from his lips. “What?”
Robb stood an arm’s length apart from him, stripped of his armor, down to his tunic and breeches. “Did you not kneel and declare that I am your king? Do as your king commands.” His face is flushing red – either from the wine or something else.
Theon smiles. Robb steps forward, placing one hand on Theon’s shoulder while the other begins to unlace his breeches. “As your – ” Robb falters for a moment, “king – I should not kneel for you.”
His smile grows. Until now, Robb had always sucked him off. Theon found it great fun to fuck the future Lord of Winterfell’s mouth. Of course he’d returned the favor by stroking Robb to his release, but Theon liked being in control. I am Ironborn. We do not sow. We do not bend. But Theon found himself all the same kneeling on the rich carpet covering Robb’s tent.
He helps to pull Robb out, already half-hard, and is fully erect after a few strokes. Theon puts one hand on Robb’s hip, another gripping his shaft. He licks the tip of Robb’s cock, drawing out a grunt from Robb, his hands twisting in Theon’s hair already. Smirking, Theon opens his mouth and takes Robb in full. He’d never sucked a man before, but he mimicked what Robb had done so well only a few days ago.
His mouth moves along the length of Robb, and Theon hums a few bars of The Dornishman’s Wife and Robb grunts and pushes forward into his mouth. Fingers pinching into Robb’s hips, Theon guides Robb’s thrusts to the rhythm of his mouth. It isn’t unpleasant and it’s enjoyable seeing the effect he has on the new king. Robb tightens his hold on Theon’s hair, hips faltering, and Theon smirks as his hand drifts to cup Robb’s balls. “Fuck, Theon.” A few seconds more and Robb releases, coming with a groaning gods, fingers digging into Theon’s scalp.
Theon takes it and swallows, and grins up at Robb, still panting hard. “Did I please your Grace?”