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The bannermen would have come soon, those who answered that they would have marched on Winterfell and those who wrote they would have joined them once they were riding down the Kingsroad, but the Lords would have come. To see if Robb was worth following in war, he suspected, to see what kind of man was Eddard Stark’s firstborn.
To see if he was cut to be their Lord once the day would have come.
And Robb did everything to fit into the description. He knew Bran was hating him, calling him Robb the Lord when he thought he couldn’t hear. He knew that he was jumpy and insufferable and that he didn’t need to bring his longsword everywhere he went inside of Winterfell. He knew he should have relied more on Maester Ludwin’s advice and on Theon’s company. He knew an awful lot of things, but none of those were the things he could show to his bannermen.
How would they have judged him, if he showed himself spending time with his ill little brother and his even younger one, if he turned to the maester to set every problem or listen to the Ironborn ward (a nice word to say hostage)? And the weight of the steel around his waist was comforting.
So he kept being Robb the Lord. Even if it meant being crushed by what was going on around him, even if his father always told him that leaning on others wasn’t dishonorable. He needed to prove to his bannermen he would have been a good Lord of Winterfell. He needed to prove it to himself and the bodies in the crypts, he, most importantly, needed to prove it to Lord Eddard, to make his father proud of him.
He could push himself a little further, taking more responsibilities and more work on his shoulders.
Until the weight came crushing him down. He didn’t know what happened that night. He was writing another raven, asking for supplies to another lord, something he did many and many times since he decided they were going to march to King’s Landing, since they received Sansa’s letter, and then, immediately, everything became too much.
Too real, too heavy, something which would have broken him, and he was shaking in front of the fireplace, his head in his hands. He rose from the chair, finding it hard to breathe. He needed to - he didn’t even know what he needed, but surely he couldn’t stay a moment longer between those walls and there had always been one place where he would have gone, when he felt like everything was too much to bear.
He was shaking when he knocked at Theon’s room, hoping against hope that the Greyjoy was there and not in some brothel of Winter Town. The old gods must have been by his side that night, because the door opened and Robb found himself face to face with a bare chested Theon.
On any other occasion, he would have excused himself, would have asked his friend if he was headed somewhere, if they could talk, if he could walk in. But that wasn’t another occasion. Robb needed to take his head off the entire mess which ruling seemed to be, and he knew Theon was the only person capable of doing that much.
So, instead of saying anything, he stepped closer, pushed the Ironborn back into his room, and smacked their lips together, letting the door close behind him.
It wasn’t the first time, and maybe that was the reason why Robb went so rapidly at that, letting his tongue pry open Theon’s lips and moaning softly when the other’s teeth bit into his lower lip. It was a voracious kiss, desperate, hungry, everything Robb had wanted for it to be.
When they parted, Theon was smirking at him. It wasn’t his usual smirk, the one he had for everyone, high lords or serving girls alike, this was softer, more private and somehow more fascinating. This was Theon’s smirk for Robb. When he spoke, his words were smug: “My Lord.”
Robb’s eyes went on the floor, between them, his knees were shaking, but his body stopped to, at least.
“No,” He answered, in a whisper, almost shy about what he was about to ask. “I want… Not tonight.”
He didn’t dare to look at Theon, not when he bit into his lower lip and understood that he had to elaborate more. That would have been the first time. They usually didn’t ask, they usually took what they wanted, and the person who went to look for the other usually did that because just wanted to fuck ball-deep the other, it was fine, for both of them, but he couldn’t, not that night. He forced himself to step forward, placing his hand against Theon’s chest, playing with the shape of his muscles. “Can you be the lord tonight?”
He knew Theon understood. It wasn’t like they ever used those terms when they were in bed, and that made it clear what he meant. He smirked at him, this time mischievously.
Robb knew he would have asked, later, because they were friends and not only lovers, if he dared to say that much about their relationship, but it didn’t matter at that moment.
“Get off of those clothes, I want to look at you,” he said, the tone low and commanding, slipping immediately into the role, getting out of his own breeches and walking around until he found a vial of oil on his desk.
Theon’s eyes were on his body, piercing and commanding and Robb found it all too easy to slip out of his own clothes, throwing them on the floor. “As My Lord commands.”
Theon smirked, it was more sincere than any other smile he ever addressed to anyone in Winterfell, and many times Robb found himself wondering if it was a smile his father’s ward only sent to him; something he treasured for the only person who showed him any kind of affection. But that was not the point why he was there. He couldn’t start to think about that either, his own mind threatening to make him fall into the same train of thought he was trying to push away.
He shook his head, blue eyes looking up into Theon’s as he got on the bed, legs at his side, his cock half-hard. Robb could feel his own throbbing against his stomach, but didn’t really care, not when Theon’s eyes were on his face, his tongue moving over his lower lip.
Theon moved rapidly, leaning forward what was necessary to take both of Robb’s wrists in his hand and pinning them down and up over his head, resting against the wooden headrest. A moment later, his own belt was in Theon’s right hand, working it around Robb’s stretched arms so that he couldn’t move them. It wasn’t the first time they did that either, so Robb pulled at the restraint what was enough to be sure that they were holding him in place without hurting too much. The look on Theon’s face turned just for some instants worried but once the other man nodded he went on at the position he was occupying moments before.
He ran a hand behind Robb’s head, moving it at the nape of his neck and dragged the Heir of Winterfell up, until his face was pressed against his groin. “Let’s see how you can use your mouth.”
Robb moaned something similar to an answer to that, while he just tep his tongue take the tip of Theon’s cock, circling the crown without taking more inside of it, letting his teeth just barely gaze over Greyjoy’s throbbing cock. He closed his eyes, his tongue circling the other’s dick before he started to take in more.
He could barely hear Theon whispering orders and praises while he relaxed completely under the other man’s weight. It was weird, in an extremely pleasurable way, to give up any kind of control over his own body, just letting his lover tell him what he had to do, and how good he was in taking his cock in his mouth or inside of him.
Theon’s hand moved, tangling in his curls as he started to buckle his hips toward him, fucking his mouth deep throat, holding his head still so that he could angle himself better. Robb could feel his chin being a mess of precome and saliva, but he didn’t matter. He was barely aware of it, the only thing which his mind was registering was the pulsing of Theon’s cock inside of his mouth, the way his own dick was getting painfully hard and the blissful stinging pain of his arms in that unnatural position.
When Theon pulled back, he couldn’t help but groan at the loss and was rewarded by a short chuckle coming from his lover’s lips.
“Your mouth was made for this,” He said, looking down at Robb who could actually feel how the praise went straight to his cock. Theon must have seen that too, because he winked at him, running a hand on his chest, his fingers brushing just that close to his groin without touching it. “You look so perfect, like this. So ready to be taken.”
If the roles would have been inverted, Robb would have callen Theon a whore, but that didn’t work for the young Stark. What worked was being complimented and talked softly. “I will, don’t you worry your pretty head over it.”
The moan which left Robb’s lips would have turned his cheeks the same color of his hair in any other occasion. As things were, he could just look down on his chest, buckling his hips up at the vague feeling of Theon’s fingers grazing over his crotch.
That was enough for Greyoy’s fingers to move away.
“No trashing, no thrusting, stay still for me,” He ordered, the voice dropping low and ordering, whatever praise and promise which had been there some seconds before now completely gone and he moved his callous hand to his hip, closing it around his bones and pushing Robb’s body back on the mattress.
Robb had to bite into his lower lip not to respond to that with another unconsulted movement of his hips and simply let the command sink in his chest, going pliant under his lover’s touch. It was easy, extremely so, to let Theon take the lead. It was all he ever wanted.
A moment later, the Greyjoy’s lips were biting at his neck, his tongue leaving a wet trace over it, nibbling and then letting the rough surface of his tongue move over the sensitive skin. Every single movement of the man was threatening to bring him over the edge, his cock already leaking precome over its length. Theon’s hand was still pushing him deep into the mattress, and despite all of the things Robb wanted to do and tell him, all he could do was moan harder.
“Please, My Lord,” He whispered, instead, turning his head to meet Theon’s ear. “Please…”
Theon popped himself on his other elbow, the look in his eyes so similar to the one of the direwolves when they spotted a prey in the woods. Robb couldn’t ask for anything else.
But he didn’t have much time to think.
Theon moved back, his lips never leaving his body, biting and licking their way down to his chest, twisting his nipple with his teeth, biting at the skin of his defined muscles. “Such a pretty view,” He whispered, against the skin of Robb’s thighs, his sea-colored eyes looking up, trying to reach Robb blue ones.
If only Stark’s cock wasn’t in the way, if only Robb could keep them open when Theon lifted his legs so that they rested on Greyjoy’s broad shoulders. Robb knew he was almost out of it, only waiting for Theon’s permission to come, a permission he knew wouldn’t have come soon, eager to receive yet another order, to be told once again how good he was in following them.
As if he could read in his mind, Theon’s voice came, in a rasped breath, from between his legs, the warm air he let out sending sparks of pleasure up all of Robb’s body: “You are doing so, so well, Robb,” He said, letting one of his arm slit under Robb’s back and pushing him up enough to look at his asshole. “Remind me what you have to say if it gets too much?”
Robb tried to remember it, they had discussed it after the first time Robb passed out, but at that moment he could barely remember his name. But he knew Theon would have just stepped back and left him like this, if he couldn’t recall it. When he moved slightly away from his legs, Robb’s moan was almost pitiful, he tried to move to hold him there, forgetting for an instant the belt holding his arms still. Theon smirked, looking down at him, and their lips met a moment after.
“I need you to tell me, Robb,” He whispered, against his lips. The little part of Robb which was still conscious of what was going on was telling him that the kiss was a way to make him focus on something else, to bring him back from that soft place of nothingness his mind went to. The kiss was slow, sweet, caring, all things nobody but Robb would have associated with Theon. “You know the rules. When you are like this, I need to know you can snap out of it.”
He knew it made sense, even more now that if something happened people would have looked for him and not his father, even if that was the exact same thing he was trying to forget about. But there was not acting now, no scene of Theon being the lord and him being some servant. He nodded, chasing Theon’s lips once again as the answer to the other’s question came back to his mind.
“It’s Snow,” He whispered, and was rewarded with Theon biting into his lower lip.
“Good boy,” He said, and there was no whispering, now, as he pushed himself back into his previous position. “You’ll stay as still as you can, and you won’t come until I give you permission to.”
Now Theon was using the same tone he used when he was ordering his servants around, rude and low and so damned arousing and Robb knew he was doing that to help him slide back in his previous state. He knew he needed that, probably. It was the first time Robb asked him to do so, but it wasn’t the first time it happened.
“Yes, My Lord,” He almost growled, and had no idea how he managed to keep his hips still when he didn't want anything more in the world than pushing them up, thrusting them toward the ceiling as if it would have helped somehow. He knew it wouldn’t.
And then he felt Theon’s tongue starting to explore around the rim of his asshole, at first tentatively and then moving through the nerves and muscles, and every restraint he had over himself was lost. Thinking was difficult, he was feeling his legs shaking, the belt holding his wrist digging into his skin and the hand Theon wasn’t using to pull his hips up to give him easier access wrapping around his nipple, twisting it between his fingers.
Sweat and tears mixed on Robb’s face as pleasure kept going through him in waves. All he could say and repeat were three words: “Gods, My Lord, gods!”
Theon’s tongue digged deeper, purposely avoiding that sweet spot inside of Robb, not wanting to make it easier as he fucked his ass with his tongue. Robb could see white bright spots behind his eyes. He tried to cling to that little lucidity he still had in him even if he was well aware of being a trembling mess around his lover’s tongue.
When Theon replaced that with fingers slick in oil, Robb could have cried at the loss if only the Greyjoy didn’t choose that moment to hit the exact same spot he had avoided with his tongue. Robb was begging and screaming, his words losing any kind of meaning the moment they left his lips, his cock so painfully hard, red and throbbing, forgotten against his stomach.
“Show your Lord how gracefully you come,” Theon ordered, pushing another finger through the rim of his asshole. That was all Robb needed, his grip on the headrest grew tighter as he rolled his eyes back to the ceiling, finally buckling his hips up as he started to fuck himself on Theon’s fingers, disappointed of not being able to do the same around his cock. It didn’t take a lot, Robb came hard all over his chest, his cock completely untouched, painting himself and the sheets under him in sticky white semen. And, a moment later, the world went completely dark.
When he opened his eyes, his arms had been released from the belt holding them, and Theon was cleaning him up. He looked at his lover who finished his work and climbed on the bed.
“How long was I out?” He asked, feeling a blush getting up his cheeks at the idea. Theon was looking at him with that private smile he only allowed to appear on his lips when it was just the two of them.
“Just some moments,” He answered, tracing the red angry sign the belt left on Robb’s pale skin. “Someone will notice.”
“I’ll wear gloves, and even if it's the good thing about being the Lord,” He leaned closer, daring to steal another kiss from his lover. In doing so, he let the hand Theon wasn’t holding venture down Greyjoy's waist, pushing against his erection. “You are still hard.”
Theon chuckled, pushing his hips up to meet Robb’s hand. “Do you mind taking care of it?”
Robb smiled and was only too eager to comply.