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The Honeymoon Phase

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“So… is that a yes?”

Theon reaches across the table to steal a chip from Robb’s plate, and twirls it lazily between his fingers as he observes his best friend. Robb’s eyes are fixed on his Pepsi, but there’s a tell-tale flush crawling up his neck and onto his jaw, suffusing into the copper red of his stubble and reaching higher for his cheeks. Theon has to bite back his chuckle; he’s always been a heavy blusher. And Christ, but if it isn’t a good look on him. Like the world’s tallest, handsomest bottle of ketchup, or something.

“Yeah… that’s a yes,” Robb finally says, flicking his eyes up to meet Theon’s. He bares his teeth in a grin, and it somehow manages to look shy and wolfish at the same time. “I guess we’re boyfriends now.”

Theon rolls his eyes and groans, mostly to hide the fact that he actually really likes the sound of the word, even though he’s never been big on labels and stable relationships and guys on the whole. He likes it. Jesus.

“Yeah, alright, come on Stark.” He flicks the stolen chip into his mouth, and steals a few more, for good measure. “Hurry up and clean your plate. We need to be at the concert in the next hour, and you’re probably going to want to get in your quota of girly hand-holding beforehand.”

“You mean after you’re done reading me your girly poetry?” Robb shoots back. Theon opens his mouth to quip back at him, but then Robb throws a little piece of fish into his mouth, and there’s a moment of silence before they both burst out laughing, until Theon isn’t laughing and starts choking instead, and Robb has to hurriedly slide across to his side of the booth and pound him on the back.

“Wow,” he rasps out after taking a gulp of water under Robb’s worried gaze, “you could at least kiss me before you try to kill me.”

“Oh.” The concern is mostly gone, replaced by something roguish and shy. Robb bites down on his bottom lip, the way he’s been doing since he was seven years old. “I thought you didn’t like PDA, but, well…”

And Theon most definitely isn’t one for doing romantic stuff in public, but he’s too busy staring at Robb’s lips and how red and wet they are, and he doesn’t realise what’s coming until it’s there. And then he’s making out with his best friend turned boyfriend in the middle of a fish and chips shop on a grey day in Winterfell, with a hand in his hair and another on his chest, tugging him closer, and there’s absolutely nothing else worth thinking about.


After the initial heady buzz, and after they’ve gotten around to telling everyone, Theon mostly resigns himself to taking it slow. He’s known Robb for pretty much all his life; the guy has had three steady girlfriends, all ending in amicable breakups, and then there was that one bloke the summer after his first year at uni. He’d never reported getting anywhere noteworthy with any of them, and usually when they talk about sex, the conversation consists of Theon bragging about his latest conquests (of which there are, admittedly, a lot; sue him). Robb’s not a prude or anything, but his father is Ned Stark, so Theon assumes he’ll have to bide his time, ease into the sexual part of their relationship somewhere down the line.

And the thing is, he doesn’t mind. Robb isn’t just another guy or girl; he’s his best friend. The one who used to share his lunch with Theon when his dad forgot or just didn’t bother to pack his, the one who convinced him that he really was good enough to apply for that scholarship, the one who took one look at Theon’s broken fingers and immediately flew across the waiting room to break Ramsay’s nose. Theon has an unfortunate tendency of fucking up everything worthwhile in his life, but not this. He’s going to make this count, make it last.

And if that means buckling down for a few months of chastity, and then a few months more of sensual, demure, hand-holdy, under-the-covers sex before they can get to the good stuff, he can more than live with that. It can be like… the honeymoon phase.


(Three weeks later, Theon is still laughing incredulously at himself.



“Jesus – oh fuck, Robb, please, Robb, I… fuck!”

Robb has this thing for tying him up. Never anything complicated, and Theon’s pretty sure he could get out of the hold if he tries, but he never tries. Instead, he spreads his legs wider and wraps his fingers around the metalwork on the headboard, feeling the silk twist and slide on his wrists.

That might be a laugh, or it might be a growl; either way, Robb bites at his thigh, stubble scraping against the sensitive skin, before dipping back in. His tongue makes long leisurely passes around Theon’s balls, before rubbing harder and lower, following the line leading down to his hole. Theon gasps to feel the warm strong muscle circling around his rim, teasing and hinting where just seconds before it had been voracious and obscene. He knows what he sounds like, all whimpery and pleading, but he doesn’t care. The only thing that matters now is that Robb never stops touching him.

He crouches lower, sliding his hands under Theon’s arse to tilt it upward, and slide his tongue inside, wet and stiff. Theon cries out sharply again, arcing his hips up. His cock lies hard and dripping and neglected on his stomach, and he tries to pump it into the air, fuck it into nothing. Robb won’t even allow him that; he slaps one of Theon’s cheeks with a sharpness that brings tears to his eyes, and holds his hips down. He rubs hard at the edges of his entrance, and the tears spill over.


The more he struggles, the more the scarves seem to tighten, the more the tremors race up and down his legs and shoot back to his prick. He’s so hard he can barely even think, except to envision those red lips tracing up his shaft to suck him down whole. They don’t, and the thinking makes it worse. Robb rubs against his perineum with his tongue, alternating the pressure from thought-light to fearsomely hard, and Theon near strangles himself with his sob, shaking at how good it is. He can feel the spit sliding between his cheeks to drip onto the bed and create the wet spot that he writhes in.

Robb sucks one of his balls into his mouth. His cock jumps, throbbing, and Theon thinks he might actually pass out.

“Robb, p-please,” he whimpers, blinking the tears away, not caring how his voice breaks. “You have to touch me, f-fuck, please, touch me.”

That is definitely a laugh.

“I am touching you,” Robb says, voice raw and throaty. He gives him another wet lick along his hole for emphasis. “See?”

“Fuck…” Theon feels light-headed; it’s all he can do to even beg. “My cock, touch my cock, please Robb, please.”

He gets another chuckle, dark and rich, rumbling against his arse and making him shiver. How in the world he ever attached the words ‘sweet’ and ‘naïve’ to this guy is beyond him. A quick surge brings Robb up to Theon’s neck, to kiss and suck at his pulse. His knees are on either side of Theon’s waist, and his nearness is almost palpable, but he still doesn’t touch him. Theon groans, trying to piston his hips and let his aching cock make contact with Robb’s prick, his stomach, legs, anything, but Robb is too quick for him.

“You want me to touch you?” Robb asks in a voice like dark smoke, licking across his neck. Theon feels the silk rubbing his wrists to rawness as he twists, blood rising in his chest and neck and up to his face.

“Y-yes, please, fuck, you fucking bas—please I—”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” Robb cuts across him, easily as a summer breeze, as if they’ve got all the time in the world. Theon bobs his head, lashes thick with tears. “Say it again.”

“My cock, touch my cock, touch it, I need… please Robb, I can’t… fuck.”

“You want to come?”

“Yes, yes yes, please, please let me come, please…”

He’s all but babbling now, head shaking and cheeks wet. He feels Robb smile against his skin, and then lift his head to look directly into his eyes. Robb’s are an intense shade of blue, dark and hot as he traces his fingertips around Theon’s chest.

“Want me to make you come?” he murmurs again, gentling light kisses across Theon’s brow and cheek, so utterly at odds with the fierce longing building and crashing in his stomach and cock that his eyes wet up anew.

“Yes… please yes Robb,” he moans weakly, thrusting up again. He’s so hard… Robb’s eyes seem to soften some, and then the hand on his chest is trailing down, and down, skittering across his ribs, dipping into his navel…

…and then reaching up to his nipple instead to grip it with a savage pinch.

“No,” he whispers gently, and Theon chokes on a sob and comes anyway, splattering his chest with it. Robb smiles down at him, and when he finally grasps Theon’s prick to stroke him through it, he’s too sensitive, and it’s so agonising and hot and good that Theon has to force back a scream, legs thrashing about on the bed, little noises escaping his mouth as he bucks up into the hand.

He hears Robb making vaguely soothing noises as he cradles him through his orgasm, feels his fingers making quick work of the knots at his wrists. Theon’s hands flop at his sides, limp. It’s all he can do to kiss back when Robb slides their lips together. He feels boneless, and almost drugged, but that wolf-like smile when Robb pulls back wakes him up immediately.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he promises.


He really isn’t.

Theon gets a few minutes to catch his breath, and then Robb is ordering him up against the wall, back-first. He goes, legs wobbling, cock stirring feebly at the command in his boyfriend’s voice. There’s lube and condoms in the drawer by the bed; Robb never takes his eyes off Theon as he slips one on and slicks himself up. He’s got that look in his eyes, the one that’s gentle and forceful all at once, and says that Theon is fucked.

His palms rest fall against the wall, and he slumps back against it as Robb strides over.

“Spread,” he says shortly, and Theon obeys with an alacrity that will set his cheeks to burning when he thinks on it later. His knees fall open, and the slick fingers of Robb’s hand crawl their way between his legs, sliding along his already wet entrance. Theon bites off a curse, and grips Robb’s shoulders. A probing push has the fingers sliding in easily, two at once, and he has to hiss, hips pumping up and down as Robb stretches him.

“Yeah,” he moans thoughtlessly, and opens up his mouth hungrily when Robb kisses him, head slanted. Theon buries his fingers into the copper red curls, tugs on them softly as their tongues rub together. It makes Robb growl, makes him crowd Theon further against the wall until his spine is arrow straight against it. Another finger joins the first two, and Robb starts thrusting them roughly, changing the angle at every thrust so Theon never knows where it’s coming from. He groans again, and as his head thumps back against the wall, it occurs to him. The Starks moved a year or so ago, and he isn’t as familiar with this house as he was with the last. But he’s pretty sure…

“Stark,” he starts, breathless and clipped, “isn’t your parents’ room—”

“They might still be in the living room,” Robb interrupts casually, kissing Theon’s neck. “But yes, they’re right above us.”

Theon can feel himself tensing, clenching on Robb’s fingers, even as his prick stirs again, starting to fill up.

“‘Might’,” he mutters, rolling his hips. “And Snow… and your sisters…”

“Yeah, they’re on this floor too.” Robb twists his fingers suddenly, and has Theon choking back a whimper. “Jon’s right next door, actually; there’s just the bathroom separating us.” Robb sounds incredibly unconcerned about this state of affairs, but there’s a sharp glint in his eyes that is both teasing and feral. Theon cocks a brow; it’s ruined when Robb grazes against his prostate and makes his eyes roll back, but all the same: he cocks it.

“I guess someone’s looking to traumatise their siblings tonight,” he says when he catches his breath. Robb doesn’t even miss a beat; he pulls Theon forward from the wall with his free hand, and delivers a stinging slap across his arse that makes him cry out hoarsely. Fuck.

“No, what you guess,” Robb counters, leaning close to nuzzle Theon’s neck, “is that someone’s going to have to learn to be quieter.”

He flexes his fingers once more within Theon, and then slips them out, making him gasp. Theon is a couple years older, and a few centimetres taller, but it’s Robb who’s more built, who has muscles corded along his shoulders and upper arms. They serve him well now, to grip Theon by the upper thighs, lift him off the ground with the wall hugging his back, and support him there with hands on his arse. Theon’s legs, with a mind of their own, wrap around Robb’s until his feet are locked somewhere beneath Robb’s knees, and he can feel the blunt head of his prick pressing against his cleft.

“Fuck,” Theon murmurs, grinding down experimentally. Sparks go off behind his lids when Robb flexes his hips up, slowly.

“Is that what you want? Tell me,” Robb orders. His voice is steel and silk, and it’s a very lucky thing that he’s holding him up, because just the hardness of his voice makes Theon feel faint. He loops his arms around Robb’s neck. Every muscle in his body feels tight with anticipation, and he knows his breath is as shuddery as his heartbeat.

“I want you to fuck me,” he gasps. “Please, fuck me.”

Any residual shame he might have had has long been drained out of his body. Robb stares deep into Theon’s eyes, using a hand to position himself properly, and slides into him in a long, slow movement. Biting his lip, Theon eases down onto it, burying his mouth in Robb’s neck so his skin can soak up his groan. The gradual stretch and burn makes him grimace in discomfort, but it also makes his lids flutter, and he’s heady with the fullness. Robb licks the side of his neck, and then Theon feels a hand fist itself in his hair, tight with authority, and pull his head back so Robb can look at him.

“Yeah… that’s better. Look at me.”

His hands drop to cradle Theon’s hips, and he draws out and drives back in so suddenly that Theon cries out, and drops his head back against the wall with an audible thump. That earns him another sharp smack across a cheek, and his prick, halfway back to hardness, gives a tiny jump.

“Stroke yourself,” Robb whispers when he leans in to kiss him, and Theon doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs hold of his cock loosely, tugging on it, and moans into Robb’s mouth as they kiss. There’s a sweet, bruising kind of ache on his hips where Robb’s fingers press into his flesh, holding him in place so he can fuck up into him with quick sharp strokes, getting faster and harder with each passing second. Grunting, Robb devours his mouth, his stubble scraping Theon’s chin and cheeks, rough and good.

Each tiny movement that Robb makes transmits itself into a miniature earthquake beneath Theon’s skin, and it’s not long before his prick is hard and aching in his hand. Robb shakes the hair out of his face, looking straight into Theon’s eyes, speeding up his movements and graduating into short, shallow thrusts that strike his prostate relentlessly.

“Oh god oh god oh god, fuck, Robb yeah, fuck me, fuck me, please…”

His eyes are wet again; the feeling building in his limbs is almost too intense for his mind to process. The undulation of his lower body comes to him as if by nature, meeting the motion of Robb’s hips. Theon starts shivering, and Robb licks his lips.

“Are you going to come?” he asks, eyes dark. Theon nods helplessly, hoping that Robb isn’t going to make him take his hand away, not when he’s so close, not when his cock feels so fucking good in him. Robb does lower him to his own feet (and he would stumble if not for the wall behind him) but it’s only to pull out, spin Theon around, and slide right back in. The shout that tickles at Theon’s throat is muffled by his forearm, only to break free in shorter gasping bursts when Robb starts to fuck him anew, hips slapping against his arse.

Heat rises in his chest, and the smoke billows up to cloud his mind until all Theon can think about is Robb’s fingers on his hips, the fullness of him inside of him, and his own hand on his prick, stroking and squeezing erratically. The sensation in his lower body thrums, little bursts of pleasure that drive up to a peak. Robb bites his ear, growling low in his throat, and when Theon comes he has to press his lips together so he doesn’t cry out. The bliss washes over him in white waves as he spurts onto the wall, stroking himself out.

“Ah, fuuuck,” he keens.

His whole body is shaking and tingling, and he’s pretty sure his legs are going to give out soon. Theon has a few seconds to look down at the semen on the wall, and inanely wonder if Robb is going to expect him to clean it off, before he’s being pushed towards the bed once again, down on all fours.

“Oh, god,” he moans, even before Robb kneels behind him and lines himself up, because sparks are still shooting off in every nerve ending that he’s aware of having, and he’s not sure he can handle any more stimulation right now. He’s definitely not getting hard again.

But then Robb eases into him once more, thick and hard, a hand in his hair to press him down into the mattress, and fucks Theon until his cock throbs within him and he’s groaning out his release, and all the while he still doesn’t stop moving, doesn’t stop caressing his entire body and making his brain short-circuit, and Theon thinks, okay.

A dry orgasm probably won’t kill him.


It’s a near thing, though.

Theon wakes up with the sun blaring through the windows, striking him full in the face. The space next to him on the bed is rumpled, and empty, and he’s lying in what feels like a hundred wet spots. He tries to move, winces, and then thinks better of it.

Muffled voices reach him from the hallway outside; Robb thanking his mum for letting them stay in his old room while his flat is being fumigated. Theon doesn’t want to think about the fact that if he can hear him, anyone in the corridor last night could have definitely heard them. Instead, he concentrates on trying to get the sun to move behind a cloud with sheer willpower.

When it becomes clear that that isn’t going to work, he drags himself off of the bed, and towards the window to close the curtains. He can hear noises from downstairs now; cars starting, quarrels ending, reminders being thrown every which way. All the normal sounds of the Stark household coming together in the morning. Theon slips into a pair of boxers, grabs a clean towel from Robb’s closet, and shuffles into the bathroom.

By the time he gets out, clean and dry and clad in the same pair of boxers, the house is quiet once more. Soreness tingles all over his body, but it’s the good, well-fucked kind of sore. Theon falls back into Robb’s bed; breathing in the scent of them both, thinking of how good it would feel to lie there forever.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t realise that Robb is back until the door clicks shut. Theon turns over. His boyfriend is wearing a pair of shorts and a vest, finishing off a breakfast muffin in large, wolfish bites. He licks his fingers when he’s done, from pinkie to thumb. Absurdly, Theon feels his cock twitch.

“Who told you you could put those on?” Robb asks amiably in greeting, pointing with his chin.

Theon looks down at the boxers, then back up at Robb.


Ten minutes later, he’s coming with a scream, legs cradling Robb’s head and the tangle of curls above it as the redhead tongues his perineum and his arse, starting fires and ice storms all over his body that wring out continuously. Fifteen minutes after that, Theon comes again, eyes wet with pleasure and pleading as Robb fucks him with his fingers, and his come shoots in ribbons over his chest.

“Oh god, oh fuck, oh god,” he mumbles over and over again, as his limbs tremble with his orgasm, and he’s not sure if his hips are pumping towards or away from Robb’s fingers. He feels like a rag doll. “Oh fuck fuck fuck…”

Robb’s laugh is as hot as his skin, burning with arousal. He kisses his way up Theon’s chest, licking away stray drops of come until he can slant his lips over Theon’s, and share the bitter taste. Theon curls up into it, sliding his tongue out to feel as Robb’s lips twist with his smile.

“Is that what you want? For me to fuck you?”

It’s probably inadvisable, and his body is not going to be thanking him any time soon, but it is what he wants. Desperately, almost.

What Theon says, though, is:

“Is that the stupidest question you’ve ever asked, or is that the stupidest question you’ve ever asked?”

He gets a three-fingered slap across the jaw for his trouble; the fingers that were just in him, he’s pretty sure. It only makes him a little more turned on, god help him.

“That’s not the kind of mouth I want from you,” Robb warns, crawling up Theon’s body until his knees are on either side of his face. Theon moves to cup his hips, but Robb stops him, effortlessly trapping both his hands with one of his, and using the other to tap his prick against Theon’s lips. “Come on, open up and get me hard.”

Robb’s cock is familiar and heavy in his mouth. Theon moans around it, the way he knows Robb likes, alternating between gentle sucks and swirls of his tongue. With his hands trapped above his head, the only movement he’s allowed to control is the bobbing of his own head, and that alone gets more difficult as Robb lengthens and thickens between his lips. He pulls off, breathing hard, inhaling his scent as Robb trails his knuckles down his cheek. For a moment, there’s a look of utmost tenderness in his eyes, and he smiles. Theon grins back, and kisses the tip of his erection, lips spreading over the head.

Then Robb thumbs his chin, opening his mouth wide, and slides in as far as he can go.

Theon gags, throat resisting, before Robb pulls out and gives him a chance to breathe. He moans with the loss, and sucks his cock eagerly on the return, letting Robb fuck his mouth while he groans and makes muffled noises around it. He can barely move, and barely wants to; he’s content to lie limp and let Robb cup his jaw and piston his hips.

When he draws out for the last time, his prick is shiny and wet. Theon breathes heavily, and spreads his legs in anticipation as Robb moves away, getting the condom and lube. Robb spreads them even wider when he’s prepared himself, until they’re almost akimbo, and the insides of Theon’s thighs ache. Slick fingers explore in and around his hole, still slippery with lube from earlier, while Robb presses fierce kisses all over his face.

“Ask me for it,” he says, voice a commanding rumble in his throat that makes Theon’s hips stutter. Robb’s cock teases up and down his arse, and it makes him wriggle, breath coming even faster as he looks up into Robb’s eyes, dark and blue.

“Fuck me Robb, please, come on, god, I want you to – fuuuuck!”

He thrusts in without warning, and Theon shakes and whimpers around him. It hurts a little, and he hadn’t realised just how sore he actually was until just now, but fuck, it feels so good to be so full, so close to him. It’s all he can do to prop himself onto his elbows to watch as Robb pulls back, keeps his legs spread with his hands running up and down Theon’s thighs, and fucks him with an almost agonising slowness. Robb shakes his hair out of his eyes to watch Theon closely, biting down on his bottom lip as he flexes his hips.

“God, Robb,” Theon moans, flopping back against the sheets with his arms lifeless at his sides. He’s soft, and he’s going to stay that way, but he can’t help a whimper when Robb brushes against his prostate, slow and deliberate, several times in a row. Their eyes never leave each other’s; not when Robb moves his hands to bracket Theon’s waist and change the angle, not when Theon’s groans become louder and more pronounced, not when Robb gradually ups his tempo.

Sound seems to echo, as if they’re locked away in a cocoon of heat and skin. Sweat glistens on Robb’s chest and his strong arms, holding Theon firmly in place. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he fucks him, faster now, brows knitted together, his pleasure written plainly in his expression. Theon raises his fingers weakly to Robb’s lips, and Robb closes his eyes as he kisses them, face beginning to crumble.

“Oh Theon,” he murmurs, hips snapping, “oh Theon, Theon, Theon.” He falls forward to kiss Theon all over his face and neck, and Theon spreads his legs wider, taking him as deep as he can. The noise that he makes as Robb rocks into him is several octaves higher than he’s willing to admit, and he can feel a heated sensation spreading from his lower stomach to every extremity in this body. Groping for Robb’s mouth, he kisses him hard, swallows Robb’s groans when he comes in a storm of swears and shakes.

He doesn’t stop moving until Theon’s moans are there to mix with his own.


(Honestly, he’s never been so wrong about something in such an excellent way.)


“Jesus Christ,” Theon exclaims after one of the first, milder times. He throws an arm across on Robb’s chest, and tries to rein in his breathing to a somewhat reasonable pace. His arse hurts in the best way possible, and he’s fairly sure that his last orgasm had an orgasm of its own. “Where the bloody hell did that come from?”

Robb is pulling off the condom; he has to turn away while he knots it and tosses it in the bin, but Theon still sees his neck getting tell-tale red.

“I dunno,” he murmurs as he sidles back next to Theon, bringing his warmth back with him. He sounds embarrassed; the steel-hard tint has gone out of his voice. “I honestly didn’t know I had it in me.”

Theon snorts.

“Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who had it in me.”

Robb punches him lightly on the arm, and then proceeds to look a little worried, doing that lip-chewing bit.

“Did you—”

“Stark, please.” Theon runs his palm up and down Robb’s chest, propping himself up on one elbow. “If I’d come any harder, I would have sprained something. Yes, I liked it. More than liked it.”

And that’s still an understatement. The memory of how he’d begged and screamed, how Robb only had to say a word or look at him a certain way to get him to obey, is fresh in his mind. Robb’s too, by the look of it. The embarrassed face is back.

“Good… good. So does that mean you’ll want to—”

“Do it again? Fuck, yes. As often as you want. Seriously, if it’s me being into it that you’re worried about, then worry no more.”

Robb nods, looking placated, but still slightly unsure.

“I just don’t want to remind—”

In lieu of interrupting, this time, Theon silences him with a kiss. The bittersalt taste of his come is still lingering there, like a fragrance. A touch of his tongue has his boyfriend shivering, curling closer towards him, and Theon hums appreciatively. This Robb is familiar, though no less loved; he knows how to deal with this.

“You won’t,” Theon promises him when they break apart. “You never could.”

He can see why Robb might think that he could; Theon never gave him the entire story of what went down between him and the bastard, and doesn’t intend to, not any time soon. No more than one person should have to carry that around. That whole debacle is in the past, and each new second with Robb is a promise for the future.

Robb continues worrying at his lip for a few seconds before his eyes clear up, and he reaches across to kiss Theon lightly, just a graze across the lips.

“You’ll tell me though? If I ever get too…”

“Yes, yes, I’ll tell you.” Theon rolls his eyes, pretending to be long-suffering. “Am I sleeping with a Stark, or my nan?”

It works like a charm; in an instant, that hungry wolfish look is back in Robb’s eyes. He rolls to straddle Theon and cup his face for a long, bruising kiss, licking at the cuts that he left there. Their chests are pressed together, and Theon can feel the throb of his heart.

“You, Greyjoy,” he intones slowly, warmth simmering in the blues of his eyes, “have just earned yourself a spanking for next time.”

Theon grins. He can hardly wait.


The chime of the bell above the door mingles with Robb’s apologies, spilling from his lips as soon as they cross the threshold of the little chippy, and long before they even reach the booth where Sansa and Margaery are waiting on them. The girls have already ordered, and are sharing a plate between them. Robb continues apologising as he slides into his seat.

“…and then this one here forgot to fill up his van, so we had to stop for gas, and… sorry.”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. His sister is already waving away the apologies and giving Theon a welcoming smile, but Margaery grins slowly at them from above her fork.

“Really, you two, if you show up late one more time we’re going to have to start calling you Frey.”

Two times,” Theon complains to the air.

“But I understand, honestly, I do,” she continues, as if he hadn’t spoken. She tosses her brown curls over her shoulder, giving them a sly look. “Sansa and I had to ‘stop for gas’ this morning too, though we rather made sure to do it a bit ahead of schedule.”

Shrugging out of his jacket, Theon watches with faint amazement as Robb — the man who’d put him in a pile driver not an hour ago and fucked him until he came all over his own face — starts blushing like a primary schooler. Jesus. He’d be more surprised if he wasn’t so used to it; Robb, as ever, is a blusher at heart.

“Oh, leave them alone,” Sansa scolds when she catches on. A flush is rising in her cheeks as well.

“Yeah, leave them alone,” Robb agrees, face still red. Theon just steals one of their chips.

“You remember what we were like,” Sansa continues, elbowing Margaery gently in the side, “when we first got together. Never out of each other’s sight, doing everything together, and Arya couldn’t bear to be with us for all I used to gaze longingly at you every chance I got.”

“Used to?” Margaery teases, and Sansa kisses her nose.

“Let the lovebirds be; they probably just wanted to have a nice lie-in by themselves before they met up with boring old us.”

Margaery looks even more amused, eyes flicking from one to the other. Robb is nodding along with Sansa as if he means to agree, but he still looks fit to spontaneously combust, so Theon shrugs, and swipes another chip.

“Yeah, Marg, a nice lie-in. You know what it’s like, when you’re in the honeymoon phase.”