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“I… can’t believe your parents are letting us share a bed.”
"There weren’t any more spare beds. Seems I wasn’t the only one to think of bringing over their significant other.”
Robb and Arya, if he’s not mistaken, the eldest son and youngest daughter had also brought over their respective girlfriend and boyfriend.
“Also, seems my parents trust me more to behave.”
Sansa smiles at him over her shoulder, before going back to brushing her hair. Jon leans back against the headboard to watch her, as he’s wont to do every time since they became intimate, since she started staying overnight in his flat. It soothes him, her motions, always does – and it’s exactly what he needs now for his frayed nerves.
“I love your hair,” he says, feeling suddenly warm and content.
She grins at him. “Mmm, so you’ve told me.”
“I love your eyes, too,” he pauses, remembers the plan he’s wanted to put in motion, but had been advised to wait it out till after the holidays, “and your cute nose. I love your pouty lips.”
The look on her face as she puts down her comb makes his body burn and hum in anticipation; Sansa strides across the room and, so very slowly, she might as well be torturing him, slides onto his lap.
“My lips are nothing compared to yours,” she whispers, and pouts for good measure, eyes glinting in mischief as she brushes a kiss to his cheek. “Full and soft and wholly wicked. It should be a crime for a man to have lips like yours.”
Jon pulls her into a much-awaited kiss, coaxing her lips apart to get a taste of the minty toothpaste she’d used not more than a few minutes ago. Sansa groans, this soft little sound in the back of her throat that makes his groin tingle; her hands tug at his shirt to get it off and he sits up enough for her to accomplish her goal before swiftly rolling them over.
“Jon…”
She trails her fingers over his chest and abs, mapping out his muscles – she’d told him once, when he’d questioned her about it, that she loved the feel of them moving, loved how his muscles would clench at the brush of her fingers. Sansa would always take her time to kiss and lick every inch of him the same way he does with her—it’s only fair, she’d said then, too.
His own hands slip under her shirt, an old one of his actually, and really, by all means, he’s no real reason to be this worked up – she’s wearing her comfy pajamas, oversized flannels that are as far from sexy as it possibly gets. But, sweeping his thumbs over her nipples, Jon knows she could be wearing a potato sack and she’d still be the sexiest woman he’s ever seen.
“I’d like to get you sweaty and panting on my bed,” her voice is a breathy whisper; it forces a moan past his lips more effectively than the way she drags her nails down his back.
His hips buck into hers. “You already did that, once.”
It’d been too awkward to attempt it a second time, considering she shared flat with his ex and co-workers. Even if Sansa isn’t prone to be loud, those walls are impossibly thin.
Sansa claims his lips again, grinding up into him. “I meant this one.”
The one in her childhood bedroom, in her childhood home. Surrounded by soft pastel colors and all the things that make part of who Sansa is.
Fuck.
She lets out a little laugh that breaks into a moan halfway through. “Oh, you like the idea.”
“Maybe a little.”
Before they can even think of moving things along, a loud knock has them freezing on the spot.
“Sansa, Mom wants to talk to us!”
“I’m coming!”
She looks so disgruntled, that Jon can’t help himself – he nips at her earlobe. “Not yet, you’re not.”
It takes her a moment, but then her pupils blow wide when understanding settles over, she moans; her sister knocks harder on the door. “In a minute, Arya!”
He places a kiss to that spot under her ear that never fails to get her writhing under him. “I’ll need more than a minute to make worthwhile.”
“Jon!” Sansa hisses, pushes him off her and stomps to the door, cheeks ablaze and trying to look less disheveled.
He manages to hold back his laugher until the door is closed firmly behind her, but not much longer. And then, sometime later, when Sansa comes back – cheeks still ablaze but with a sort of pained frown on her face, it escapes him again.
“Shut up,” she grumbles, getting under the blankets and snuggling into his side; he’d put his shirt back on, knowing their fooling around had come to a swift end.
“That bad, huh?”
“I’ve never been drier,” she deadpans.
And Jon has to press his face to her neck to avoid the peals of laughter that threaten to come out against his will. “I’m happy with this, you know, cuddling you,” he says after a while.
That brings back her lovely smile. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
It’s this what settles it for him, having her fit her head under his chin, arms wrapped around him and legs a tangled mess with his own. This – as he knows that, once she falls asleep, she’ll use part of him as a mattress as well, that she might roll over and take all the blankets with her. All of this, what makes him know for sure that asking her to move in with him is the next step for them.
“Good night, Sansa,” he whispers, and drops a kiss on her head.