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It’s been barely short of three weeks since this whole thing started and she still feels giddy as fuck as she watches him stroll across the cafeteria, tray in hand, as he makes his way over to where Robb is sitting with the rest of their friends. He looks as broody as ever, especially compared to the way Theon is grinning next to him, no doubt sharing some sleazy story or another, but Sansa notices how his eyes sweep over the room until they settle on her and she can almost swear she sees a hint of a smile grace his lips.
His beautifully, gorgeous, sinfully pouty lips.
She feels a shiver run down her spine – one she tries desperately to contain as Margaery is sitting right beside her – and her skin instantly pricks up in goosebumps. He has told her before how one look from her can bring him down to his knees but she has yet to admit how he does the same to her.
“You alright?” Margaery asks her, pointedly looking down at her raised skin, and Sansa fidgets. This thing between them is still too new, too fragile, and they’ve agreed to keep it between them for the time being, but she can see Margaery’s eyes shrouding with keen interest underneath her casual tone.
Her gaze flickers back towards the table where the boys are rowdily eating their lunches, and she makes it a point to ignore Margaery’s snort of laughter as she lets her eyes wander over Jon. This thing – she doesn’t yet call it a relationship, even if she doesn’t know exactly what to call it either; all she knows is what she feels when he touches her, his hands spanning the length of her skin in ways she hasn’t allowed anyone to touch her before, his lips following close behind until she can’t think, can’t breathe—
She jerks her head to clear her thoughts, feeling the warmth that’s most certainly gracing her cheeks with a pink blush by now and focuses her eyes, only to discover that his own are staring back at her, his mouth slightly parted and a smirk on his lips. He knows exactly what she’s thinking about, and it’s thrilling to know that it’s probably because he was thinking the same thing.
She lifts a brow as she stares into his eyes, in a silent dare, and he gives a slight nod.
“I’m gonna head out, I have some stuff I need to get done before my next class.” She’s out from her seat and moving before Marg has time to react – or so she thinks.
“Best do it properly then,” is Marg’s cheerful reply, and Sansa rolls her eyes as she leaves the noisy place.
She has barely made it inside the deserted classroom before the door opens again and Jon slips quietly inside. He leans with his back against the wood and pauses, his eyes boring into her. She follows his lead, cocking her head to the side, as her eyes roam hungrily over his body. Her heart is already thrumming inside her chest and she can feel her hands itching to touch him, to pull his weight against hers and loose herself in his taste.
But first, a little taunting.
“That was quick.”
He slowly drags his eyes up her body until he’s staring straight into her blue gaze, and she shivers in anticipation. “I left after you did.”
She cocks a brow and huffs at that, which is remarkably easy as her breathing is already picking up pace. “You were supposed to wait a little.”
He mimics her stance, coking his head slightly to the side and she can see his eyes darkening as he licks his lips. “I was in a hurry,” he answers, and his low voice is like kindle to the flames already sweeping over her body.
She walks slowly as she closes the gap between them, her hips swaying a bit more with each step, before coming to a halt in front of him, so close she can feel the heat coming off his body. She doesn’t touch him though. Not yet. “You were supposed to be subtle,” she says, without any real edge to her voice.
She squeaks as he moves, lightning quick, grabbing her waist and twisting them both until she’s the one against the door, his own body pressed tightly against hers. His mouth finds her neck and nips it lightly before his tongue traces a path upwards. “I can be subtle,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, before he turns his body to the side and she whines at the loss.
His lips hover over her skin, and Sansa can feel his breath as he keeps the distance between them to a minimal. His hands are ghosting across her middle but there’s no real pressure and between that and the barrier of her clothes, she can’t help the frustrated groan that escapes her lips.
It only takes a moment before she feels Jon press closer to her, touching his lips to her skin, his hand sliding down to grasp her hip betraying his own need and she pushes against him, switching their positions. Her hands find their way into his tousled curls but before she can close the distance between them Jon cradles her face in his hands with surprising gentleness.
“I don’t care if they know where I am.” He’s holding her gaze with his own, making sure she understands, and Sansa feels her knees weaken. “I don’t care if they know about us. I only care about you.”
A million different words flitter through Sansa’s mind, thousands of ways to tell Jon how much she loves to hear that, to know that he wants them to be together without any secrets. How much she is already well on her way to being in love with him.
In the end though, she decides that a little sass – and a lot of action – might be the way to go. For now anyway. They’ll have time for everything else later.
“Then let’s make sure they know,” she says, before she uses her grip on his hair to pull him into a hungry kiss, smiling against his lips when he moans.
Loudly.