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Theon hoists himself over the Starks’ back fence. He’s sneaked into their yard dozens of times before, for secret midnight meetings with Robb or just to get away from his asshole father, so he knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly where there’s a hole in the brickwork that’s a perfect foothold, knows that once he’s balanced on the top he can shuffle sideways a bit, grab a convenient tree branch and swing down into the garden.
Of course, he’s usually not doing this after half a bottle of vodka, which is possibly why, instead of landing gracefully on his feet, he stumbles and falls and lands flat on his back.
Whatever, he won’t feel it until tomorrow anyway.
He stands up, brushes himself off, then approaches the house. He carefully counts three windows from the left – looking for Robb’s bedroom – and then does it again because somehow the house seems to have more windows than he’s used to.
When he’s sure he’s got the right one, he looks around for something to throw. A pebble, an acorn, a dog toy – anything. But the Starks’ lawn is perfectly manicured, and there’s not a single thing out of place. Frowning deeply in frustration, he rummages in his pockets instead and finds – what? Easter eggs? Jesus, how long has it been since he last washed this hoodie?
But they’ll do, so he grabs one and hurls it at the glass pane. It ricochets off with a dull ping, and Theon throws another. It still doesn’t seem like quite enough. He feels like a vital part of this scene is missing, like he should be holding a boombox over his head or something. Of course he’s not a character in a John Hughes movie so he doesn’t actually have a boombox, but he figures he can improvise.
“Now and then I think of when we were together, like when you said you felt so turned on you could die… Told myself that you were right for me, and felt so horny in your company, my dick was hard and it’s an ache I still remember…”
He’s less singing than yelling, tune largely sacrificed for volume, and occasionally he punctuates a word with another projectile Easter egg. His aim is not the greatest, but as long as he hits the house he considers it a win.
“But you didn’t have to cut me off, make out like it never happened and that we were nothing… and I don’t even need your cock, but you treat me like a stranger and won’t get me off… no you didn’t have to stoop so low, decide you’re straight and that you only want to eat out pussy… I guess that I don’t need that though, now you’re just somebody that I used to blow…”
Finally the window opens, and Robb pokes out his head. The moon is low and bright, so Theon can see the way he yawns, rubs the sleep from his eyes. His curly hair is sweetly tousled around his bewildered face, and Theon throws one more egg at him, just for good measure.
It sails wide, and Robb watches its trajectory with a blearily bemused expression before turning his gaze back to Theon.
“Theon, what are you doing?” he asks, his words thick with sleep. “It’s two in the morning – everyone’s asleep.”
“Not exactly everyone.” Theon spins around at the sound of the voice, and sees Jon leaning casually out of the fourth window. He quirks his mouth into a sharp little smile that suggests a deep inner amusement at the whole situation. “You know those aren’t the lyrics, right?”
“Shut it Jon,” Theon growls, then looks over at Robb. “Robb, how could you do this to me?”
“Do what? Theon, I haven’t even seen you in a week, what can I have done?”
“Exactly!” Theon cries plaintively. He’s fully aware how pathetic he sounds, but he can’t seem to help himself. “You haven’t seen me! You left me! You left me for a girl and you didn’t even have the guts to tell me to my face. How could you, Robb? You know she won’t blow you like I do.”
“Maybe she has a better singing voice,” Jon offers. “Yours is shit.”
Theon hurls his last egg at him and feels a swell of satisfaction when by some miracle it hits its mark. Jon yelps in pain and then, his pride wounded, quickly casts his gaze around for something to return fire. Grabbing a photo frame from his window ledge, he’s just lining up his aim when Robb quickly intercedes.
“Jon, you are not helping,” he says sharply, and he suddenly sounds very awake. He waits until Jon reluctantly puts down the frame, then drops his eyes back to Theon. “What the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t leave you. And certainly not for a girl.”
“You did.” Theon has come too far and had way too much to drink to be dissuaded so easily. He pulls his phone out of his jeans pocket and, concentrating hard, brings up his messages. “See, I have the text right here. Theon, can’t come over today, have to see Jeyne. You would rather spend time with her than me, even though I’m sure her gay porn collection is not nearly as extensive as mine.”
He points emphatically at the text on his phone screen, then, deciding Robb probably can’t read it at such a distance, lobs the phone in his direction. Luckily it lands with a soft thump on the grass, illuminating a bright circle of green and the shiny silver foil wrapper of one of Theon’s fallen Easter eggs.
Robb sighs in exasperation. “Theon, Jeyne is my bio tutor. I had an exam, she was helping me study.”
Biting his lip, Theon feels a flare of hope ignite in his chest. He wants to believe him, but… “If that’s true, why didn’t you just say so? I sent you like a million texts asking who she was.” And also threatening to kill her, but he doesn’t think he has to bring that up.
“Well…” Robb begins rather reluctantly, his eyes flicking up to the stars, determinedly not looking at Theon. “Mum and Dad confiscated my phone. They, uh, saw some of our texts…”
Theon frowns, trying to think why Cat and Ned would find their messages objectionable. “Was it the one where you mentioned the time we fucked on their bed?”
It’s too dark to see, but Theon can tell that Robb is blushing. “I’m not sure…” he replies rather shiftily.
“I guess it might have been the one where you said you were jerking off imagining me with my fingers buried in my ass, hot and hard and moaning your name. Or the picture message I sent in reply…”
Robb lets his head fall into his hands, makes a kind of helpless noise.
“Or was it the one where I said I wanted you to come on me and then lay me out and slowly lick it all off?”
“Ew, Robb, you didn’t?” Jon interjects, sounding squeamish.
Theon is just about to say that actually yes, he had, and he’d liked it and he bets Jon’s stupid ginger girlfriend wouldn’t do anything like that for him, when Robb cuts in again.
“Theon, please,” he implores. “My sisters are in the next rooms. They don’t need to hear this.”
“Too right!” Out of nowhere there’s another voice, and Theon spots Arya hanging out of the window on the other side of Robb’s. “That is the most disgusting thing I have ever heard, and I watch a lot of cable TV. You two are a pair of sick freaks.”
Before he gets a chance to defend himself, there’s the scrape of another window sliding open and someone else jumps into the fray for him. “No they aren’t, Arya. Theon came here tonight to serenade Robb and win him back. It’s romantic.”
And at this point Theon really isn’t surprised to see Sansa’s pretty face poking out of the window one over from Arya’s. Now every window is occupied, and Theon’s just glad Bran, Rickon and Cat and Ned’s bedrooms are on the other side of the house. The buzz from the alcohol is beginning to wear off and he’s kind of regretting coming here tonight. With half of Robb’s family getting tangled up in their relationship dramas, it’s starting to feel kind of like a really bad soap opera. Still, at least Sansa seems to be on his side, so he gives her a little grin.
Sansa smiles back at him before adding, slightly more doubtfully, “You know. Sort of. In his own way.”
“But he doesn’t need to win me back!” Robb cries in exasperation. “He never lost me! Theon, please, I –” he looks like he’s about to say something, but after shooting sidelong looks at his siblings he seems to decide against it. “Just come up, okay? And if you still don’t believe me we can talk about it more. Just us. Quietly.”
Arya scoffs. “Oh yeah, sure. Come up so you can talk,” she says, putting the word in exaggerated air quotes.
“God Arya, don’t give them ideas,” Jon groans, leaning further out the window to address his sister. “The walls between our rooms are paper-thin.”
Both Robb and Theon open their mouths to reply, but before they get a chance to speak Robb suddenly gets a look of pure horror and jumps back from the window. Theon barely has time to wonder why before all of a sudden Robb’s face is replaced by his father’s.
Ned Stark seems far less intimidating and unapproachable than usual in his ratty T-shirt and fuzzy bathrobe, with his hair all stuck up on one side, but he still manages to command a certain authority when he speaks.
“Theon Greyjoy, you are causing a scene and I am surprised none of the neighbours have called the police. Not to mention that my wife is trying to sleep.” He gives Theon a hard look, and Theon can’t help but feel very small and very sorry. He’s just about to start apologising profusely when Ned sighs and passes a hand over his face. “You have clearly been drinking. I don’t think it’s safe to send you home right now. Come inside. You can sleep it off here.”
“Yes sir,” Theon says, nodding furiously and stopping just short of saluting. He quickly makes his way towards the back door, which Robb is holding open for him. His eyes look wide and somehow very bright even in the dark.
“Oh, and Theon?” Ned’s stern voice stops him in his tracks and he looks up, feeling a bit like a rabbit caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. “I can’t control what you and my son do in private, but if I ever have to hear about it again, I’m sending Robb to a monastery.”
He gives Theon another significant look, then ducks his head back inside, closes the window and disappears. Theon takes a couple of dazed steps towards the door, and Robb darts out to meet him. They both stare at each other for a long minute, before breaking out in nervous, horrified laughter.
When the hysterical giggles die out, they are both silent. Theon bites his lip, wishing he had the words to apologise for the song, and the Easter eggs, and the corruption of his little sisters’ innocence.
But Robb just gives him a small smile and reaches out to trail his fingers down the side of Theon’s face, tracing the line of his jaw. He takes the hood of Theon’s jacket and pulls it up over his head, then tugs on it once to draw Theon closer. Leaning into the relative privacy of the hood’s shelter, Robb kisses him softly before resting his forehead against Theon’s.
“I’d never leave you,” he whispers, words filling the close space between them. “It’s you, Theon. Only you. Now and always.”
“Now and always,” Theon repeats, finally letting himself believe it. And, smiling, he tilts his head to press his lips to Robb’s.
They linger on the back lawn, wrapped in each other, for some time. Theon’s mind is fuzzy from something that’s not the alcohol at all, and he’s not sure if it’s seconds, minutes or hours later that he hears Sansa’s soft, happy sigh from above them.
And then Arya’s, “Get a room, you two.”
And then Jon’s, “And for the love of god, never tell us what you do in there ever again.”
Without breaking their kiss, Robb raises one hand and flips them off. Theon exhales a laugh against Robb’s mouth as he hears first one, then two, then three windows slam shut.
Finally, Robb pulls away. He runs a thumb over the slick, swollen well of Theon’s bottom lip, then slips his hand down into Theon’s, tangling their fingers together. “We should go up,” he says. Then he grins, teeth glinting in the moonlight, and leans in close. “Because right now, you’re somebody that I’d like to blow.”