Work Text:
Theon Greyjoy’s spent countless dinners in the Stark household since he was in kindergarten. He’s grown partial to Catelyn Stark’s homemade pork chops, corn on the cob, and Hello Dollies. He knows which scraps of food to sneak under the table for Grey Wind, and that you don't sneak anything under the table for Shaggydog unless you want your hand bitten off. There's even a chair for Theon at the Starks' dining room table (well, technically it’s an extra chair, but Theon’s grown quite attached to it over the years).
But tonight’s dinner is different. Tonight is the first dinner Theon's spent at the Starks' since he and Robb interrupted a Stark family barbecue to tell everyone the news. And tonight, Theon feels like a bug under a fucking microscope.
Theon's always been wary around Ned Stark. After all, the guy is a police officer, and Theon's certain that Ned would ban him from the household if he found out half the shit he gets up to during weekends. Over the years, Ned's always been cordial to Theon, if not extremely friendly. However, tonight Ned seems colder, stiffer, more formal. His repeated glances toward Theon indicate severe scrutinizing; how Theon cuts his chicken, how he holds his fork, how he eats his corn. As if one little slip will prove that Theon's no good for his son. Needless to say, Theon doesn't dare hold Robb's hand under the table. (And he certainly doesn't seductively suck on the end of his corncob like he’s done at past dinners, even though it pisses Jon off.)
Cat's a bit less obvious. She's usually pretty cold toward Theon, always shooting him disapproving glances as if she thinks he's going to set the house on fire (god, she's never going to let that one time he tried to cook himself dinner in middle school go). Tonight, she's actually smiling at Theon and making a point to ask him questions about his day; obviously playing the role of the supportive mother, for Robb's sake. But her tone of voice seems a bit too eager, her smiles too forced. Theon knows a fake smile when he sees one; he's perfected the art himself. He knows what Catelyn thinks of him; a lazy drunk, a crude asshole, and first and foremost a bad influence for Robb. And she and Ned keep looking at each other, which means they're obviously making more judgments along the way.
Jon's flat-out glaring at him. No surprise there. Sansa's smiling more than usual; according to Robb, not only had she "seen it coming years ago", but the whole childhood-best-friends-eventually-getting-together thing is one of her favorite romance movie tropes. Arya’s staring at him like a deer in headlights. Bran’s the opposite, purposely avoiding Theon’s gaze. And even Rickon, who usually treats Theon like he’s a rock star, is being oddly distant, not even asking Theon to play Dinosaurs Versus Cavemen with him like he usually does.
Truth be told, Theon doesn't get why everyone’s acting like he and Robb stole a Ferrari and eloped to Vegas. They’ve been dating for less than a week, and so far haven’t diverged much from their usual summer schedule; pulling all-nighters to finish one video game after another, stuffing their faces with candy and soda, playing Ultimate Frisbee in the backyard, and taking Grey Wind for his daily walk in the nearby woods. Of course, they have added making out to that schedule, but still. The Starks are completely overreacting.
“Could someone pass the green beans?” Ned asks calmly, breaking the fifth awkward silence there’s been tonight. For the first few minutes of the meal, Arya had done a good job engaging the group, telling them about some kid named Lommy in her art class who accidentally dyed his hands green (and it took all Theon had to restrain himself from making a masturbation joke). But then Theon accidentally spilled the salt while passing it to Sansa, and there’d been two seconds of hell when Theon thought he broke the salt shaker, and everything went downhill from there.
The green beans, of course, happen to be in front of Robb and Theon, who both reach for the bowl simultaneously. Unfortunately, Theon’s hand happens to brush against Robb’s in the process. Theon instantly jerks his hand away from his boyfriend- god, he doesn't know if he'll ever get used to calling Robb his boyfriend. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Robb's done the same.
“What’s the matter, tired of him already?” Jon mutters to Robb, in a voice just loud enough for Theon to hear. And Theon finds himself with a strong urge to punch Jon in the gut. At least this feeling, unlike the awkwardness shrouding the Stark dining room table, is familiar.
Theon thinks he's over the worst of it when dinner finally comes to a close, and he and Robb retreat to the basement. They open a bag of gummy worms that Robb bought for Theon a few days ago, prop their feet up on the table, and flip through various TV channels before settling on District 9. Theon even puts his arm around Robb, who nestles comfortably against his shoulder, his soft red curls brushing against Theon’s neck. Maybe tonight won’t be so bad after all, Theon thinks.
But then, the basement door slams open. The moment Theon hears footsteps, he quickly springs away from Robb. Good thing, too, because it's Ned who enters the room, ginger ale in one hand and newspaper in the other. Ned Stark's "No PDA in the House" rule is almost as famous as the time he shut down Aerys Targaryen's illegal firearms business five years ago. Targaryen got a life sentence in prison, and Theon doubts his own fate will be much kinder if Ned ever catches him within an arm's length of his oldest son.
Although Theon sends Ned about a dozen mental "go away" messages, it appears Robb's dad isn't blessed with the gift of telepathy, and Ned plunks down right between Robb and Theon on the couch. He reaches into their bag of gummy worms without even asking, and starts telling them all about his latest case, which apparently involves incest, fratricide, limb dismemberment, and a hungry bear- the usual Friday night. Theon glares at Robb, who shrugs back at him helplessly.
Ned’s rambling on and on, speculating whether Brienne whatever-her-name-was actually killed the bear, when a creak indicates the door opening again. A voice precedes the newcomers into the basement. “What’re you watching?”
God damn it, it's Jon who walks in next, with Arya following close behind. Jon sits on the other side of Robb, and starts talking to him about some reality show Theon couldn't care less about. Meanwhile, Arya sits down in the Starks' massage chair (which Theon’s always wanted to try), and turns it on, causing it to emit a loud rumbling noise that’s almost as annoying as the sound of the Greyjoys’ neighbor Sigrin building boats at two A.M.
It can’t be more than five minutes later when Sansa joins them, phone in one hand and pink nail polish in the other- fucking Starks must travel in packs like wolves or something. After sweetly greeting her family, Sansa takes a seat on the floor and deliberately starts painting her nails, causing the entire room to stink of nail polish fumes within minutes.
About three minutes later, Cat comes down, a basket of unfolded laundry in her hands. She glances suspiciously at the TV, where someone's currently dying a violent death, but declines to comment. Instead, she sets her laundry basket on the opposite side of the room, and gets to work.
And it definitely hasn’t been five minutes when the door opens for the fifth and hopefully final time (unless they've got secret Starks hidden in the kitchen cabinets, which Theon wouldn't put past them). What do you know, Bran and Rickon come in, which means Cat has to change the channel to Nickelodeon.
So, now Theon’s in a room that stinks of nail polish with Robb's entire family, watching SpongeBob SquarePants and listening to the massage chair rumble- all in all, a far cry from the Friday night he had in mind. He’s considering quietly suggesting to Robb that they go play video games upstairs (okay, video games aren’t exactly first on Theon’s agenda, but he knows Ned won’t let him out of the room if he even alludes to his real plans), when Sansa breaks the silence.
“Hey, I’ve got an idea,” Sansa says, with a smile much too enthusiastic for Theon’s liking. “We haven’t had a family game night in a while, have we? Well, wouldn’t tonight be a good night for one?” And Theon doesn't miss her glance toward him.
“Oh, no,” Robb mumbles, a panicked look suddenly on his face. He turns to his sister, his voice growing louder and his tone almost pleading. “Sansa, no. Not tonight. Let’s do it tomorrow, okay?”
Theon doesn’t dare say anything, but he agrees; he’d pick SpongeBob over playing board games like a five-year-old any day.
“I think a family game night is a great idea, Sansa,” Cat chimes in, ignoring Robb completely. “We’ve all been so busy lately, and we really haven't taken the time to bond as a family. I’ll get started on the snacks, while you guys pick the games.” She heads upstairs, laundry put aside for the moment.
“Dad, can’t we do this another time?” Robb appeals to his father. “I don’t think tonight’s a good night. You know, with Theon here and all.” He leans closer to Ned, eyes wide. “He doesn’t need to see this.”
Ned smiles at his son, and Theon sees a mysterious twinkle in the Stark patriarch’s usually serious eyes. “You’re telling me that for all the years Theon’s been over, he hasn’t witnessed a Stark family game night?” he asks. “Well, we need to fix that immediately. I say we play!”
Bran whoops, raising both fists in the air.
“It’s on!” Arya shouts, making threatening hand gestures at the general public.
Rickon turns to Theon tentatively. “What’s your favorite game, Theon?”
Theon falters. Truthfully, he hasn’t played many board games; family game nights with the Greyjoys are about as common as sharks on Mount Everest. “I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I guess we’ll have to find out, huh?” He grins at Rickon, hoping he looks enthusiastic enough to satisfy the kid.
Rickon’s face lights up like a match. “Great!” he exclaims. “You need to try all my favorite games. I’ve got about two hundred and fifty.”
“We don’t even have two hundred and fifty board games, Rickon,” Bran remarks with a sigh.
“Yes we do!” Rickon glares at his brother indignantly. “I can prove it!” He opens the game cupboard and starts throwing various games to the floor, counting them in a loud voice as they crash to the ground and game pieces spill out of the boxes. “One, two, three…”
Theon cringes. It's going to be a long night.
“All right, what game should we start with first?” Sansa asks, slightly wincing as she surveys the array of games on the ground.
A multitude of voices erupts in reply, and about twenty different names simultaneously echo throughout the basement. “Monopoly!” “The Game of Life!” “Candyland!” “Uno!” “Risk!” “Candyland!” “Scrabble!” “CANDYLAND!”
Sansa rolls her eyes. “Let’s take a vote.”
While Cat gets to work making popcorn, sugar cookies, and (Theon’s favorite) her famous chocolate-covered pretzels, the rest of the Starks spend about half an hour arguing over what game to play first. To Rickon’s dismay, Candyland gets voted down almost immediately, and the youngest Stark pouts silently for the rest of the discussion (only to be cheered by Cat’s reemergence with the first batch of popcorn). Finally, the family decides to start off with Clue. Theon’s never played it before, but he doesn’t really care. By the time Jon and Arya had gotten into a fistfight over whether or not chess counted as a board game, he’d kind of stopped participating in the argument and started counting the freckles on Robb’s neck instead. He just wants to get this family game thing over with as quickly and painlessly as possible, so he and Robb can go upstairs and put what's left of the night to good use.
“I’m just going to apologize in advance for whatever happens,” Robb tells Theon, while Ned's dealing out the character cards and Sansa's setting up the game board. No one in the family objected when Theon sat down beside Robb, thank god for that. Although, holding Robb’s hand or squeezing Robb’s thigh under the table will just get that much more tempting. Damn it.
“Why apologize?” Theon asks as he takes full advantage of the giant bowl of popcorn. “We’re not kidnapping the Queen of England, Robb, we’re just playing a few stupid games.”
Robb’s eyes widen. “This is your first family game night with us, so you don’t know the deal,” he tells Theon. “My family takes board games very seriously.”
Theon scoffs, and reaches for another handful of popcorn. “I think I can handle it."
And he can handle it, for the first few rounds. Although Theon winds up as Mrs. Peacock and has to fill his mouth entirely with popcorn to prevent himself from commenting, he doesn’t complain. He moves his piece around the mock-mansion nonchalantly for a few turns, not really getting the point of the game. The Starks appear to be having a good time, rolling the dice and occasionally smiling or joking with one another.
Then come the accusations.
Sansa clears her throat, and Theon notices the other Starks glancing at one another nervously. Finally, she speaks up. “I suggest that the murder was committed by Mr. Green, in the lounge, with the dagger.”
“That’s me!” Arya suddenly shouts, gesturing to her green token. “You always accuse me first! You don’t even really think Mr. Green’s the murderer, Sansa, you’re just doing it because it’s me.”
“I’m accusing you because we’re in the same room, Arya!” Sansa replies, grimacing. “Why do you have to take everything so personally?”
“Because you always want to get me out!” retorts Arya, “so you can win! You always do this!” She turns to the rest of her family. “Doesn’t she always do this?”
Her allegation is met with a few shrugs, wayward glances, and, in Rickon's case, blown raspberries (although the last appear to be directed at Cat, who isn't allowing Rickon to eat more than one cookie).
"Yes, she does," Arya finally answers her own question. "Remember at the arcade when she told me Rickon tried to eat one of the Skee Balls so I wouldn't beat her high score at PacMan?"
"But Rickon did try to eat one of the Skee Balls," Jon puts in.
Arya glares at him murderously. "That's not the point!"
“Uh, guys,” Bran says, desperately attempting to speak up, “I can prove Sansa’s accusation wrong if you just…” But his sisters are too deep in argument to notice him.
Theon, meanwhile, can't help laughing. He stretches out his legs, and quietly listens to a play-by-play recap of Sansa and Arya's intense game rivalry over the years, which apparently dates back to Peek-a-Boo. Well, if this is as serious as the Stark kids get with family game night, he’s ready to sit back and enjoy it while they fight like a bunch of animals.
Two rounds, ten suggestions, and three accusations later, Theon’s no longer laughing. In fact, he’s slightly terrified.
“You’re accusing me?” Jon shouts, raising his arms. “What have I ever done to you?” He and Arya are currently standing at opposite ends of the table, screaming at one another.
“Sansa put you up to this, didn’t you?” Arya asks, eyes ablaze. “She’s probably trying to get me back.”
Sansa gives a shrill laugh. “I was just eliminated!” she exclaims incredulously. “Why does everyone drag me into this?”
“It doesn’t matter, because I’m not the murderer!” Jon bangs on the table for emphasis.
“Well, neither am I!” Arya bangs even harder on the table, for even more emphasis.
And perhaps she, or Jon, or both of them, hits the flimsy table a bit too hard. Theon doesn't quite see what happens. One moment, the popcorn and cookies and soda are on top of the table. The next, they're spilling onto the floor, as well as various members of the Stark family and their shellshocked guest.
"Oh, god," Robb says, picking popcorn off his shirt.
"Oops," Arya whispers.
Rickon takes advantage of the situation and dives under the table, shoving cookies into his mouth.
“First game of the day, and there’s already a spill," Ned mutters, running upstairs to get the vacuum cleaner.
And Theon? He's gingerly looking down at his new shirt, which had been white before his cup of Coke had spilled all over him, and hoping he survives the night.
For some reason, there’s a mad rush to the Monopoly box, but Arya gets there first.
“Mine!” Arya shouts as she throws the Monopoly box lid to the ground and rummages through the pieces. “It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s…HA!” She lifts what she’d apparently been seeking up over her head and jumps for joy.
"Arya, no jumping near the table," Ned calls, still cleaning up popcorn from the Clue debacle.
“That’s not fair!” Bran shouts. “I called the race car last time, remember?”
Arya shrugs. “First come, first served,” she taunts, dancing around the living room with what Theon assumes is the race car playing piece. “It’s mine, it’s mine…”
“SNEAK ATTACK!” Seemingly out of nowhere, Jon intercepts Arya’s path, knocks her off her feet, and pins her to the ground. “The race car is mine by rights!” Jon cackles, attempting to wrestle the playing piece away from his sister.
“You’ll have to pry it from my cold dead hands!” Arya shouts back, squirming under Jon's grasp.
Theon, who's now wearing one of Ned's hideous shirts that's about two sizes too big and has some suspicious-looking stains near the collar, turns to Robb. "Does what piece you use really matter?" Personally, he likes the look of the battleship piece, but he definitely wouldn’t tackle anyone over it.
Robb grins back at him. "The race car’s lucky," he explains. "Ever since we bought that Monopoly game, whoever's played as the race car always wins. We can't explain it- it just happens. Maybe it's haunted by the ghost of an angry NASCAR driver who went bankrupt ages ago and wants vengeance.”
This ingenious statement causes Theon to start laughing and nearly choke on the five chocolate-covered pretzels he'd just shoved in his mouth. Robb pats him on the back while he recovers.
"Laugh all you want, but it's true," Robb says. "Whatever the reason, the race car always wins." He shrugs. "I usually just decide I’m going to lose right away. It's better not to get involved in that." He gestures to Jon and Arya, who appear to be engaged in some sort of tickle fight. Theon nods in agreement, although now he’s wondering how Robb would react if he were unexpectedly tickled in the middle of a blowjob.
In the end, Ned finally breaks up the tickle fight and makes Jon, Bran, and Arya guess a number from one to ten. Bran correctly guesses number six, and holds the race car up in the air like it’s an Olympic medal, howling in triumph. Jon and Arya, on the other hand, both collapse to the floor, mock-sobbing about how life is unfair and how everything they love has been stolen from them.
God, Robb hadn’t been kidding when he said his family took these game nights seriously.
Unfortunately, the Lucky Race Car theory isn't proven correct tonight. After Sansa and Arya engage in an extreme bidding war over the Electric Company and end up nearly depleting one another’s cash, Jon is bankrupted when he lands on Robb’s hotel in Boardwalk and goes on a five-minute-long rant about “betrayal by his own brother”, and Theon gets pelted with pretzels after stealing money from Bran (hey, he was nearly bankrupt), Ned decides to pull the plug on Monopoly for the night. However, as Cat packs up the game and Sansa starts brainstorming ideas for what to play next, Theon notices that Bran’s piles of money do look slightly larger than everyone else’s.
Theon doesn't believe in good luck charms or superstitions. But you never know.
“It’s definitely not a word,” Jon declares for about the fortieth time, his eyes fixated on the newest six tiles on the Scrabble board.
Theon rolls his eyes exasperatedly; they’ve been arguing about this for at least five minutes. “It’s a word, I swear to god,” he repeats. “My uncle Victarion has one.”
Jon looks disgusted. “Yeah, I bet all your uncles have them, but that doesn’t mean you can bring your creepy slang into our Scrabble games. Just admit it’s not a word, Greyjoy.”
“I won’t admit it, because it is a word,” Theon retorts.
Bran purses his lips. “Even if it does count as a word, I’m pretty sure you spelled it wrong,” he says slowly, squinting at the game board. “Wouldn’t it be spelled, uh…”
“Don’t even,” Sansa cuts him off. She gestures to Rickon, who’s been giggling ever since Theon read his word out loud.
“It’s a word, and it’s spelled right, and if you don’t believe me, look it up,” says Theon with confidence.
And that's when Ned gets up from his chair and says something that's never before been said in the Stark household. "I think Theon's right."
Arya stares at him like he's lost his head. "You think it's a real word?"
"I don't know if that's a word," Ned replies, "and apparently nobody else does, either. So Theon's right. We should consult the dictionary." He gets up, and walks over to the bookshelf. As he lifts down a gigantic copy of Merriam-Webster's and makes his way back to his seat, all the Stark kids start simultaneously drumming on the table, albeit at different paces.
Theon turns to Robb, eyebrow cocked. “Another family game night tradition?”
“We’ve got a ton,” Robb says sheepishly.
“Now, you know the rules,” Ned intones as the Stark kids continue their sporadic drum beat. “If the word isn’t in the dictionary, it doesn’t count. Jon, since you were the one who first questioned Theon’s word, will you do the honors?”
Jon smiles devilishly at Theon. "I would be glad to."
Theon retaliates with a smile of his own.
The Starks beat faster and faster on the table as Jon frantically flips through the dictionary pages. Suddenly he stops, and his eyes widen. “No way," he whispers.
“Told you it’s in there,” Theon calls.
Sansa shakes her head. “It’s definitely not in there...right?"
“Well?” Ned turns to Jon, gaze expectant.
Jon clears his throat. “Dinghy,” he reads, prompting another wave of giggles from Rickon. “Noun. A small rowboat." He turns to Theon, looking simultaneously flabbergasted and grossed out. "You've got to be kidding me," he moans, slumping on the table.
“Get your mind out of the gutter, everyone,” Theon says, grinning and widening his eyes innocently.
All the Starks are staring at him, exasperated and confused, and Theon’s basking in the moment while it lasts. That is, until Ned Stark clears his throat.
Ned gives Theon one of those extended stares that used to scare the fuck out of him when he was a kid, and, truth be told, still make him kind of uneasy. For a moment, Theon’s afraid he’s doomed himself in the Stark household forever, and prepares to hear a bunch of “nearly corrupting the family” bullshit. But then, for the first time that night, Ned’s stoic exterior breaks, he gets a goofy smile on his face, and-get this-he laughs. He looks at Theon, laughing and shaking his head, for about a minute before turning to face the rest of his family.
“Well, it’s not every day you learn a new word,” Ned says, still smiling like an idiot. Unbelievable. “Dinghy. Never forget it. It could win you a trivia game someday.”
After Bran impresses the family (and wins a concerned look from Cat) by correctly spelling the word “cannabis”, and a debate arises over whether it’s acceptable for Sansa to use the British spelling of the word “color”, Robb taps Theon on the shoulder. “I never thought you’d teach me a word that I could say in front of Rickon,” he remarks. He smiles at Theon. “Then again, you come from a family of sailors. You probably know a whole dictionary of nautical terms.”
Theon shrugs, trying to act like he isn't currently fighting the urge to shove Robb against the wall and make out with him right then and there. “I’m pretty sure dinghy’s the only one I know by heart,” he says. “When I was nine, my dad took my brothers and sister on a fishing trip, but I was too young to go. So, I stayed with my uncle Victarion, who took me out on his boats- to stop me from crying, apparently. The dinghy was my favorite, and when I got home, I told my siblings how much fun I had riding on the dinghy.” He grimaces, remembering his brothers’ shared glances and harsh laughter. “I couldn’t figure out why Rodrik and Maron kept laughing at me. Finally, I asked Asha, and, well, she laughed at me too, but finally she explained. I was pretty embarrassed.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I knew that word would come back to haunt me someday. When the letters matched, I couldn’t resist playing a little joke on you guys. You Starks are so, you know, clean. I knew you’d think it was something bad.”
“Jerk,” Robb mutters, shoving Theon’s shoulder lightly. But then, he reaches for Theon’s hand, holding it under the table. They share a smile, and Theon’s starting to think the Starks’ competitiveness over board games might come in handy after all.
“Robb!” Cat shouts. “Could you please go upstairs and bring down the next batch of popcorn?”
God damn it.
“Your turn, Theon,” Sansa tells him with a smile; appropriate, considering she’s just collected one hundred thousand bucks in The Game of Life. Although Theon’s stuck with a salary of thirty thousand bucks per Pay Day, he thinks this game might be his favorite so far. There haven't been any spilled snacks or arguments yet, anyway.
Theon quickly spins the obnoxiously bright-colored spinner, and then moves his plastic car the appropriate number of spaces. “Skiing accident,” he reads. “Pay fifteen thousand dollars to the doctor. Shit.” Of course, the last word isn't on the game board, but Theon had found it necessary to add in after glancing at his already sparse stash of money. God, it's like the Stark competitiveness is rubbing off on him.
Cat clears her throat from across the room. “Language, Theon,” she tells him.
“Sorry,” Theon mumbles. The "No Swearing Rule" is yet another Stark family rule he just doesn’t understand. Between his father, his uncles, and his older siblings, Theon had learned all the necessary four-letter words by the time he’d hit first grade. Plus, Cat’s been attempting to correct his language for years now; there’s no way Bran and Rickon can still think the "f-word" is "frick".
Reluctantly, Theon forks over the necessary payment. He doesn’t even like skiing in the first place. Much too cold.
“My turn,” Robb announces, shooting a shy smile that makes Theon’s stomach turn before spinning. He sends his plastic car on a journey across the game board, and then stops.
For a moment, there's silence.
Ned's finally the first to speak. “Uh oh."
Arya wolf-whistles.
“Stop,” Robb reads, a flush already beginning to show in his cheeks. “You’re getting married.”
The room grows very quiet, and Theon realizes all the goddamn Starks are looking from him to Robb and back again.
Sansa leans forward, looking way too interested for board-game standards. “So, guys, tell us, what’s the wedding like? Where is it? Fancy hotel, outdoors in the woods, in the basement?”
“I hope you invited your old man,” Ned adds.
“Can Shaggy be the ring bearer?” Rickon asks excitedly. “I’d train him not to eat the ring.”
Theon feels like his face is on fire. He pretends to deeply contemplate the mountains, rivers, and snowflakes on the Stark family’s rug.
Robb, on the other hand, apparently isn’t too fazed. Quickly and unexpectedly, he grabs Theon’s hand, and holds it up for the family to see. “We had a summer wedding by the sea, because Theon loves it so much,” Robb announces. “Our aisle was a boardwalk, we said our vows with our feet in the ocean, everyone jumped in the water after we kissed, and our reception lasted until four in the morning. All of you were invited, but no dogs in the wedding party, or Theon would leave me at the altar. And afterward, we bought a house near the beach we got married on, and adopted two dogs and five fish.”
“Oh my god, Robb, that’s adorable!” Sansa squeals, covering her mouth with her hands.
“That’s disgusting,” Arya remarks. “I think I need some fresh air.” She heads over to the window, and mimes retching noises.
“You should look into a career as a wedding planner, Robb,” Ned says. “I wish my wedding had been that nice.” A mysterious shirt flies over from the other side of the room and hits Ned smack in the face.
Despite the situation being stupid as fuck, Theon finds himself smiling. True, his boyfriend is a completely cheesy sap, but he finds it kind of cute. He doesn't dare meet any of the Starks' eyes, and instead turns to Robb. "One dog and twenty fish," he argues. "We can't have too many dogs."
“We can’t have too many fish either, they’ll stink up the place,” Robb retorts, mock-angrily.
“And dogs won’t stink up the place? You’re talking about animals that lick their own as...uh, butts.”
“Fish live in tanks full of their own poop!”
“Look at them, already arguing like an old married couple,” Jon remarks snidely. “I’d love to keep watching Robb and Theon After Dark, but it happens to be my turn.”
“Go ahead, then,” Robb says, giving Theon’s hand a squeeze. “Theon and I can plan our wedding some other time.”
As luck would have it, Jon also lands on the marriage spot. The Starks erupt into cheers and oohs and whistles, while Jon rolls his eyes. “Yep, I got married,” he says quickly, cutting Sansa off before she even opens her mouth. “It was in Antarctica, and the ceremony was ten minutes long, and, uh, A Perfect Circle played at the reception. The end.”
“You really think Ygritte would want to be married in Antarctica?” Theon smirks. “You know how cold she gets.”
Jon’s face turns white as a sheet, and he glares at Theon with a hatred usually reserved for rap music and any article of clothing brighter than black. “No, she was fine with it,” he says through clenched teeth. He spins again and moves his piece, thrusting his arm forward with such force that he nearly upsets the game board.
Theon knows he can call himself champion of this round. He’d been referring to an incident he'd had the pleasure of witnessing at one of Loras Tyrell’s parties during the winter. Ygritte, that crazy redheaded hippie chick who's always protesting something or other, had made her latest attempt at winning Jon’s affection by practically grinding on him on a couch. Jon, due to having the sexual experience of a potato, had completely misinterpreted her actions and offered her his sweatshirt, thinking she was cold. Ygritte had replied with “You know nothing, Jon Snow” before she and a bunch of her peace-van friends had dissolved into hysterical laughter. True, Jon eventually learned how to take hints (with a lot of help from Sansa) and worked up the balls to ask Ygritte out, and they’ve been dating for a few months now. But Theon still brings up the incident every chance he can get. He just wishes he could’ve seen Jon’s face when he found out Ygritte’d wanted much more from him than his sweatshirt.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that, so I don’t have to ask what you’re talking about,” Ned states loudly, popping a pretzel into his mouth.
“They’re just joking around, Dad, don’t worry about it,” replies Robb, but he winks at Theon before turning his attention back to the game board.
“My turn!” Arya shouts, rapidly spinning the spinner. She’s also victim to the dreaded marriage space, but, unlike her brothers, she’s prepared. “I refuse to get married,” announces Arya. “I’m going to travel the world by myself, having adventures and making friends and killing anyone who gets in my way." Every girl's dream.
“I bet Gendry won’t be happy about that," Sansa casually remarks as she takes a bite of popcorn.
Arya’s eyes open wide, and her face twists into a scowl. “Shut up!” she hisses, throwing several pieces of popcorn at Sansa.
Cat's voice echoes from the other side of the room. “Who’s Gendry?”
“Nobody!” Arya insists, although her tone and facial expression indicate that Gendry’s definitely somebody.
“Gendry?” Although Ned's once-in-a-blue-moon smile has long since faded, the mischievous look is in his eyes once again. “Isn’t he one of Jon’s friends? The young man who mows our lawn sometimes? Who’s about five years older than you and never wears a shirt?”
For the first time all night, Arya Stark is left speechless.
Theon, meanwhile, is grinning from ear to ear- because of something Ned Stark said, of all people. And his smile grows wider when he realizes Robb still hasn't let go of his hand.
Robb leans back against his wall, looking only slightly less tired than he does after football practice. He closes his eyes, apparently relishing the newfound silence in his bedroom.
“God, I’m really sorry you had to witness all that."
It had taken three hours and forty-six minutes (not that Theon had been keeping time on his phone or anything), but Stark family game night had finally disbanded after Bran wiped out Rickon’s last European armies in Risk. Cat had dragged the would-be world ruler up to his room, Rickon screaming and crying and claiming he deserves one last battle. After Rickon’s great defeat, the rest of the Starks had collectively decided to finish the game another time. They’d each said their goodnights, and one by one headed off to their rooms. To Theon's surprise, Ned had not only smiled at him again, but shook his hand. He'd heard Sansa remark to Bran that it had been "the best family game night they'd ever had". And Jon, always the buzzkill, had stopped Robb and Theon on their way upstairs. “I’m sleeping with headphones on,” he’d told them, "and if I hear anything that isn’t Black Veil Brides, I’m setting off the carbon monoxide detectors.”
“Nah, it’s cool,” Theon replies with a shrug. “Your mom makes great pretzels.” He lightly rests his hand on Robb’s thigh. “Are all family game nights like that?”
“Most of them are worse.” Robb sounds slightly surprised. “Usually, at least three people cry during Risk. I guess they were on their best behavior for you.”
Theon grimaces. “Stop pretending they like me.”
“They do like you,” Robb insists, pressing his warm hand over Theon’s. “I mean…you know Rickon idolizes you. Bran’s stopped complaining when you help me babysit. Sansa’s going to be a lot nicer to you now that we’re apparently romantic-comedy-worthy. Arya still wants you to teach her archery. Jon…well, Jon hates a ton of people, don’t take it too personally.” He grins at Theon. “And I’ve told you the deal with my parents. They’ve got their issues with you, but they told me they’re fine with us dating, as long as I’m happy.” Robb pauses, giving Theon’s hand a squeeze. “And I’m happy. Really happy.”
Theon can tell that Robb's being extremely optimistic, as usual. For one thing, he knows several reasons why he should take Jon’s hatred of him personally. But, for some reason, he can't bring himself to argue with Robb- maybe all that gameplaying's worn him out, or he's in a better mood than usual, or being nicer to each other is part of the whole "relationship" thing. So Theon just trails his hand up his boyfriend’s leg, all the way to the belt of Robb’s jeans. Suddenly, he stops.
“What is it?” Robb asks, blue eyes full of concern.
Theon gives a brief laugh, shaking his head. “I feel like your dad’s gonna come in any minute,” he admits. Honestly, he’ll probably have nightmares about various members of the Stark family walking in on him jerking off for weeks.
Robb facepalms. “I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats. “I tried to get them to leave me alone for the night, but you know my family. 'Privacy' isn't really in their vocabulary. I’ll tell to lay off next time you’re over, I promise.”
“God, Robb, it's fine,” Theon says with a smile. "I had fun." And he means it. Although the Starks are annoying and crazy and everywhere you fucking turn, Theon would pick being at their house over his own any day. He'd never admit it, but he likes the Starks' stupid family traditions, the way they look out for each other, and even the way everyone always knows everyone else's business- after all, he doesn't remember a time Balon Greyjoy had even asked him how his day went. Theon knows that if he'd stayed home tonight, he would've probably ordered his own pizza yet again, swiped some of his dad's liquor, and had to choose between watching porn or Animal Planet's new documentary on whales. His night sitting around playing games with the Starks had definitely been, if not perfect, entertaining. And even if Robb's family happened to be a bunch of dicks-like, well, the Greyjoys-Theon would put up with them anyway. Because Robb's the most important person in Theon's life, and has been for years, and Theon wouldn't let something like a shitty family game night come between them.
But, of course, Theon doesn’t tell Robb that. This isn’t one of Sansa's chick flicks, and Theon’s never been good at putting his feelings into words. Instead, he employs his favorite method of communication. Before Robb can reply, Theon turns and shoves his boyfriend down until he's lying face-up on the bed. He straddles Robb's hips before kissing him hard, desperately swiping his tongue against Robb's bottom lip, ready to relieve about three hours and forty-six minutes' worth of built-up tension.
And there are no more interruptions for the rest of the night.