Sansa thinks that maybe she has drunk way too much.

She must have. Otherwise she wouldn't be pressed on the cold stone of the dark corridor of her house with big hands on her breasts and wet lips finding their way to her ear, making her shiver. Her own hands exploring his tight shoulders, his firm arms holding her when his lips found just the right spot behind her ear that made her limbs go limp.

It was enough, she thought, someone who wanted her was enough these days. She could still hear the big commotion on the Great Hall as she panted and moaned so unladylikely that she barely recognized herself, her arms reciprocating the dirty touches on his body. She learned how to please a man, he taught her right. Her hands touched the sensitive scar on his face, letting him know that she wasn't disgusted by him, letting him know that she felt nothing but gratefulness towards him, for being kind, for offering a better life when she was alone and fragile.

Tonight, though, she wasn't fragile. A bird. She was a woman who took her own home by force, who got what she wanted. Sansa felt his hands reaching for the hem of her dress and she opened her legs instinctively. Clegane's lips were hot on her neck, he was insistent and brute, his lips were certainly going to mark her, but she didn't care. Not tonight. She let his hand caress her bare thighs, reaching higher and higher, until…

"What is this?" They heard. She was startled, her hands froze in place, her eyes suddenly open. But the Hound didn't seem moved, not even caring enough to look at Jon's face as he responded.

"Go away, boy, I'm not doing nothing she doesn't want." His lips still on her neck.

"Get off my sister now." He barked and Sansa motioned to put some space between her and her lover. "I'm not repeating myself." Jon unsheathed his sword, the noise wasn't foreign on the Hound's ear. He took it as challenge.

"Do you want to play, boy?" His hands left Sansa's body completely, ready to fight.

"No. Go." She told him. "Go now." He looked back at Sansa, defeated. His breathing was just as rough as hers and he nodded, a small courtesy.

The hall was silent once Jon drew her sword back. He looked at her with narrowed eyes as if he was trying to see her, to recognize her. Sansa didn't fault him for that. If she were in his place, she wouldn't recognize herself either.

"What are you doing, Sansa?" His voice was low, dangerous. But she wasn't afraid, she defied him, looked him full in the eyes, refusing to feel ashamed.

"It's none of your concern, Jon." She spat and tried to return to the Great Hall, her mouth thirsty for alcohol. As she brushed past her brother, Sansa's walk came to a halt when she felt his right hand on her arm, tight. She looked down at where he was touching her and tried to free herself from his hold, but she wasn't strong enough.

"Let go of me, Jon. Now." But he didn't.

"You are going back to your chambers." He commanded. His voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not."

"You will." He repeated his command and leaned towards her ear. "You are going to bathe." he whispered "And you are going to wait for me." Her face immediately getting red. She recognized that voice, the need behind his words.

"You are not mine." She said, finally freeing herself from his hold. "Not anymore."

Jon looked at her, his breathing was already getting heavy with the prospect of having her back into his arms. "But I am." He said. "Always will be."

"You are hers." She whispered coldly. "I saw it. The way you look at her."

"There's nothing going on, Sansa. I swear it." He said louder this time. "Go to your chambers. Wait for me." He repeated.

"Your Queen is waiting for you, Jon." Sansa said plainly before leaving the corridor.

Sansa's face was placid as usual, but her heart was racing. After the battle against Ramsey it became easy to slip into Jon's bed. He was her hero, her champion, her brother. They became close, the North was in disarray and he wasn't trained to command a Northern House, but she was. So he sought her advice, her friendship and finally her body.

She gave it all to him. Her advices, the way to rule, taught him to be ruthless, to say no. She heard his regret when he thought he made a mistake, she held his hand when the nightmares woke him at night. She gave him her body when he felt lonely.

Shame plagued both of their minds the following day. Sansa felt dirty, sinful. Jon was certain he had come back wrong from death. But as the days progressed, it became easier and easier, lying on the bed beside each other felt natural, more natural than laying with her rightful husband, the man she had killed a few months prior.

Their first time was a blur in her head. In a moment they were having a heated argument about a possible treason and in the next they were kissing. Sansa didn't remember who started, she didn't remember if it was she or he who dragged the other to her bed, who undressed first, who pulled him inside of her. She only remembered her pants as she looked at the ceiling with his weight on top of her.

Sansa saw when Jon came back to the feast, his Queen had already departed to her chambers. He stood beside a closed window, feeling the cold wind through the breaches on the wood as he watched her openly. Ready to take down anyone who got close to her. But she didn't flinch, her eyes were challenging as she listened to a wildling man already too drunk to say anything that made sense.

Eventually the feast was over and she had to leave to her chambers. Jon stood the whole night watching her, waiting. Her head was spinning with alcohol and unfulfilled desire. Sansa knew Jon was behind her, she heard his steps in sync with hers, but she never turned around to see him.

Jon's hands found her waist when she approached the door. She gulped. She longed to feel his hands on her once more, yearned for his heavy breathing on her neck as he moved inside of her. She missed the way his tongue played with her intimate parts, making her want to scream. Sansa opened the door with her brother's hips touching her behind, unapologetically.

"Jon…" She whispered throwing her head back, already defeated.

"There's a bath waiting for you." He said. She blinked and remembered why he was insistent with that bath, he wanted her clean of another man. Her blood boiled at that reminder, as if he wasn't sharing his bed with another.

"Jon…" She started again. "I don't want to share you."

"You're not." He told her. "There's nothing between Daenerys and I." He seemed honest, but she couldn't believe him. Not after he gave up his crown, not after he bent the knee to a foreign Queen.

"I don't believe you." She spat again. "I knew the moment you came back." When he returned with her, she understood immediately why he would betray the North. He knew the men in her family were stupid enough to give up everything for women. Robb's decay was his cock. She pleaded with Jon to be smarter, but he came back home without a country, without a title and a Queen on his arms. She stripped him of everything and he was once again only a bastard named Snow.

"I'm telling you the truth!" He shouted. She wanted to shout too, to scream at him so he would leave and stop breaking her heart, but she only slapped his face. The sound was sharp and loud, the mark of her hand already appearing on his cheek. Jon didn't seem surprised by her reaction, only closed her eyes.

"No man will scream at me in my chambers ever again." She said fiercely. "You abandoned your home. You gave me the North only to take it away again." She continued. "You took everything from me." She finished.

"We needed her army, Sansa. You don't understand, the dead were upon us." He repeated his mantra. "I needed to protect you."

"Stop lying, Jon." She said low. "I want you to leave." She was looking directly to his eyes, she saw when he sighed, but he never moved.

"I'm yours." He insisted. He took a step back from her, his hand touching his beard.

"You are my brother." She said, as if it mattered anymore. Sansa looked at the man before her and suddenly understood that Jon was no different from Robb, that his cock would be his downfall too, and she was to blame. The North would never accept a King who fucked his sister.

"I'm not your brother." He said as if it was an accusation. Sansa only rolled her eyes, tired of that conversation.

"Right. You're my half-brother." She knew where it hurt.

"I'm not Ned Stark's son." He confessed. She narrowed her eyes, her expression showing confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"She's my aunt." Jon's hands were shaking.

"Jon, what are you saying?"

"My father was Rhaegar Targaryen. Lyanna Stark was never kidnapped. They eloped. I'm your cousin." He was almost shy as he spoke those words. "Your father lied to me. To us."

"Jon…" She didn't know what to say. The ground that she was standing seemed to shake, the truths that she held so tightly were slipping through her fingers and suddenly she felt alone. The blood she shared with Jon was damnation and salvation at the same time. "I'm… sorry…" She couldn't say more.

"I was never a Stark. I have no right to hold a crown." He replied. "I'm not sharing a bed with Daenerys." He continued. "She's here because I promised to give up my claim to the throne."

"Jon, we can't keep lying…" she breathed.

"Sansa," He started. "I love you." He confessed. He knew it was true since the day she came back to him dirty, cold and almost dead. He swore he would be devoted to her from the moment she told him that they would win their house back. Admiration, love, devotion. These were the feelings he held for Sansa, he could never betray her.

He watched the unshed tears hanging from her eyes and he motioned to dry them up, but stopped midair.

"Would you fuck him?" He asked, meaning the Hound. She looked at him, stared at his grey eyes full of hurt.

"Yes." She replied truthfully. "I thought you were with her."

"I'm not." He said shortly. "I want you tonight." He almost asked. She nodded, her teeth clenching at the realization that she was giving him everything all over again.

"But only if I bathe." She replied.

"Aye" He growled.

"Will you help me?" She asked hoarsely. He looked at her very seriously and nodded, already motioning to the bathing area where he asked a servant to prepare a bath, which by now should be cold.

He watched as Sansa started to undress, the shadows dancing on her body by the candlelight. She untangled her hair from her intricate braid and a rain of copper-looking hair poured on her back. Jon's eyes couldn't leave her, the way she slowly peeled each piece of clothing off her body.

She shivered when her foot hit the cold water, but it didn't stop her from getting inside the tub. "Hand me the soap." She asked Jon. He looked at her for a few moments as if he didn't hear her, but soon he reached for the flower scented soap, the one that reminded him so much of her and handed it to her, their fingers meeting.

He watched as she cleaned her arms, her breasts, her neck and all he wanted to do was take her right there. His cock was already hard inside his breeches, waiting. She raised one of her legs and rested it on the edge of the tub, exposing her cunt to him, her red hair dancing in the water. She cleaned her legs and her breathing hitched as she touched herself with foam in her hands, cleaning her own desire for another man.

Jon watched her performance with interest, but he never moved. His eyes moving up and down her body, still waiting.

"Give me my robe." She asked again. He dutifully handed her the soft fabric.

She left the tub and wrapped herself in the robe, but was startled when she felt his hands scooping her. Jon carried her to her bed, dropping her on the furs. Sansa looked at him, surprised, but the desire in her eyes was unmistakable.

"So you're not my brother…" She started with him on top of her.

"No…" He grunted. She tilted her head up when he started to kiss her neck, the same place the Hound had been, but Jon's kisses were delicate, loving. His lips were softer and the way his tongue darted to taste her skin made her shiver. Her hands were tangled in his hair and anchored on his nape, but she wanted to undress him too.

"Jon." She whispered. "Take off your clothes." She said and he stopped kissing her, nodding at her way. She helped him peel off his attires, but there was nothing sensual with the way he desperately stepped out of his clothes, nothing like she had done just moments ago with her dress.

He was completely bare on top of her once again and Sansa felt his desperate need brushing on her thighs. They kissed for the first time in months and Sansa felt ready to come when he licked the inside of her mouth, sucked her tongue while caressing the hair above her cunt. He swallowed her moans with his mouth, their kiss was wet, awkward and needy, but she wouldn't have it otherwise, not after so many moons apart.

She urged his fingers to finally touch her insides and she had to stop kissing him to grunt when he finally touched the little pearl between her legs. Jon looked at her face and felt his cock twitching, needing comfort inside her, but he chose to ignore his own need to make her peak at least once before taking her.

He left her mouth to taste her breasts, taking the nipples he missed so much between his lips. They were already hard from the cold bath and she squirmed under him when he bit one nipple slightly. "Jon…" She moaned. "I'm going to…" But he didn't want her to peak just yet, so he stopped. Her eyes opened immediately, her teeth gritting. "Jon!" She hissed.

"Let me taste you, Sansa." He asked, as he always did when they made love. "I want to taste you when you peak." He finished and she found herself nodding furiously.

Jon left her breasts to attend to her cunt. He spread her folds to see that magical nub that made her lose her mind and sucked it softly, hearing her moans of pleasure. He lapped once, twice, three times before his fingers entered her. He continued licking when his fingers started to move inside of her and all he wanted to do was never leave her again, this place, between her legs, was where he belonged to.

Sansa's breathing was shallow and fast when she touched his hair, trying to move his head faster. She was so close, so close and then she let it go, she whimpered in a pitch so high that Jon barely heard, he felt his own fingers getting milked by her come and he removed them from inside of her, choosing to lick her extra wetness.

Jon admired the red hair dump with his saliva and her pleasure juices and moved up to rest his head on her stomach, watching the way her breasts moved up and down as she tried to catch her breath. He looked at her as if she was the light of his life and he wondered if they would find themselves in this position again if he lived his life knowing of his roots. Would they even know each other? Would she be alive? If Rheagar had won the war, Ned would definitely die before returning home, before spilling inside his wife to create Sansa and suddenly he felt grateful for the lies, for the betrayal he felt when he found out he was never Snow to begin with. A life without Sansa wasn't a life worth living.

He was deep in his thoughts when he felt her hands cupping his face. "Where did you go?" She asked about his reverie. He couldn't help himself as he looked up to her eyes and once again he thanked Ned Stark.

"I'm here." He answered. "I was only thinking that I want you to marry me." He said lightly. He watched when her eyes got big, surprised with the sudden proposition.

"Jon, we…" She didn't finish her sentence, the word 'can't' lost midway, because they can, they can marry, they can start a family. She looked at him, her jawline set in a firm expression. "Yes, I would like that as well." Sansa said gracefully.

He didn't say anything else, he only found his way back to her mouth, drowning her once again in his desire for her. He reached for her thighs, opening her legs once more to finally take her. She was hot, slick with her previous peak, easy to slide into, but she was also impossibly tight, her walls trapping him inside of her. Sansa dragged Jon's face to hers once again, meeting for a wet kiss as he started to move.

He wanted her to come again, but it had been too long since they had been together like this. His thrusts were rushed, a selfish motion to seek release, but she moaned nonetheless, intensifying his desire. He saw when she dragged her hand to her pearl, and Jon thought that maybe she could peak again after all, so he slowed his movements, his hand on her hips, his mouth searched for her breasts.

He felt the way she clung into him and he finally let go, choosing to spill inside of her, his bride.

The room was silent once again. No moans, grunts, no whines could be heard. Only hard breathing was filling the darkness as they found themselves a comfortable position to hold each other.

"Jon…" she started. "Don't go South." She pleaded and he closed his eyes, knowing she would ask him that eventually.

"Don't ask me that, Sansa." He replied. He was nothing without his honor, he promised to help his aunt take the throne as she helped him with the Walkers. He couldn't abandon the fight now. "I am coming back. I promise."

She knew it was a hollow promise. He had no control over the matter, not at war. But it was a small comfort so she took it. She held it and locked inside of her, an empty promise was all she had left.