Robb smiled tenderly at him over the table, and Jon couldn't help but think about brushing those lovely lips with his own. A soft pleasure spread through his body, followed immediately after by pain and guilt, in a twisted mechanism that his brain always seemed to trigger. He turned his eyes away from his brothers' and started playing mindlessly with the knife, tipping the palm of his hand with its sharp point.
It was sharp indeed, as he saw a drop of blood spill out and he felt a mild pain. That pain also felt sweet though, it felt as if his body was finally feeling in tune with his brain and the sorrow had found a way out. He pushed the blade deeper in his skin and down his palm, tracing a red path while letting his mind go blank for a while. He heard a sort of high-pitched gasp from Arya but wasn't exactly paying attention, and was just taken back to reality when he heard "Jon? JON!" and he felt his brother's hand gripping his wrist tight and pulling it away from the knife's reach.
Robb was looking at him, a worried and shocked expression in his eyes; Jon just smiled faintly, and it took him a while to understand what was wrong. When he remembered of what he was doing, he gave a quick look at his hand and saw it half covered in blood.
"Oh." he said, in a tone like he had just seen an ant walking on the floor or something equally insignificant. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."
Robb looked like he wanted to shout at him, but all he did was narrow his eyes and say with his best commanding and cold Lord Stark voice "We need to talk." He then proceeded to claw Jon on his shoulder and drag him off the table and towards his chambers.
"Just what exactly where you thinking?" he shouted, his voice shaking with barely contained anger, while throwing his brother into the room with very little grace.
"I told you, I wasn't thinking. I was just... numb." Jon answered flatly. Clearly the answer was not enough, for Robb gripped his shoulder again and shoved him against the wall, facing him closely so that he could not escape, piercing him with a fiery gaze so that Jon would've felt compelled not to break the eye contact.
"You will tell me what's going on with you" he said, and it wasn't a question but an order. He was now just an inch away from Jon, so close. So dangerously close. Jon's mind was battling between the options of pushing the brother away or pulling him even closer. But while his mind was busy, his body had already been working on its own: he could feel a deep warmth slowly occupying all his limbs, his muscles contracting and his skin itching.
He had to close his eyes to try and restore the calm. "Get off me, Robb" he said, with the most emotionless voice he could muster.
His brother put an arm against his shoulders, keeping him into position. "I'm not leaving until you finally tell me what's going on and get your fucking senses back!" he shouted again.
Jon couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't just stay there and do nothing, yet he felt paralyzed. He wanted his brother to move: he was too close, so close he could feel the heat of his body, the smell of his breath.
He opened his eyes again, and this time he couldn't let the emotions out. The look he gave Robb was such a tangle of feelings that he hoped at least his brother wouldn't be able to recognize all of them. Desperation, guilt, anger, longing and desire collided, bringing fire to his gaze.
"Get off me, Robb" he repeated "You are too close."
Robb look startled at first, almost overwhelmed. He did nothing but stare back at Jon for what seemed an eternity, trying to decipher the signals that -willingly or not- his brother was sending him. Clearly, he had no clue.
"Do you hate me?" he asked, sounding frightened and worried, but mostly surprised.
Jon had to resist the urge to laugh. "I wish I did" he sighed, a sad, soft smile on his lips.
Robb looked relieved but no less puzzled. He lowered the arm that was still keeping Jon against the wall and looked at him for another few seconds, before turning away and rushing out of the door.
Two days had passed and Robb still hadn't spoken a word to Jon. He wasn't avoiding him, but he was doing nothing to start a conversation either. Jon didn't know wether he should be happy or sad about it: it was making things a little easier for him, not having to see his brother's smile and hear his laughter all the time, but he had the uncomfortable sensation that he was just experiencing the calm before the storm. The sensation proved to be right.
He had retired for the night an hour before and had just fallen asleep when he suddenly awoke. He felt someone sitting on the edge of his bed and turned to see Robb looking back at him. His expression, though partially hidden by the shadows, looked slighty scared, but firm.
"I forgot to ask you something the other night." Jon raised his eyebrows, silently asking him to continue. "Do you hate me?" he said, and Jon let out a weird noise halfway between a sigh and a grunt before answering "You did ask me, and no, I don't."
He was already turning back to his sleeping position, but Robb took hold of his arm and forced him down on his back again; he then slowly moved closer, getting to sit astride him and placing his hands on his chest, keeping him down.
That familiar tangle of emotions assaulted Jon once again, and he was grateful to the night for not letting his brother see his blushing face. He tried to imagine being elswhere, anywhere else but under Robb, but with little success. He was under Robb, for goodness' sake!
His brother moved even closer, and Jon shifted nervously while Robb positioned his face just a centimeter away from his.
Robb spoke again, but this time his voice had lowered to a whisper. "Do you love me?"
Jon didn't answer. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe. The look in his brothers' eyes seemed to display the same intense feelings he felt, in a way he hadn't even allowed himself to dream about. He could do nothing but stare at those beautiful deep blue eyes until he knew just what he had to do, consequences be damned.
He didn't answer the question, not with words. Instead he raised his head slightly to cover the small distance between his and Robb's lips and touched them so softly, it was hardly even a kiss, still half-expecting his brother to punch him and leave. But Robb didn't leave. He smiled, before parting his lips and pushing his brother's face as close as he could, fingers tangled in his hair. That was a true kiss, deep and powerful and filled with all the desire they both had repressed for so long.
They were close, much too close than they should've been, but at the same time they both felt it was exactly where they had to be.