A/N: This is my first venture into crack pairings but I really do ship them quite a lot and this scenario just came to me and I had to write it. I'm rambling. Sorry. Enjoy.

'You are handsome,' he blurted before his brain could kick in, and instantly Jon felt himself turn purple in the face.

It was in retaliation to something Theon had said, some stupid shot about how Robb wouldn't look any worse if Theon broke his jaw. Jon wasn't sure why he felt the need to defend Robb, he was almost a man grown and perfectly capable of taking Theon's irritating sense of humour.

Jon could hardly meet his half-brother's eyes, and when he did he felt a violent shock that made him look away fast and filled him with an odd feeling, like he wanted to curl up in a ball and die… But he also desperately longed to meet those intense blue eyes again, hold them for longer this time…

'I'll let you two share hair advice,' smirked Theon, turning and strutting out of the stables, leaving them alone.

Alone. The word shimmered in Jon's head, a beacon of wonderment. He wanted to say something, do something, anything but stay there thinking about what he was feeling. Because it was much easier to ignore the not-so brotherly love- which surely Robb would laugh at- than stop to think about what it meant.

When he looked up, about to say something mundane about sharpening his sword, Robb was staring at him, sky-coloured eyes impenetrable but… he thought, or hoped, slightly contented?

'Did you mean that?' he asked, in a voice halfway between laughter and nervousness, 'About me being handsome?'

Jon licked his lips shakily, and caught Robb's gaze on his mouth. He blushed beetroot red again.

'Yeah,' he muttered, 'I mean… all the girls think you're… really handsome.'

'But,' said Robb, meeting his eyes, 'Do you?'

They shared a look, full of confusion and intense excitement. For a moment, Jon allowed himself to dream. What if Robb did feel the same? For some time, the brotherly affection he knew so well- from Bran and Rickon and Arya- had changed into something very different, something passionate and terrifying and so new it bit at his soul like winter wind.

'I think you're beautiful,' answered Jon, because handsome didn't sum up Robb's vitality and strength and wisdom.

'You're different,' said Robb, stepping closer, 'You've got the winter in you, Jon Snow, the frost and the warm fire and the still perfection- all of it.'

Robb took the initiative, and Jon just stared at him, eyes shining in ecstatic disbelief. Robb's rough fingers raised to Jon's cheek and rested there, his touch bashful and hot.

Robb leant in, his eyes wide open and interested, but his lips had only just brushed Jon's when they heard voices outside and broke apart. Jon fled to his horse and started unsaddling it with fluttering fingers as the master of horse came in with two stable boys.

'Lord Robb,' he said, sounding surprised, 'Is there something the matter?'

Jon almost wanted to laugh. He was pleased with himself. He had made Robb dazed like a young maid, him!

They didn't get time alone for the rest of the day, and at dinner Robb could barely look at Jon.

At the end, Catelyn looked to her eldest son. 'Will you take Arya to bed, Robb?' she looked tired and a little tipsy, and Robb knew she was just too exhausted to hustle Arya away from the noise and fun to her bed.

'Give me a hand, Jon?' he asked. For a moment he was embarrassed, and convinced everyone would pick up his flirting, but then he realised that surely no one would guess that there could be anything between them, especially as he had only figured it out himself that day. He had known there was something different about his feelings for Jon for a while, but it wasn't until his half-brother's defensive outburst that morning and the warm, fizzy feeling that it had filled him with that he realised… he liked Jon like he was supposed to like girls.

It might be wrong, it might be impossible, but how could anything that felt so naturally perfect be bad?

Jon followed him without question as he lifted Arya up under the arms and slung the protesting, scratty little girl over his shoulder and marching out of the great hall. He climbed up the stairs whilst Arya whined, only at the top stopping to look back at Jon. He meant to roll his eyes, but when he saw the devotion in the other boy's face, he could only grin.

'Why do I have to go to bed?' moaned Arya as he threw her down on her bed. Jon knelt down and started to unhook her boots whilst Robb sat beside her and wriggled her out of her furs.

'It's late, and you're a child,' Robb answered, smiling at his little sister.

'I en't a child!' she groaned, shoving Robb's shoulder.

'En't?' picked up Jon, smirking, 'That's not a real word! You're a lady, you should be speaking properly.'

'I en't a lady neither,' she mumbled, but she was looking sleepy, and as Jon moved to sit beside her, she leant into his side and started to doze. Jon slipped his arm around her, and curled his head into her side, feeling sleepy himself.

He stiffened instantly, though, when he felt Robb's arm stretch around him, palm pressed strong to his shoulderblade. Robb's head dropped on its side, his temple meeting Jon's. Steadily, his fingers flexed and stroked, exploring Jon's skin with the softest touch.

After a few minutes, Jon realised he was hard, uncomfortably hard. Was it supposed to be like that? He wanted to ask Robb, but he was embarrassed, and then there was Arya. He shrugged away from Robb and moved carefully to lay her down, tucking the furs around her and stroking her forehead.

He looked to Robb, who just stared at him with passionate eyes.

'Come,' he said, huskily, and seized Jon's hand, linking his fingers through the other boy's and dragging him down the corridor to his own room. As soon as they were in, Robb shut the door and slammed Jon up against the warm stone wall. He paused for a moment and searched the stormy grey eyes. What he found there was strong enough to make him press forward and cover Jon's rough lips with his own. He kept his eyes open, and so did Jon, but Robb was pleased to see the fluttering of eyelids that told him he was doing something right. Jon's hands flattened against Robb's chest, feeling the tense, hard-worked muscles there, caressing them as though he had never felt anything before. Robb knew Jon's chest was just as defined, but he was busy burrowing his fingers into the ragged black hair and pulling Jon's face ever closer. Finally he pulled away and looked at the other man, almost nervous. He knew- had felt- that Jon enjoyed that embrace just as much as he had, but for some reason he was suddenly very afraid that something so alien to everyone else could not sit easily in Jon's black-and-white mind. Robb suddenly felt a terrible fear that he was defunct, wrong, a monster. And now Jon knew, he would never speak to him again, let alone come close enough to touch.

But when he looked up, he saw that the solemn boy's lips, still pink and swollen from the kiss, were curling into a smile so contagious that Robb grinned too, and folded himself into Jon's chest.