Work Text:
The bar is dimly lit, as most of them tend to be. Dimly lit and loud, though not club loud. Just one of those digital jukeboxes in the corner that people keep walking up to to queue songs that then boom over the bar’s soundsystem; songs that aren’t necessarily Sansa’s taste. Then again, this bar isn’t necessarily her taste, either, but that’s sort of the whole point. No one she knows will be here and no one here knows who she is, which is exactly what she wants.
Well, no. What she wants is a boyfriend who treats her well and can also give her good orgasms - a combination she’s starting to doubt even exists. She’d dated a few nice guys in high school, but never felt compelled to go all the way with them. Then Joffrey, who neither treated her well nor gave her any orgasms (why she put up with that for nearly two years, she has no idea).
Her short time with Harry had shown her what good sex could be, and she told herself it was worth it, even if he didn’t want to be in a committed relationship. But she’d broken that off when she found out that he was ‘exclusively casual’ with at least two other women at the same time. Which goes against the very definition of exclusive, and she can’t believe she fell for it when he said she was the only one. She’d gotten a DM on Instagram from some woman he had a child with letting her know.
She’d had a brief rebound with Willas, who was nice and treated her like a princess, but… well, she just simply wasn’t that into him, and the sex had been more for him than it was for her. She’d felt guilty breaking up with him, but she didn’t want to spend her life pretending she was more into him than she actually was. He deserved someone who would appreciate him fully, and she knows that woman is out there somewhere - it just wasn’t her.
The downside to finding out what good sex is like is that now she wants it again. So now she’s here, at this bar, looking for something - someone - to relieve the tension that has slowly been building up ever since she broke up with Willas. No, scratch that, since she broke it off with Harry.
A one night stand with someone she will never see again, which is why she chose this place. It’s something she’s never technically done before, but she thinks it’s what she needs right now. She needs, as her prior dorm mate Margaery would say, to get her back blown out. Or whatever the phrase is. She debated calling Margie to talk about it, but things got weird between them when she broke up with Joff and transferred from KLU up to WU. She hasn’t really talked to Margie in a long time.
It’s not that she doesn’t have friends here in Winterfell, but for some reason, she can’t quite tell Jeyne and Beth that she’s going to a random bar to find a random man to (hopefully) release all this pent up tension that her vibrator can’t seem to relieve properly. Between her big senior project and mom prepping for the annual charity event - that Sansa is now home to help with - she’s stressed. And what she doesn’t need is her friends pointing out all the dangers of going home with a stranger. She doesn’t need them worrying about her.
She’s fine, and she doesn’t think having three failed relationships within a year is that weird. She knows they’re worried about her - mostly because she has recently been prone to talking about how love doesn’t really exist. That, and because one night, on a whim, she’d dyed her hair brown. She’d just wanted a change. She’d just wanted to not feel like herself for a moment. It wasn’t even permanent dye, though it’s sticking around longer than Sansa had wanted.
There are a few guys here tonight that are cute. A few have even approached her, where she sat alone at the bar. She even talked to one for a while, before excusing herself to the bathroom, where she currently is, staring at herself in the mirror and telling herself that what she’s doing is fine. People do this all the time, and who cares if it’s ‘not like her’. It ‘wasn’t like her’ to agree to a friends-with-benefits thing with Harry (though less friends and more classmates), and look how that turned out.
Okay, that might not be the best example, because it didn’t turn out well, but she’s sure this one night stand thing will be fine.
She guesses the guy she was talking to at the bar is fine, too. She’d been hoping to feel an overwhelming, instant attraction; was hoping to find the sort of passion she’s starting to suspect only exists in romance novels, but that hasn’t happened. So he’s fine. It’s fine.
With that decision made, she exits the bathroom, back through the dark, narrow hall towards the bar proper. She’s just turning the corner when she bumps into someone, and a hand braces her arm as she’s knocked back a step.
“Whoa-” the man says, just as she winces and says, “sorry!”
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, just came around the corner too quick,” she says, trying to get herself back in order, and she finally looks up at him.
He’s not too much taller than her, with dark hair and dark eyes and what looks like an old scar running through his brow. “Okay good,” he says. Then there’s a moment where he just seems to look at her, before he gives a nod and drops his hand from her arm and steps around her, into the bathroom hallway.
He’s… well, by textbook definition, he isn’t her type, but the little flutter in her belly as he passes by, as she catches the scent of some cologne she cannot put a name to, says otherwise. And maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe not her type is exactly what she’s looking for tonight.
Instead of going back to the bar, to the guy she’d been talking to earlier who had just been okay, she wanders over to the jukebox and spends a while searching for a song to play and adding it to the already long queue. By the time she’s done, he’s already out of the bathroom and back at his table.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him. He doesn’t seem to be interacting with anyone at his table in a romantic way, though she hadn’t thought to look for a ring in those brief moments he was in front of her. She figures it’s worth a shot, at least.
How she takes that shot, though, she has no idea. She’s never seduced anyone before; guys tend to approach her and do all the work, it’s always been that way. And maybe if he were alone, it wouldn’t be so bad, she could be the one to approach him, but he’s not, he’s with a big group that look like they’re celebrating something.
With no real idea how to approach him, she goes back to the bar in the center of the room and sits on the far side, away from the guy she’d been chatting with earlier and with a good view of her target’s table. Now that he’s in her eyeline, she can see if - hopefully when - he gets up again, and she can try to approach him while he’s alone.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t seem to be inclined to get up anytime soon, too busy talking with his friends. He doesn’t seem to laugh very much, and when he does, it seems subdued. Or, at least that’s how it looks from this far away.
At one point, he leans back in his chair and his eyes scan the bar, and they come to rest on her, where he must notice that she’s looking at him. Something in her belly flips, the feeling of being caught doing something she isn’t supposed to, except… well, this is what she wanted, right? His attention? And so she doesn’t look away. He does first, but his eyes quickly flick back to her, checking to see if she’s still looking.
That must mean he’s interested, right? She hopes so, and decides to go all in, leaning her chin in her hand and making direct eye contact as she sips her drink through her straw. He keeps looking away and then back, and he almost seems confused that she’s looking at him, which is cute.
It doesn’t take very long before he’s picking up his glass and making excuses to his friends and walking over to her. He circles the bar and slides in next to her. When the bartender comes up, he orders a seven and seven.
Sansa can feel anticipation tingling low in her belly as he stands in silence next to her, waiting for his drink. It makes her toes curl in her shoes, and she might be worried that he isn’t talking, but he specifically went around to the far side of the bar to stand next to her, so she’s pretty certain he’s interested.
Once his drink is delivered, he finally looks at her and says, “sorry about earlier.”
“I’m pretty sure I was the one that came barreling out of the hallway,” she says, hoping the smile she gives is playful and flirty.
He smiles back. It’s not a wide one, but the corners of his eyes crinkle, and he extends a hand. “Jon,” he says.
She takes his hand, and, making a split-second decision, says, “Alayne.”
“Can I buy you another, Alayne?” he asks, nodding down at her drink, though she’s only had about half of it. She doesn’t want to get drunk tonight - if she’s going to go home with a stranger, she wants to be sober enough to catch any signs that he might be dangerous.
“Maybe later,” she says. Then, to hopefully show him that wasn’t a rejection, she asks, “what are you guys celebrating?” His brows raise, and she clarifies, “it looked like you and your friends were cheersing.”
He smiles for real this time, and she thinks it’s nice. He should do it more. “Yeah I, uh, just got a promotion,” he says.
“That’s exciting,” she purrs, leaning closer to him, letting her hand come to rest on his forearm. She revels in the way he quickly takes a drink and swallows it hard. He’s nervous. That’s cute.
“Yeah, been… uh, been working hard for it,” he nods, though he seems distracted by her hand, and he’s keeping direct eye contact with her and not looking down at her dress at all. The dress she wore specifically so men would look.
Sansa debates trying to make some sort of innuendo with working hard for it, but it would probably come out sounding stupid. But she decides she doesn’t need innuendos when he finally breaks, finally allows his eyes to lower and he unconsciously licks his lips, and she feels suddenly squirmy and impatient. He wants her - this is exactly what she wanted, this sort of raw physical attraction, and she’s not looking to be coy about this.
“It sounds like congratulations are in order,” she chooses to say, turning more fully towards him. She takes a deep breath and builds all her courage. She isn’t Sansa Stark tonight, she’s Alayne, and Alayne is looking for a good time. Alayne doesn’t have to worry about her future, or her reputation. “And lucky for you, I’m looking for someone to fuck me so hard I’ll forget my own name, if you’re up for it.”
She sees more than hears the breath leave his lungs, and then his eyes are dragging over her body again. She debates standing so he can get a better look.
Jon nods, eyes back on hers. “Yeah,” he says thickly, as if he can’t believe this is happening. “I can do that.”
Sansa’s back arches off the bed, hands gripping at the dark curls between her trembling thighs, a scream caught in her throat. Her orgasm rips through her, urged on by the swirling tongue at her clit, the fingers buried deep in her cunt, relentlessly striking that place inside her that makes her see stars. He doesn’t stop, and she can’t tell if she comes again, or if the first one simply never ends.
When it gets to be too much, she starts pushing at his head, and he backs off, and she lays panting and staring up at the ceiling. Slowly things start coming back into focus, and she feels his beard dragging across her inner thigh, which makes her twitch. When she looks down, he’s staring up at her, and at the first sign of life, he moves, crawling up her body until he’s hovering over her.
“What’s your name?” he asks, leaning down to nip at her bottom lip.
Her brain is still fuzzy with leftover adrenaline and endorphins, and she can’t seem to understand the question. “What?”
Gone is the nervousness from the bar, and the grin he gives her now is wicked. “Mission accomplished, I guess,” he says, leaning down to brush his lips over hers, but he doesn’t actually kiss her. It’s a tease, a brief taste of herself; it makes her clench around nothing, and she lets out a little whine.
She’s still trying to figure out what he was talking about as he reaches over and fumbles around in his bedside drawer, then sits back on his knees to roll the condom on. His cock is a decent length, and thick enough that she grips the sheets beneath her in anticipation of how good it’s going to feel inside her.
When the condom is on, he wraps those talented fingers around his cock and rubs the tip of it against her clit, making her hips jerk. “You ready?” he asks, low and gruff. He’s certainly ready, and she takes a moment to revel in how much he clearly wants her, the dark anticipation in his eyes.
As an answer, she nods, pulling her knees up and apart, spreading herself open, and she can’t even bring herself to care that she’s acting so needy. He groans and slots the head against her entrance and pushes in.
He keeps the pace torturously slow at first, despite her pleas to go faster, harder. His eyes are dark and hooded as he watches her, clearly enjoying how desperately she wants more, how prettily she begs. Eventually he gives in and leans more fully over her, hooking his arms beneath her knees and pressing her legs back even further, practically bending her in half, and they both groan when he starts to fuck her in earnest.
Sansa’s brain has completely lost any higher function, all her attention focused on the feel of his thick cock pounding into her, making her breasts bounce and the bedframe intermittently slam against the wall. It’s rougher than she’s ever taken it, and the way he pins her down shouldn’t feel this good; it shouldn’t feel this good to give up control so completely. Yet the words fall from her lips, a litany of yes, yes, please, yes, as her orgasm builds quicker than it ever has.
Just as she’s about to come, he stops, and she lets out a pathetic sob as he pulls out of her. “No,” she gasps, clawing at his shoulders, but he pushes her hands away and then grips her hips and roughly turns her over onto her stomach. She moans into the mattress and cants her hips up to give him better access, and everything is right with the world when he blankets her body with his and slides back in.
Her hands grip at the sheets next to her head, and his left hand comes up to join hers, his right keeping a firm grip on her hip as he starts to fuck her again. It’s obscene, the way she spreads her legs for him, the way he presses her deep into the mattress, the grunts that pull from his throat every time he buries himself to the hilt inside her, the desperate little whines she makes in response.
She comes like that, face down on a stranger’s mattress, and the wrongness of it only serves to make her orgasm sharper. In that moment, she isn’t Sansa Stark, precious and pristine daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully, and it feels so good to let go.
It’s only when he collapses on top of her that reality starts to creep in, interrupting her haze of pleasure. She can feel the slick sweat on her back where their bodies are pressed together, the hand that had been gripping her hip now running up and down her side almost soothingly.
“Holy shit, Alayne,” he laughs, a sharp, breathless bark of it, panting against the back of her neck, still buried inside her.
Right, she called herself Alayne. She completely forgot.
He presses a kiss to the top of her spine and then slowly pulls out of her, and he collapses again onto his back next to her. It takes all of her strength to roll herself over, and she knows that tomorrow, she’s going to be sore.
Her brain can’t seem to come up with any words, so she gives a hum and brushes back the wisps of hair that stick to her face and neck. She doesn’t think she’s ever been fucked like that before; even with Harry, she'd been too aware of herself, too aware that Harry knew exactly who she was and who her family was. But Jon knows nothing about her, and he didn't seem to mind that she was as eager for it as he was. She has a sudden feeling of disappointment that they won’t get to do this again.
No, she tells herself, looking up at the ceiling and refusing to look at him. She cannot, she will not, let a good orgasm (or three) make her forget why she’s here. A one night stand, just to let off steam. She isn’t looking for a boyfriend. She doesn’t even know this man, he could’ve given her a fake name, just like she did. And so she’s going to ignore that romantic part of her that always seems to pop up at the worst times, whispering - well, why not give him a chance? He could be the love of your life.
He isn’t, the rational part of her brain argues. She’s trying to listen to that one more. That’s the part of her brain that had recognized the red flags in Joffrey and Harry - it’s the romantic part that had willfully ignored them, and look where that’s gotten her.
“Can I use your bathroom?” she asks, and at his nod, forces her body off the bed. She picks up her dress and her purse, and then walks on still-shaking legs to the next door in the hallway. When she peeks inside, she sees it’s another bedroom, and she quickly closes the door and goes to the one across the hall, which ends up being the bathroom.
She pees and cleans herself up and puts her dress back on, and those orgasms seem to have completely wiped her brain, because she thinks normally she’d be freaking out right now about being in a complete stranger’s apartment, but she isn’t. Endorphins are still pumping through her, making her feel more giddy than anything. She knows she’ll crash later, but that’s for future Sansa to worry about.
Back in his room, she finds him standing in a pair of sweatpants, running a hand through his hair, and she swears he tidied up a bit. She definitely remembers a pile of clothes on the floor that don’t seem to be there anymore.
“Thanks for that,” she says, leaning in the doorway.
“Yeah,” he nods. “No problem.”
“I’ve never really done this before,” she admits. “I think I’m just supposed to leave now?” She gives a smile that she hopes is playful.
He nods again, slower, then says, “yeah, I think that’s how it goes.” She’s just about to open her mouth to say her goodbyes, when he says, “or you could stay?”
Her heart flutters, and the romantic part of her brain starts to spin out, crafting their entire love story. The realistic part knows he just means for sex, and she’s proven right.
“I mean,” he adds quickly, “we could, you know, do that again. If you wanted.”
She lets out a small laugh and says, “I don’t think I could handle that again tonight.”
Something flickers in his expression, and he takes a step forward. “Did I hurt you?” he asks. “I thought you-”
“No, I definitely enjoyed it,” she laughs again, those endorphins still swirling through her. “But I’m done for the night.”
He nods, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants.
“Thanks again,” she says, reaching into her purse to pull out her phone. “I’ll order an Uber. Do you… do you mind if I wait here?”
It’s awkward, but she’d still rather stay here until her Uber arrives than have to wait out in the hall or on the street. She doesn’t know this part of the city, and she’s pretty sure by now that Jon isn’t going to try and murder her. She’s safest here.
He nods, and she goes out into the living room to wait. Behind her, she hears him go into the bathroom, which she’s grateful for. She hopes he just goes back to his room when he’s done so she doesn’t have to make small talk, but of course he doesn’t. There’s a stranger in his apartment, of course he’s not going to just let her free roam the place.
She makes a show of looking at his bookcase, just so she doesn’t have to look at him. He’s gone into the kitchen and is doing something in there, but she refuses to look over, and all she can think is that Margie never told her how awkward this was. Maybe she should have waited until he was asleep and then slipped out, but it’s too late now.
There are novels on his bookshelf like she expected, but a bunch of nonfiction too, including engineering and architecture books, and she almost makes a comment about how her mom is an architect, but she stops herself. One, she’s trying not to make small talk, and two, she doesn’t want to give him any personal information about herself.
“Want anything to drink?” he asks.
“Oh, I’m good, thank you,” she answers, though she is a bit thirsty. She looks at her phone. Her Uber is three minutes away.
Those minutes are spent in painfully uncomfortable silence, and when the car finally turns onto Jon’s street, she almost audibly sighs with relief.
“I’m going to head down,” she says. “Thank you again, I… I really needed that.”
He nods, and just before she reaches the door, he says, “could I get your number? Maybe?”
When she glances over, he looks like he’s cringing at himself, which is sweet. He seems sweet. But that’s not what this is, and she needs to stick to her guns and not let herself get swept away in a non-existent romance. She needs to stop being so Sansa.
“I don’t think so,” she says, phone clutched in her hand. “I-”
“Nope, got it,” he cuts in. “Just figured I’d ask.”
She gives him one last smile before she leaves, the door shutting behind her with a gentle click.
“You do this every year,” Sansa sighs, leaning against the counter next to her mother, who is reviewing menu options from various caterers. “You think you’d have this down by now.”
“Yes, but I need to top myself every year,” mom says, with a smile that says she knows she’s being ridiculous. But Tully Architecture and Design is a highly respected group, and their annual charity event is a big one. They’ve got a lot of rich clients who expect only the best, and her mother is dedicated to making sure they get it. Happy guests mean open checkbooks, mom always says.
“Okay, well, I think coming up with the menu is a little too involved for me,” Sansa teases, because mom is being so nitpicky about it. Sure enough, mom shoots her a side eye, which makes Sansa grin. She doesn’t blame her mom - if planning a party this big was on Sansa’s shoulders, she’d be just as uptight about it. “What can I do?”
Mom sighs and picks up her phone, scrolling through a to-do list. “We’ve got to make arrangements with the Children’s Hospital, but you’re not doing that, and I’ve got to approve the centerpieces the planner sent over,” mom mutters to herself. “You could go through my emails? You know Roslin has been sick, and I’ve been drowning without my assistant. Or you could call Luwin’s and set up an appointment for Jon.”
Sansa had been tapping notes into her own phone, but she lowers it and asks, “who’s Jon?”
Mom’s eyes don’t leave her phone. “The engineer I stole from Eddie, remember?”
“Oh, right,” Sansa nods, because she does remember mom poaching one of Uncle Edmure’s hires for her own team. Uncle Edmure hadn’t been happy about it, but there’s no stopping Catelyn Tully Stark when she wants something. And apparently she wanted this Jon guy on her team.
Hearing the name Jon, though, brings her back to that night a month ago, and Sansa feels heat flush in her cheeks. It’s not the first time she’s thought of that night, and she can’t help but regret not getting his number. There have definitely been some nights she wished she had. She’d even gone back to that same bar again hoping he’d be there, but he never showed, and she’d felt like a complete idiot for going at all.
“Sansa?”
She blinks out of her thoughts and looks at her mother, who is watching her with a furrowed brow. “Yeah,” Sansa answers. “I can do the emails and the tux appointment.”
“Good,” mom nods. “You know where my laptop is, and here, I’ll give you Jon’s number.”
Sansa pushes away those thoughts and focuses on her mom’s Jon. “Why are we getting a tux for him?” she asks.
Mom smiles. “I overheard him talking to another one of my employees. He’s never had to wear a tux before, and… well, I don’t know him that well yet, but I could tell he wasn’t going to go spending much money on it. He’s one of those people that doesn’t see the value in good clothing. So I told him I’d pay for it his first year, company expense. All you need to do is see what time he’s available and set up the appointment with Luwin’s.”
“Sounds like dad,” Sansa jokes, and mom lets out a laugh.
She gets the phone number from mom and heads off to mom’s office to look through her emails. On the way, she opens a new text thread with the number and types out, Hello! This is Sansa Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark’s daughter. I’m going to set up a tux appointment for you, could you send me your availability for this week and next?
She’s going through mom’s work emails when her phone buzzes and she sees that it’s Jon the engineer getting back to her. Pretty quickly, which Sansa approves of.
Hi Sansa, thanks a lot. I can be available every day after 5 this week, Saturday morning, Sunday, and any day after 5 next week except for Wednesday. If it needs to be Wednesday next week, I can move some things around.
An hour later, she texts him back.
Your appointment is for Thursday this week at 6:30 under the name Catelyn Tully Stark, reservation number 62. If you have any questions, please let me know.
Sansa feels quite accomplished. She managed to make the appointment with Luwin’s easily, and she’s gotten through a ton of backlog emails, flagging the ones mom needs to respond to and making notes of the ones where mom just needs to know the info.
Her phone buzzes in her hand. Thank you again, Jon the engineer responds.
It’s spring break - her last spring break, since she’s graduating in a few months and will need to join the working world. Her last ever spring break, and she’s spending it running errands for her mother. Back when she started university, she would've been appalled at that. Back then, a week spent at an all-inclusive resort with Joffrey had been her ideal spring break. It’s funny, how a person can change so much in four years.
She crosses the street, heading for the skyscraper that houses Tully Architecture and Design, waving at the front desk receptionist. Nan has been here since before Sansa was born, and gives her a wave back. The elevator up to the twentieth floor is a long wait, but then she makes her way through the rows of desks to her mom’s corner office. She makes a note to herself to go up to the twenty-first floor to say hi to Uncle Edmure and Grandpa Tully before she leaves.
“Oh, Sansa,” mom says, looking up from her computer with a smile when Sansa knocks. “What are you doing here?”
“I just got done at the florist,” Sansa explains, lifting up the paper bag in her hands, “and it was right near Gage’s, so I stopped in and got lunch.”
Mom gives a pleased hum and sits back in her chair. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite eldest daughter?”
Sansa rolls her eyes, but goes over and sits in the chair in front of mom’s desk, and they eat lunch together. It’s nice, and Sansa sort of wishes she had any interest in architecture so she could work here with her mom after she graduates, like Robb did with dad. But Bran is the one who inherited the architecture gene, not her.
“I could go for a coffee,” mom says after they’ve eaten. “Can you stay for a little? I’ll have them order us some. Maybe Brienne would like one, too.”
Sansa nods, and decides to follow her mother to Brienne’s office. She likes Brienne, who is basically mom’s second in command here, and wants to say hello. They walk through the office, past all the architect desks, then into the rows of regular desks where the non-architect employees sit.
“Oh, hold on,” mom says, before detouring to one of the normal desks. She stops at a cubicle and says, “Jon, do you have the environmental impact report for the Manderly project yet?”
Sansa waits behind her mother, unsurprised that they were waylaid by business. Mom doesn’t let anything get in the way of her business. How she manages to be a good mother on top of that is beyond Sansa.
“Yeah, I’ve got it here,” a voice responds. Papers shuffle and a chair moves, and then a dark head of hair appears over the cubicle wall. “Looks like we’re all good to go,” the voice says.
“That’s what I like to hear,” mom nods, tucking the thick manila folder under her arm. She gives another curt nod, then continues on, and Sansa follows.
Just as Sansa passes the cubicle opening, she looks in, and is met with a pair of dark eyes. The same dark eyes that, just one month ago, had looked up at her from between her thighs, his mouth smeared with her orgasm.
He recognizes her, too, even though her hair is back to its normal red - she can tell, because those eyes go wide and his mouth opens.
No, no, no-
“Alayne?”
In that moment, Sansa wants to die. Jon also looks like he regrets saying that, when mom turns around with her brows furrowed and asks, “what?”
“Hi, I’m Sansa,” Sansa says, trying to put on her most cheerful tone. She hopes it hides how hard she’s shaking. “I’m Catelyn’s daughter.”
Jon seems to choke on nothing, but he recovers quickly enough, face smoothing out into a blank expression. “Oh, sorry,” he says. “I thought you were someone else.”
Sansa gives a nod and hurries past her mother, towards Brienne’s office. The door is open, and she slips inside and says, “hi! Mom and I were going to get coffee, do you-”
“What was that?” mom interrupts, right behind her.
Sansa’s eyes go wide - too wide, she can feel how fake it is, but she can’t seem to stop it - as she asks, “what was what?”
“Don’t give me that,” mom says, waving at Sansa’s innocence face. It used to work so well when Sansa was a kid. Now…
Her brain whirls and spins, trying to come up with any explanation. Because her mother is a good mother and knows her well. Most of the time Sansa really appreciates that. Right now, she wishes mom wouldn’t be so observant. She wishes mom couldn’t clock when she’s lying.
“Uh, can I help with anything?” Brienne asks, sitting at her desk, her eyes flicking between Sansa and Catelyn, clearly confused.
“Our new engineer Jon seems to know my daughter,” mom says, not taking her eyes off Sansa. “He called her Alayne. And then did a poor job trying to pretend like he didn’t.”
This whole time, Sansa has been trying to come up with any explanation, but there’s nothing in her head. If it were anyone else, maybe she’d be able to spin something, but not with her mother. No one can force the truth out of her with just a look quite like her mother.
“Okay, so… we met. A month ago. At a bar.”
“Maybe we should close the door for this?” Brienne says, brows raised as she leans back in her chair.
Mom seems to agree, and closes the door. “Go on.”
Sansa looks between mom and Brienne and, realizing she’s not going to get a lifeline, throws up her hands and says, “I slept with him, okay?”
Brienne lets out a deeply uncomfortable grunt and stands. “How about I run out and get us those coffees?” she says. Without waiting for an answer, she leaves her own office.
The door clicks shut behind her, and Sansa is left facing her mother.
“You slept with my employee.”
“I didn’t know he was your employee!” she says, voice pitching up an octave.
“Did he know you were my daughter?”
“No!” Sansa rushes to say. “No, I told him my name was Alayne and I still had brown hair then, and I… I was the one who went after him. It wasn’t even a bar I normally go to. He said he’d just got a promotion…”
Horror clenches in her belly. The promotion. Mom stole him from Uncle Edmure and gave him a promotion, that’s what he was celebrating.
“Please don’t fire him for this,” Sansa whispers.
Mom gives her a disappointed look and says, “is that what you think of me?”
There are hot tears in her eyes, and she does her best to blink them away. Now Jon knows who she is, and that she lied. Now mom knows she lied. Mom knows she went out and had sex with some stranger. Shame replaces the horror, and she thinks she might vomit.
Mom sighs, then moves forward and hugs her.
“I’m sorry,” Sansa whispers into her shoulder. “I swear I’ve never done that before, it was only once-”
“Sweetling,” mom says, pulling back slightly and resting her hand on Sansa’s cheek. “I’m not upset with you.” She brings Sansa over to the pair of chairs in the corner and sits them both down. With another sigh, she says, “as your mother, I know I’m supposed to tell you not to go out and do risky things, but… well, I don’t think it’s the worst thing in the world for you to explore your options while you’re still young. Learn what you like and what you don’t. And sex is a big part of relationships, it’s not the worst idea to have some experience before you settle down.”
Sansa’s brows furrow. “But you got married at like, twelve.”
“I was twenty,” mom scolds. “And you know why we got married.”
Mom had gotten pregnant with Robb, and while Sansa loves her grandfather, Grandpa Tully did not take kindly to the idea of his daughter getting pregnant out of wedlock. But Ned Stark was from a reputable family, and so Grandpa Tully approved of her keeping the baby, but only if they got married.
“I’m not going to sit here and pretend that your father and I weren’t very lucky,” mom continues. “We were practically still kids when we got married. We could have grown into completely incompatible people, but we didn’t. Now, I don’t love the idea of you going to some stranger’s home, and I really wish it had been anyone except my employee…”
Sansa can’t help it, a laugh bursts out of her. It’s mostly relief, and she realizes she’s been dying to tell someone about that night, but she’s been too scared to. Too afraid of whatever judgment that might bring. Because she’s Sansa Stark. Her reputation reflects on her entire family, and she's spent her whole life trying to be perfect.
Mom kisses her forehead, then leans back with a wry smile. “I’m going to call Jon in,” she says. “That poor boy is probably panicking right now.”
Before Sansa can open her mouth to protest - she isn’t ready to face Jon again - her mother is already up and heading out into the office. Sansa debates running, taking the long way around the office, ducked behind cubicle walls until she can make it to freedom, but she doesn’t. She stays frozen in the chair until mom comes back in, Jon right behind her.
At the sight of him, Sansa stands abruptly, smoothing out her clothes, and she wishes she’d dressed better. She wishes she’d done her makeup and hair properly.
He looks just as good as he did that night. No, he looks better, somehow. In the light of day, she can see that his eyes are grey, and not just dark. Her heart feels like it's about to beat out of her chest, and her throat is too dry to speak.
“Now,” mom says, shutting Brienne’s office door again, “Sansa told me what happened-”
“I understand,” Jon says with a nod, his eyes on anything but the two women in the room. “I swear, I had no idea who she was, but I understand.”
Sansa watches mom’s mouth tilt up into an amused smile. “I don’t think you do,” she says, and Jon finally makes eye contact with her. “I brought you in here so you would stop panicking. You aren’t being fired. You aren’t being reprimanded. Sansa told me she gave you a fake name and pursued you. You’ve done nothing wrong, Jon.”
“Oh,” he says dumbly, eyes wide and like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.
“I took you from Edmure for a reason. You’re a hard worker, but it’s more than that. You’re ambitious, and smart, and you don’t play games. You know how I hate that nonsense,” mom says, her eyes flicking to Sansa, who nods. “I have big plans for you, Jon Snow. Tell me, are you going to let this ruin them?”
“No, ma’am,” he says quickly, and Sansa almost laughs.
“Now,” mom sighs, “I’m going to send you back to work, but with one warning. If you’re going to have sex with my daughter again-” Sansa lets out a horrified, choked noise that Jon matches, “-please wait a bit. I’d like you to get settled in your new position a bit longer before we go adding mess to it. I don’t need any whispers that you got the job because of any personal connections.”
Jon looks like he wants to die, and Sansa feels awful for him. He isn’t used to how direct mom is yet. How she doesn’t mince words, or try to soften a blow.
“Go,” mom says, and Sansa can tell she’s trying very hard not to laugh at the terror in Jon’s eyes. He only nods and quickly opens the door.
Halfway out, though, he pauses. Then he turns and looks at her and says, “it was nice meeting you for real, Sansa.” There’s something heavy and promising in his tone, and the way her name rolls off his tongue makes her feel a bit weak-kneed.
“I said wait,” mom huffs, throwing her hands up. “I meant a few months, not less than a minute.”
“Sorry,” Jon says, though he doesn’t look very sorry at all, and Sansa can’t help but give him a smile. The same sort she’d given him at the bar.
When he’s finally gone, mom turns a baleful look on her. “I mean it, Sansa. Give him some time before-”
“We add mess,” Sansa finishes for her. Giddiness has replaced her horror, and she can feel that romantic part of her taking over. An unstoppable force. “I promise, mama.”
Sansa keeps her promise. Sort of.
“You’ve been coming to the office for me?” Jon murmurs in her ear, low and gravelly, his fingers curled inside her, palm grinding against her clit. She whimpers, clinging to his shoulders, clutching at the fabric of his tuxedo. “Everyone says you’ve been coming around more lately. That for me, Sansa?”
She nods, eyes squeezed shut, but his hand pauses, and she lets out a little sob and says, “yes! Yes, it’s for you.”
He gives a pleased hum, and his hand continues working her, building her up. The wall is cool against her back, his body hot in front of her, where he presses kisses against her shoulder and neck and jaw as he fucks her with his fingers.
It had started innocently enough, with her approaching him at the charity event and asking if they could talk. That’s what she’ll tell anyone who asks. Purely innocent, she had no ulterior motive.
She turns her head and captures his lips, her hand tight in his hair as she comes, and he groans against her.
“Shit, Sansa,” he breathes, leaning his forehead against hers.
She waits for him to say something else. This was a bad idea. We shouldn’t have done this. But it never comes, and she opens her eyes and sees him staring intently at her.
“I regretted not giving you my number,” she whispers, her breath still coming in harsh pants, endorphins making her feel stupid and too truthful. “I went back to that bar, but you weren’t there.”
“I thought about you, too,” he says, and that makes her heart flutter.
It’s the most direct they’ve been since that day in Brienne’s office. Sansa’s been stopping by more often to visit her mom after her classes, and Jon always seems to find a way to run into her. They chat for a few minutes, and then she leaves. But now, tonight, she has him all to herself again. Not because she’s supposed to - she’s supposed to be out in the main hall, chatting up all the rich clients and loosening their purses for donations, but she doesn’t care. She hasn’t been able to get Jon out of her head.
She reaches for the fly of his pants, but he grimaces and steps back.
“I didn’t bring a condom,” he says, though he looks like he hates saying the words.
“Well, that’s silly,” she giggles, those endorphins hitting her hard.
“I thought I’d have more self control,” he says with a rueful smile. But then he lifts his hand and licks her wetness off his fingers, and Sansa’s knees almost buckle at the sight. She remembers how good that tongue felt.
“We should get cleaned up,” he says, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her. “You want these back?” With his clean hand, he pulls her panties out of his back pocket with a raised brow and a half smile that’s a little too smug.
She snatches them back, her face burning - though really, she’s grateful he didn’t let them drop onto the floor. She definitely wouldn’t put them back on, then.
Trying to maintain some dignity, she turns to march for the bathroom to clean herself, but Jon catches her arm before she can get too far.
“Come home with me tonight?” he asks.
When she looks at him, gone is that smug smile. Gone is the certainty.
She nods, giving him a smile that’s too shy for what they’ve just done. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I’ll come home with you.”
He grins and lets her go, and as she walks to the bathroom, the rational part of her brain doesn’t try to stop the way the romantic part spins out, writing their love story.