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Jon cantered his horse through the open gates of Winterfell, the experience a far cry compared to his last time returning home. His riders cantered in behind him, whooping and shouting in victory as the household of Winterfell welcomed them home. Men jumped off their horses to embrace loved ones and kiss their women. One of the free folk riders went so far as to pick up a maid and throw her over his shoulder to carry her off to the nearest free nook to have his way with her, which he allowed as the maid in question seemed not at all upset by the prospect. Foot soldiers would be marching in not long after, and Jon was sure that the spear wives who had marched with him would have a similarly easy time finding bedmates.

Many a child would be seeded tonight, not that he could blame them. He planned to sow his own seed into his wife tonight, or mayhaps even before dinner as well if she was willing. His stones ached from months of disuse, exacerbated by the motions of his horse in his rush to finally reach the gates. He had taken himself in hand once on the trek back up to the Wall months ago, but now that he had felt the warmth of Sansa’s embrace the comparison was like finding ash in your mouth after biting into a cake. Only a fool would eat ash when they knew cake was to come. Sansa, my wife. Gods I am lucky.

He saw her standing in front of the great hall, her flaming red hair loosely plaited and her face beaming at him with pride and warmth. Like his men, he dismounted in record time to wrap her in his embrace and kiss her soundly. The difficulty closing the distance to her mouth was confusing for a moment, but his head quickly cleared once he looked down – and saw that her belly had started to swell, just starting to round gravid with his child. He looked back to her eyes in time to hear her say “I missed you Jon,” before he discarded whatever semblance of propriety there was left in their reunion by claiming her soft mouth again, tugging her bottom lip between his as he rubbed her belly with one hand and her ass with the other. His cock was already raging for her, to claim her again and again in celebration of the life they were creating together.

“Sansa, you have no idea how much I missed you,” he said when they finally separated.

“Your letters were quite descriptive, Jon,” she replied back. “So I think I have some idea. But I’ve had some bloody spotting, so the Maester and the woodswitch both advised against doing anything which could make that worse.”

She noticed his crestfallen look immediately and laughed at him while gently slapping his chest. “Oh you poor thing, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” she said, winking at him. “I actually have a surprise for you which I’m sure will cheer you right up.”

“Oh, and what could –” he started, before a blur collided with him from his left and did its best to squeeze the life from his body, shouting “Jon!”

He did his best to extricate himself from the petite figure with a mop of curly brown hair resting against his chest, finally pulling the woman to arm’s length, at which point time stopped.

Everything about her was different, but nothing had changed at all.

“Arya!” Jon shouted now, and pulled her back in to his embrace and lifting her off her feet. Although she had grown, he was still taller. “I missed you so much, Arya” he told her as he buried his nose deep in her hair and breathed in her scent.

“I missed you too, stupid. Now put me down!”

“No,” was all he said as he continued to hold her, since inexplicably Arya Stark was alive and home at last. Sansa giggled at Arya’s protesting grunt and wrapped them both in a hug of her own, protecting them from the chaos of the revelry going on around them in the yard.

“You’ve grown, little sister,” he said as he finally set her down.

“You did, too. And you got your eye a clawed to hell. It looks handsome,” she said, giving him an appreciative nod. “But you know as well as I do that I’m not your sister.”

Jon felt a pang of sadness hearing her say it, just as he had when he realized it months ago in the crypts, but he had already come to terms with that particular loss. “You may be my cousin, but you’ll always be my little sister,” he said. He kissed her forehead, then ruffled her hair for good measure. It was longer now, loosely tied behind her head and clean rather than the occasionally knotted appearance she sometimes sported after venturing into the Wolfswood. He grinned when she swatted him away.

The gesture was as familiar as it was loving, filling in a piece of his heart that he never thought he would find again, even after his marriage to Sansa – Sansa, my wife and the mother of my child, he thought with not a small amount of dread and an equal measure of guilt. Sansa only smiled though, alternating between looking at Arya and himself with the same expression she made when she was particularly proud about a piece of embroidery she finished. Even then the guilt remained, for despite Sansa’s happiness at their reunion, Jon’s feelings for Arya were nearly identical to those he had for his wife. Love. Family. MINE.

Objectively, it shouldn’t be surprising that he felt this way. As a woman, Arya was stunning. While at first the sisters looked nothing alike, but now that they were both women grown there was certainly more resemblance than there had been during their childhood. Whereas Sansa’s face had lengthened into a more mature form, Arya’s cheeks had widened so that they now paired nicely with her long jaw and thin nose, effectively making her into a classical beauty in her own right. Although she was taller now, she was still a head shorter than Sansa, the top of her head only rising to Jon’s shoulder. Despite the height difference, the sisters shared the same thin wastes and wide hips. Even Arya’s bust was bigger than he might have expected, although she was nowhere near as endowed as Sansa there. The biggest differences were their hair and eye color and the way they were dressed, which had always been the case. She was a woman every bit as beautiful as his wife.

And therein lied the problem. Jon could appreciate beauty as an independent quality of a person. No man who saw Val could describe her as anything other than beautiful – but that ethereal beauty did not engender the same desire in him that Arya did. To have. To possess. To fuck.

The only other person who drove him to this much distraction was Sansa, and he had allowed that primal urge to control him before he even realized who she was. He blamed it on his blood running hot after battle, on his elation at no longer being alone, on the euphoric release of being complete accepted and loved. And when it was just him and Sansa, the choice had been easy. That their marriage was blessed by the old gods and the lords was just happenstance, he would have stayed with her regardless and never complained as long as he could have her with him.

And now, minutes after finding out he would be a father, all it took was seeing Arya again and he was no longer satisfied. The beast he had become hungered for more.

Jon now knew that Lord Stark had never sired him as a bastard, had likely never strayed from his wife at all. But he also knew that many men did, something that he never truly understood. Why throw away the love of a woman and jeopardize your own family? What could possibly be so satisfying to justify such a risk? But now he knew, and it shamed him.

The reunion continued inside the great hall. A feast was held to celebrate the victory of the living. Great feats of valor were recognized, toasts were made, mead and ale and even wine flowed freely. Although Winterfell had known of Arya’s return for over a sennights, it was fresh news to the fighting men and women returning from beyond the Wall. The cheers for her were among the loudest, especially from the older lords and men who remembered the true daughter of Eddard Stark.

Throughout it all, Jon stayed with his family and tried his best to relax. He had just vanquished an enemy from before even the Age of Heroes, but all he could think about was how his cock became heavy when Arya smiled at him or laughed at one of his japes, and how wrong it was to feel that way while sitting next to his pregnant spouse.

The merriment went on through the evening, but the sun hadn’t even fully set when many of the men and women retired from the feasting to celebrate life and victory in other ways. The Starks pulled into the family solar for the evening and continued to chat with each other through the hour of the eel, at which time Arya tapped out to return to her own chambers. “I wouldn’t want to prolong your reunion, after all,” she teased with a wink to them both as she left.

Jon did ache, feeling hyper-aware of his stones as they boiled from disuse during the campaign to the far north. Surely if he were able to slake his desires using Sansa’s nubile body he would forget all about her little sister, but he recalled the delicacy of her condition and the recommendations of their advisors.

“Sansa…” Jon started after they had stripped down to their smallclothes, but paused as he took his wife in. She had her eyes clothes and her arms pulled over her head as she yawned. The expression squinted her eyes and crinkled her nose while her shift pulled tight against her full breasts and rounding stomach.

“Yes, Jon?” she said, smiling despite catching him staring, or mayhaps because of it.

He smiled back. “I love you,” he told her, finding it to be truer than ever before, even if at the same time he felt he needed that reassurance.

The crawled under the furs of their shared bed and kissed each other senseless. He wanted to devour her, to pin her underneath him and rut her again and again, but even that urge was easily suppressed to keep her and their child safe. Their kisses turned languid. He stroked her back, hips, and legs while she responded in kind with her delicate hand on his cock. Despite feeling as though his erection could crack glass, it wasn’t what his body craved. He pulled her hand away and rubbed small circles in the bones of her neck until she fell asleep, arms draped around his neck.

Jon was not sure how long he lied awake in his marriage bed, listening to the sounds of Sansa’s breathing and watching her chest rise and fall as the fire slowly dwindled. His love for her hadn’t faded despite the magnetic pull in which his other cousin had him ensnared. Unfortunately, love alone wasn’t enough to quell his erection, and the earlier petting left his stones literally throbbing with his pulse. Sleep would not come until he did, so after mustering his resolve he got up to take care of the problem himself.

He was about to step into the privy when a shadow shifted silently under the door to their chambers. Months of fighting and a betrayal by his own mend had made him hypervigilant; he would not be able to achieve release without investigating.

Jon drifted to the side of the room away from the fire to avoid casting a shadow of his own, light on his feet and as quiet as he could given the circumstances. This route also placed him between the door and Sansa, satisfying a nearly subconscious need to protect his mate. He hoped to grab his sword, sheathed against the far wall by the bed, but this plan was abandoned when the doorknob began to turn. He closed the remaining distance fast as lightning and braced himself next to the door, hands at the ready to meet his assailant.

As soon as the door opened wide enough, Jon dove through the gap and wrapped the mysterious figure’s mouth under his hand before spinning them around and pinning them to his chest. He was about to call for the guards when he recognized the dark curly hair on his short assailant.

“Arya!” he whispered, or tried to despite his shock. “Others take you, what are you doing here?”

She remained frustratingly silent, but the reason became apparent when a wet tongue lathed the inside of his fingers. He pulled it away from her in surprise, feeling foolish for being so caught off guard.

“Thank you for that,” she drawled, turning back to look at him, her grey eyes shining in the soft lantern light of the hallway. “And I’m here to see you, obviously.”

Jon couldn’t help the groan that left him, although it came out more like a growl. “And what requires you to sneak into my chambers to see me at this time of night?”

“Oh please, it’s not like you were sleeping,” she snorted back. “I just noticed during dinner that you had a problem, and I figured I could help you with it.”

Jon was about to ask her what she meant, but it became obvious when she pushed her hips back, squeezing his still-hard cock between the firm globes of her ass. He was all-too aware that he remained only in his smallclothes, and was reminded of what he had been preparing to do. “Arya…” he growled again, against his better judgement.

“You seemed so tense at dinner,” she whispered, rocking her hips against him. “And then there was this monster tightening your breeches. I could actually see it throb when you looked at me.” Her eyes were dilated, inky black pools drawing him into her. “I know that Sansa can’t take care of it for you right now. Since you can’t have one Stark sister, will the other suffice?”

His head pounded, or mayhaps his chest. His wife slept peacefully just around the corner, the wife that he loved, who carried his child. He should feel guilty. He should feel ashamed.

But he didn’t. That primal, instinctual pull that took over him as he claimed Sansa pulsed again from the recesses of his mind, and his doubts sublimated like steam rising off the Wall in the afternoon sun.

Jon tightened his arm around Arya’s chest, squeezing the modest chest of his cousin through her loose clothing as he pulled her taught against him. It was her turn to moan, eyes closing in pressure and her small hands bracing herself against the corded muscle restraining her. He nipped at the shell of her ear. “Fine, have it your way.”

He dropped his center and attempted to pick her up as a groom would do for his bride, but she pre-empted him by jumping into his arms and wrapping her toned legs around his waist. She was dressed in a garment unfamiliar to him, like a shift but so short it didn’t even cover her thighs. He cupped her delicious ass, covered with a thin piece fabric so smooth it had to be made of silk from Yi-Ti which was shaped like a pair of breeches with the legs cut off just below the hip. The heat from her cunt easily permeated her foreign undergarments and his, causing a pulse of liquid to seep out the tip of his cock. She pulled herself up his body with her arms around his neck and buried her tongue into his mouth, distracting him from the critical task of finding somewhere to ravage her.

In the dim lighting and encumbered as he was, Jon walked them to the closest empty chambers he could find. They were warm, which only benefited them as he set her down and they stripped themselves naked. Jon’s smallclothes were quickly discarded, allowing him to drink in the delectable sight of Arya’s breasts falling out of her not-shift as she pulled it above her head and threw it to the ground. Despite the lack of fire in the hearth, enough moonlight came through the window to highlight her pale skin and beaded nipples. She was thinner than Sansa, but lithe and cat-like rather than thin and hard like Ygritte had been. The skin of her belly teased him the with suggestion of strong abdominal muscles underneath. She shucked the short-breeches off her flared hips, exposing her glistening cunt topped by a small rectangle of neatly trimmed hair.

Words were not necessary between them now; they smiled at each other as Arya sauntered closer to him and wrapped her arms again around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her and compressing the thickness of his cock between their bellies. She remained the more aggressive kisser of the pair, somehow, but slowed the pace down as her hands drifted around his body squeezing his muscles appreciatively and worrying briefly at each scare they encountered.

Jon returned the favor, caressing and groping at her body in equal measure. Her breasts were smaller than Sansa’s, but firmer and delightfully tender as he sculpted them and rubbed his rough palms across her nipples. Her back and legs were toned, but wrapped in skin nearly as smooth as her garments had been. The real prize though, the piece of her that Jon’s wandering hands couldn’t help but return to, was her ass. Sansa’s was enticing for being soft and full, rippling whenever he fucked her like a wolf, but Arya’s was round and taught and flexed under his hands when he smacked it.

Still locked in their passionate kiss, Arya took advantage of his distraction with her nubile body to walk him back to the bed and lay him flat when his legs bent against her relentless pressure. She continued her aggression by crawling up his body, kissing her way back up his torso and chest and throat to his mouth once again. His cock pulsed as the sides were briefly compressed by her breasts before being replaced by her belly until finally the base was kissed by the moist lips of her cunt. The heat of it led to another spasm near his balls, and a pearly bead of fluid lubricated the head of his cock.

Arya finally pulled away from his lips and rested her forehead against his. Two pairs of nearly identical grey eyes were locked together, in awe of what was about to happen. Maintaining eye contact, Arya reached down and wrapped her small hand around his cock, fingers just barely touching at it’s thickest point. She stroked him until the sensitive head was exposed and slotted it against the wet furnace of her cunt. She sank down quickly, eager to have as much of him inside her as possible, and soon enough their pelvises were flush against each other.

“I love you Jon.”

“I love you too, Arya.”

For that was what he felt, like an inferno in his chest than now burrowed down into his groin. His cousin joined their mouths together once again, slow and languid as she pulled his hips up and down his shaft. Her arms wrapped under his neck, holding him tightly. “Oh gods Jon, I love you so much. I’ve always loved you,” she whispered into his mouth, not daring to separate from him as though he might slip away from her. “It’s always been you.”

“Yes Arya, always,” he answered, because it was true. No one knew him like Arya. She was the one person who always believed in him, always wanted him for who he was, who loved him unconditionally. How could he possibly not feel the same about her? “I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

At his declaration, Arya began to whimper and tremble, her hips switching from a vertical motion to a grinding one, squeezing the apex of her sex against his pelvic bone. Realizing she was in the throws of climax, Jon grabbed her hips and pulled her into him, increasing the pressure as much as he could to make it better for her. Her whimpers turned to moans and then shrieks barely muffled by his mouth, and her trembles escalated to shakes and then spasms, until she was nothing but a tight ball of pure pleasure writhing in his arms.

Jon began to sooth her back and hips and legs as her orgasm subsided. She pulled her mouth away and buried her face in his neck, gasping for breath as her sheath rippled around him. “Jon, fuck me. Please, keep fucking me,” she pleaded, voice staggered and raw.

All too pleased to oblige her, he shifted them up the bed until he could rest his feet on it and then pulled her legs forward so that he could wrap his arms under her toned thighs. Then, gripping her perfect ass in his hands, he forced her body up and down his cock. She was tight as sin, but so wet that his girth had no difficult forcing apart the lips of her cunt anew with every thrust. He pumped into her even as he manhandled her body, increasing the mind-shattering pleasure for both of them as his cock delved into the furthest reaches of her depths and stretched her more even then.

Every muscle in his body pulled taught to fuck her hard, taking his pleasure as she demanded. She was moaning again, hot against his neck and loud enough to wake the castle. Pressure built and built at the base of his cock and even deeper in his pelvis, tightening maddeningly until in a moment of passion she nipped at the lobe of his ear and sucked it into her mouth. The completely novel sensation made him burst, his cock shuddering at the sheer volume of seed it expelled into her womb. He pinned her hips against his as he emptied months of pent up lust into her, and she took advantage of that opportunity to grind her clit against him again to force herself into yet another orgasm.

The tension finally abated as they melted into each other, swirled into one being made of pure bliss and relief. Jon was asleep within moments.

=====

Arya’s chest still heaved when she felt Jon’s breathing even out as sleep claimed him. Aftershocks still jolted down her limbs and involuntarily tightened her cunt around his still-engorged cock, slowly softening insider her. Tears pooled in her eyes from the intensity of her most recent orgasm and the unrepentant and unbounded love they shared for each other.

Fuck, she thought.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. FUCK.

She knew this was a bad idea. She knew it, and she did it anyway.

Jon hadn’t changed at all. He was the same amazing, kind, handsome big brother – cousin – that he always had been. And he loved her unconditionally.

He loved her even though he was married to her sister, who was carrying their child. Her own niece or nephew.

Fuck!

Arya had planned this days ago, and she knew what it meant. She knew what a betrayal this would be to Sansa, and how unfair it would be to both her and Jon, and she decided that she wouldn’t care. She thought it would be worth it.

Sansa had changed completely. She was smart now, or rather she was unashamed to show it. She was considerate to others, even those she previously would have considered below her station. And she clearly loved Arya, too. She favored Arya above all others, even in public, and welcomed her ideas when they were offered. She hugged Arya tight the way she had previously done with mother, father, Robb and Bran and Rickon, but never her or Jon. She had even invited Arya to share her bed the evenings leading up to Jon’s return, and they had stayed up whispering like young highborn sisters as they never had in their childhood.

One time, she had promised herself. Just once with Jon would be enough for her, then she could slip away and leave them to their happily-wedded bliss.

And it was perfect. Jon was perfect. The sex was better than she had ever imagined it could be. But it was marred, ruined by the knowledge of the betrayal it represented.

Arya Stark thought she changed, but she hasn’t. She still ruins everything.

Once she was sure Jon was sleeping deeply, she began the tedious process of extricating herself from him without waking his peaceful form. His scarred face looked younger than he had earlier in the day, despite his beard. She let out a breath when his cock finally slipped out of her and falling to his muscular stomach with a wet thwack, allowing a deluge of thick seed to ooze from her cunt.

She thought about what that meant, then did everything she could to stop thinking about it for now. Her mind and emotions were too scrambled to even consider that until she had a chance to calm down.

The tears still lingering in her eyes spilled down her cheeks, and she did her best to ignore them.

Finally, she escaped his strong, grasping hands and rolled off him to the side of her mother’s bed. Arya allowed herself a smirk at the thought of what her mother would think of her current situation, then felt guilty for that thought too when she remembered that she would never get to see her mother again. She choked back a sob, albeit barely.

Calm as still water, she thought as she took deep breaths and pulled on her night shirt and shorts. The silk was sure to stain with Jon’s cum, but it wasn’t like she could make her escape from Winterfell completely naked. Maybe she could find another pair in Lys, or Myr.

Glancing at Jon one last time until her eyes burned and her cheeks tingled, she made her way toward the door and slipped into the hall, quiet as a shadow.

She ran face-first into Sansa’s full breasts.

“No!” she shouted as she scrambled back against the closed door to the room Jon still slept. Sansa looked at her with her brow furrowed, like a puppy trying to understand the behavior of an unfamiliar cat. Not angry or even upset, but confused and trying her best to understand.

Arya’s gut dropped out beneath her. Her chest ached, her ears rung, and her body crumpled. She wrapped her arms around herself and wept, rocking on the floor outside hear dead mother’s chambers as everything fell apart around her and her selfishness finally caught up to her. Stupid, stupid! How could I be so stupid!

She could have lied. She could have concocted a story about missing her mother, which was true, and she could have lied to Sansa. She was good at lying. It might have worked.

But eventually the truth would come out, and Sansa now seemed at least as good at knowing what Arya thought as Arya was at lying. She had hoped to be spared the pain in her sister’s eyes and her own embarrassment and heart-wrenching guilt from stealing her cousin. That she could run away and become someone else, like she always did when things became difficult or sad.

And more than that, she couldn’t bare to lie to Sansa after all the kindness she had shown her in the past sennight. It wouldn’t be right.

So she cried on the floor in the hall and waited for the inevitable judgement of her only surviving sibling.

“Oh, Arya,” she heard, before being wrapped in a warm embrace by her sister. “It’s okay, Arya, it’s alright.”

Arya only cried harder and tried to push Sansa away. “No it’s not!” she yelled. “You don’t know what I did, Sansa. It’s not okay!”

Sansa had tears in her eyes too now, but shook her head and gave her a wet smile. “Arya, I’m sure that everyone in this wing of the castle knows what you did. I’m telling you that it’s alright.”

To say that Arya was stunned would have been to say that the Wall was cold. She gaped at her sister like the fish of their mother’s sigil, not at all fierce or strong.

“What are you talking about Sansa?” she pleaded. “You can’t mean that!”

“With all due respect Arya, only I get to decide what it is that I mean,” she scolded back. “And I do mean it. I love you Arya, you’re my only sister. And I love Jon, my husband. But I know what you two meant to each other. I saw how much our marriage hurt you, I knew how it would affect you as soon as you came back. Seven hells, all these months together and I’ve felt guilty about having him when you couldn’t, even though I thought you were dead!”

“I finally have you back, Arya. I missed you so much. I can’t let you go again,” Sansa said, grasping Arya’s hands in her own.

“But Sansa, Jon is your husband –”

“And he has always loved you,” she insisted. “Even as he loves me. We can ask him to be sure, but I believe that he has enough love for both of us.”

“Both of us…” Arya repeated dumbly. She had heard of such things before, women living in secluded harems serving the merchant princes of Qarth, or the empresses of Leng who have kept two husbands each for hundreds of years. But polygamy was a sin in the eyes of the Seven, and had not been practiced in the Seven Kingdoms since they days of Maegor the Cruel. “Sansa, the lords would never allow it!”

“Piss on the lords, Arya,” Sansa said fiercely. “Half of them are dead, that the other half were willing to follow Jon through the literal icy gates of hell. They won’t stop us, and if they even try I will make them regret it. We are family, all the family either of us have left in the world, and we’ll be stronger together as a pack then any of us would be apart. Wolves in the wild share the same mate, so why can’t we?”

Arya gawked at Sansa, awed at this new side of her she had never dreamed of. Heated, passionate, and beautiful. Slowly, Arya uncurled herself and reached out to Sansa’s face, timidly rubbing the back of her knuckles against her sister’s porcelain cheeks.

Sansa leaned into her touch, then turned and kissed her wrist with petal-soft lips. Grey eyes bored into blue as she delivered more exquisitely tender kisses up Arya’s arm, over the sleeves of her night shirt, and then up her neck and jaw. She pulled Arya up until they were sitting hip to hip, and messaged her delicate hands up Arya’s arms and in the hair at the base of her skull, where she soft circles as Arya’s sore eyes finally closed. Arya felt her lips get caressed, her bottom lip get sucked on and worried until Sansa pulled away.

Arya took a deep, shuddering breath and opened her eyes.

“Thank you Sansa,” she said, although it didn’t feel like nearly enough. Sansa had given Arya everything she ever wanted, despite everything Arya had done to her. Tears now streamed freely down her face as buried herself in her sister’s bosom. “Thank you. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

“Stay with us, Arya,” Sansa replied. “Love us. Help us rebuild our family and our home.”