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Sansa has been staying in Robb’s spare bedroom for less than a week when the most beautiful man she has ever seen shows up at the door – a bottle of wine in his hand and a smile on his lips – and completely takes her breath away.
It isn’t that she hasn’t been expecting him – she has. Robb had warned her before he went to work that his friend would be over later to cook, and just half an hour ago she had received a text from a Jon Snow saying he was on his way, and asking if she’d let him in the front door when he rang. So she has definitely been expecting someone – she even fixed her hair and cleared away the evidence of her Netflix-binge in preparation for guests – it is just that she never expected that someone to be this good looking.
Oh, is all she can think when she opens the door to see him standing there, followed by a much more eloquent oh wow once her brain has had time to process the face in front of her. Dark curly hair, three-day scruff along his jaw, and brown eyes so dark she could almost mistake them for black. His lips (full, soft, begging to be kissed) curved into the most delicious lopsided smile. Vaguely, in the back of her mind she remembers that she is supposed to have a type, and the man in front of her definitely does not fit that bill. He looks decidedly northern, which, now that she thinks about it, just makes sense. Because that’s what this whole thing has been about, hasn’t it? Moving back home, leaving the South as far behind as possible, embracing the only place she ever felt truly welcome, rediscovering herself. So the fact that the most beautiful man she has ever seen seems to embody everything that is the North – well, it just feels right.
She is pretty sure she spends a good five seconds just staring at him before her brain catches up with her and reminds her that it is probably a good idea to say something - anything. And she would be embarrassed – only, well – he seems to be staring too. As soon as their eyes meet his beautiful smile slips into stunned oh, his eyes widening. When she feels the colour rising in her cheeks she’s not entirely sure if it’s from embarrassment over her obvious gawking, or pleasure from having his eyes trace her features with a look of wonder. Though, considering how her skin seems to tingle wherever his eyes land and her breath catches in her throat when she notices his gaze lingering on her lips, she would hazard a guess at the latter.
As much as she loved romance stories when she was younger (still does, if she’s perfectly honest, though she is less enamoured by the confident and charming lead men than she used to be), she has never quite believed that love at first sight could happen in real life. But this – well, it’s not love, of course, but it’s definitely something. And no matter what that something is (attraction, curiosity, desire), Sansa is pretty sure she’s not the only one who feels it.
She can feel her heartbeat picking up speed, and the air between them almost seems to crackle when his eyes lift to meet hers again.
“Hi”, she finally manages, though it comes out more as a breathy sigh than the confident greeting she is going for.
“I-“, he blinks rapidly as if to gather his thoughts, and clears his throat before trying again. “Sansa? Sansa Stark?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” She suddenly has an overpowering urge to giggle, because he seems so completely flustered, and she is almost certain it’s because of her. The thought sends a thrill down her spine. “Jon, right?”
“Right. Yes, that’s right. Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting…”. He trails off, clearly not sure how to finish his sentence. His voice is low and husky, and Sansa almost shivers. A sudden image of him murmuring dirty words into her ear flashes through her mind (rough hands on her waist, his hips between her thighs, sinful lips at her neck), and she has to draw a trembling breath to steady herself.
He starts again. “Robb gave me your number. Said you’d let me in if he wasn’t home yet.”
“Yes, of course,” she holds the door open for him and steps aside, but it takes a moment before he moves. His eyes remain locked with hers, as if he is under some kind of spell and doesn’t want to break it.
When he does step forward, the feeling only increases. He is closer now, so she can smell him too (pine, leather, rain), and it almost overwhelms her. When he closes the door behind him without breaking eye contact she suddenly becomes very aware of the fact that they are alone, standing close together in Robb’s tiny hallway. Her breath quickens, and the air feels heavy between them.
The beautiful man (Jon, she reminds herself) is the first to break the tension when he clears his throat, sets down the bag of groceries she didn’t notice in his hand before, and shrugs out of his black leather jacket. Sansa’s eyes follow the movement, noticing how toned his broad chest seems to be even through the fitted grey t-shirt he is wearing, and her mouth suddenly feels very dry. She resists the urge to reach out and trace her fingers along his collarbone, but it’s a close call. Instead, she gives him a warm smile and turns around to lead him into the kitchen at the other end of the living room.
As much as she tries to gather her thoughts and figure out what exactly is happening right now, she is acutely aware of him walking behind her, and it makes it difficult to form any coherent thoughts. She can almost feel his eyes following her movements, and as if by instinct she starts to sway her hips just a little bit more than she normally would have.
When they reach the small kitchen, she draws a steadying breath before turning to face him again. It feels so strange – this instant attraction to a complete stranger – that she almost wonders if it’s simply because she has been single for nearly six months now and hasn’t had a proper orgasm in even longer. People don’t normally feel this way (attracted, infatuated, turned on) as soon as they set eyes on someone, do they? But she dismisses the thought almost as soon as it forms. She has met plenty of good looking men in the last few months, and quite a few of them had made their interest in her obvious, but she has never had this reaction before, no matter how sexually frustrated she was feeling. There is just something about this Jon Snow that makes her heart beat faster, her throat feel dry, and a tingling sensation spread across her skin.
Turning back to him with what she hopes is a confident smile, she catches the exact moment his eyes move from her bum to her face. His cheeks turn red as he realises he has been caught staring, and Sansa is almost certain the colour of her own cheeks is matching his. She already feels the tension mounting again, the situation moving beyond her control and into unknown territory, so she decides she needs to get them back on track.
“This is really nice of you. Coming over to make dinner for Robb, I mean. I know he’s been working a lot recently, but most friends wouldn’t think to do this kind of thing anyway.”
He chuckles, cheeks still pink, and the low rumble of it sends another shiver down Sansa’s spine. She has no idea why on earth she thought making him talk would distract her from how attractive he is.
“Oh, it’s no trouble. I really enjoy cooking, and it’s always nicer when I can share the food with someone else. Robb is always particularly appreciative.”
Sansa has to laugh at that. “I can’t imagine Robb ever turning down a free meal. He has mentioned your cooking a lot though. You must be really good.”
It wasn’t only Jon Snow’s cooking Robb had been going on about since she took up residence in his spare room a few days ago. He had also told her all about how they had met at the friendly football match between the police station where he worked and the local fire department, and how by the end of the game he had been all but ready to punch the dark-haired firefighter who left him with a bruised shin (and ego) after a particularly aggressive tackle, until the other man offered him an apology and a round at the pub. That, according to her overly dramatic brother, was the start of the most beautiful friendship ever known to man.
In fact, the way Robb had been raving about Jon Snow would have made Sansa wonder if they really were just friends if it hadn’t been for the fact that only last night he had shown her the engagement ring he hoped to give to Jeyne soon as she returned from her trip to see her family in the Westerlands. (Sansa had squealed and hugged him, before she promptly started to cry when he confessed that he had never been happier).
But despite all his talk about Jon Snow, Robb had somehow neglected to mention how (devastatingly, gut-wrenchingly, breathtakingly) handsome he was. The smile he gives her now is kind and almost timid, and it is so different from how she is used to men looking at her that she almost kisses him right there and then. (And really, would that be such a bad idea?)
“Well, wait until you’ve tried it yourself at least.” He gives her another smile and starts unpacking his bag of groceries. “I was planning on making homemade ravioli tonight. Robb hasn’t stopped asking for Italian food since we watched the Godfather last week.”
“Sounds delicious.” Sansa watches as he finds a chopping board in one of the cabinets and rummages through a drawer in search of a knife. She suddenly feels very unsure about what she is meant to do next. She certainly doesn’t want to leave the kitchen. She would be very happy just watching him work, admiring his features in the soft light and imagining his hands gliding over her body (fingers teasing her sides, beard scratching her cheek, hot breath between her legs), but she has enough self control left to know it would make her seem like a pervert, and that’s not really the impression she’s going for.
So she tears her eyes away from his body (gods, those arms) and clears her throat. She hopes she comes across as unaffected, but she’s pretty sure her staring has been a bit too obvious for that. “I suppose I should leave you too it then.”
Jon looks up suddenly, eyes wide. “Oh. Right.” His gaze is locked with hers, and she is struck again by how handsome he is. She can’t quite bring herself to move.
“Or – ” he swallows, and her eyes drift to his throat. The urge to press her lips against the hollow of it is almost overpowering, and her tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip. When she looks up again his eyes are fixed on her mouth.
“Or you could stay and help me. I could maybe…teach you.” His voice is even huskier now – she can feel the rumble of it through her body. A dull throbbing has started between her legs at his words, and it takes a moment before she remembers that she’s meant to reply.
“I would love to. Should I open the wine?”
The smile he gives her lights up his whole face, making the corners of his eyes crinkle, and it takes her breath away all over again.
--
He really is good at this. Sansa is completely captivated by watching Jon Snow as he moves around the kitchen. He seems to know instinctively which flavours work together, when he should add more spice – Sansa never realised that cooking could be this sexy. Her eyes can’t help but follow him as he works. The way his arm flexes when he stirs something, the way his fingers move when he kneads the dough for the pasta, the way he wipes little droplets of sweat off his brow with the back of his hand – Sansa’s mind is working overtime coming up with fantasies, each one dirtier than the last. (She imagines licking the sweat off his neck herself, dropping to her knees in front of him and unzipping his jeans when he stands next to the sink, bending over and letting him fuck her against the counter). The images are so tantalizing that she has to rub her thighs together to relieve the delicious ache that’s building between them.
When he reaches for a bowl on the top shelf of one of the cupboards, his tight t-shirt pulls up enough to reveal an inch of a very toned stomach and a light dusting of dark hair above his jeans, and Sansa lets out a strangled whimper. She idly wonders if he would be able to hold her up if she were to jump on him and fuck him where he’s standing – he is a firefighter after all, and those biceps prove that he works out – before her eyes snap up to meet his curious look.
“You alright there?” His bemused smile draws her attention to the dimple in his left cheek, and oh god, she just wants to grab him and – “How are those tomatoes coming along?”
Sansa looks down at the cherry tomatoes she was supposed to be cutting instead of staring at him like a horny teenager, and feels her cheeks turn red when she realises she must have stopped chopping a full minute ago. “Yeah, good.” The words are said in a high pitch, but if he notices that she’s acting strange he’s not showing it. He moves to stand directly next to her, and she swears her heart jumps when his shoulder brushes against hers.
“Here, let me help.” He comes even closer, and places his hand over hers so that they are holding the knife together. His touch is gentle, and he guides her hand so that they are slowly cutting the tomatoes into halves together. It’s such a cliché – using the guise of showing how something is done as an excuse to come closer – that she almost wants to laugh, but there is nothing funny about the way he is touching her. His thumb is tracing patterns over her fingers as they work, and she can feel the heat radiating off his body, can hear his shallow breaths right next to her, and it makes her shiver.
She turns to look at him once they have finished chopping, and she is certain that his eyes have grown darker. His body is still pressed against her side, and everything just feels so right – all she has to do is lean in, capture his lips with hers, tangle her hands in his hair – but before she has time to act on her mad impulse he blinks as if emerging from a daze and drops her hand. He only moves back a few inches, but to Sansa it feels as if a gust of cold air hits every part of her that was touching him.
“Right. Now just place them in the pan face-down so that the juices can caramelize before we finish the sauce.” His words seem casual, but she can tell from the blush spreading up his neck and the way his voice has turned raspy that he is just as affected as she is. God, she is pretty sure she could hear that voice every day and it would still send a jolt of pleasure straight in between her legs.
She takes a steadying breath, and decides she needs to get him to keep talking to her. She wants to hear that voice again, she wants to see his lips move, she wants to learn everything there is to know about him.
“How did you learn to cook like this?”
“It’s something me and my mum used to do together.” He gives her a soft smile. “She worked quite a lot when I was younger, and we didn’t go out to eat all that often. But whenever she had an evening off we would watch cooking shows together, and then try to recreate the dishes with whatever we had in the house. It didn’t always turn out great, but we had fun anyway. We still do it sometimes when I go over to see her.” He says the last bit sheepishly, as if he is afraid she will think it’s silly. It only makes Sansa’s heart flutter.
“That’s really sweet. Not what I would expect from a firefighter though. Did you ever think about becoming a chef instead?”
He lets out a breathy laugh and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, the guys at the station sometimes give me a hard time for it, but they never seem to mind when I cook for them somehow.” He gives her that knee-weakening half smile again. “I suppose I considered it for a while, but.. I don’t know, I really enjoy being a firefighter. It feels meaningful, you know. And I always figured it was best if I kept cooking as a hobby. I think as soon as it becomes your job, it’s just stressful and boring. I want to be able to enjoy cooking when I’m at home, you know? It’s my way of relaxing I suppose.”
He looks at her almost bashfully, as if he feels like he has been talking too much. “How about you? Robb mentioned that you’re only staying with him while you’re looking for a place for yourself.”
“Yes, I’ve been going to a couple of viewings. I’ve been living down south for the last few years, but I just got hired by the ballet here in the city. I have been wanting to move back home for a while, and it was the perfect opportunity.”
“Right, Robb told me you’re a dancer.” His gaze moves down her body, and seems to linger for a moment on her neck before going lower. She is suddenly very happy that she had decided to wear her black low-cut top and put her hair up in a messy bun – she knows it makes her neck look graceful, and the top shows just the right amount of cleavage. As if realising how he is staring at her, his eyes snap back up, and the blush deepens. “He says you’re amazing – that the Winterfell ballet is lucky to have you.”
It’s her turn to blush now, but she feels a fluttering in her tummy at the thought that he is interested in what she’s doing. Harry only ever told her that it wasn’t a real job. “I think Robb might be exaggerating. But you’re welcome to come and see a show when the season starts.” She holds her breath as she waits for his reply – maybe he’s not interested at all.
“I would love that.” He sounds so genuine that she can’t help but smile, biting her lip when he returns it.
They work in a comfortable silence after that, only exchanging the odd word about the food. She keeps sneaking glances at him whenever she can, and more often than not he is already looking at her when she does. Each time he will give her a little smile, and then lower his eyes again to whatever he is working on, before looking back up at her only a few seconds later. She feels giddy, and happy, and turned on.
She finishes the tomato sauce per his instructions, and they grab a spoon each to try it. She can feel him watching her as her eyes flutter shut and her lips close around the spoon, and a harsh breath escapes him when she darts her tongue out to get the last of the sauce.
Opening her eyes, she can see that his gaze is locked on her face. He has lowered his spoon, but a tiny smudge of tomato sauce is left on his bottom lip.
Maybe it’s the glass of wine she has been drinking that gives her the courage, or maybe it’s the way his look makes her feel bold and sexy, but she steps closer and brushes her thumb across his bottom lip. His breath hitches, and his hands come up to grip her waist as if by instinct. She can feel the warmth of them through her dress.
Sansa keeps her thumb on his lip, tracing it softly. His hands move up her body, fingers brushing her sides, and settle just below her bra. Her breaths a shallow, eyes locked with his, and a small moan escapes her when he gently, slowly brushes the underside of her breasts with his thumbs. Her hand falls from where it was resting against his cheek, and she steps even closer, one hand gripping his arm and the other tracing light patterns along his collarbone. There is a rumbling deep in his chest that only spurs her on, and his eyes are dark and hooded.
Slowly, slowly, slowly she leans forward, not wanting to disturb the delicious heat between them. Their breaths mingle, their noses bump each other, and then his lips (soft, full, hot) are brushing lightly against hers. The touch is barely there, but it sends a shiver through her whole body. The air between them is hot, his heavy breaths hitting her lips, and then he’s leaning in, and she’s tilting her head just so, and his lips are almost on hers again, and it’s perfect, and –
The front door bangs open, and they jump apart.
“Hey guys, you both here?” comes Robb’s voice from the hallway just moments before he joins them in the kitchen.
Sansa is feeling flushed and hot, her heart still beating rapidly in her chest, and she can only imagine how she must look to Robb. Glancing over at Jon, she can tell that he’s not doing much better. His cheeks are completely red now, and he’s rubbing the back of his neck while avoiding looking at her brother.
When Sansa turns back to Robb, she can see that he’s watching them with a smirk on his lips, but before she really has time to question it he moves towards the tomato sauce on the stove. “Smells delicious! Is it almost done? I’m bloody starving.”
Robb keeps chatting while they finish preparing the food together and set the table, and Sansa is glad she only has to reply with little sounds of agreement every once in a while. Soon enough he ropes Jon into a conversation about some kind of rivalry between the police and the firefighters, and Sansa is free to just stare at Jon again.
All through dinner (it’s delicious of course) she keeps meeting his eye, and she can’t help the silly smile she is wearing the entire time. His leg brushes against hers under the table, and when he gets up to refill their glasses of wine his fingers brush along her arm.
Whenever she looks up to see if Robb is noticing anything, she can see him watching the two of them with that same self-satisfied grin on lips. She thinks she maybe should be mad at him for so obviously trying to set her up with his friend, but it is really hard to be angry when the butterflies in her stomach won't stop moving.
After dinner is over and the three of them have shared a second bottle of wine, Jon gets up and grabs his jacket. Sansa joins him in the hallway while Robb lingers behind in the living room. For several moments they just stare at each other and smile, before Jon leans in to brush a gentle kiss against her cheek that makes her eyes flutter.
“I’ll text you, yeah?” He whispers in her ear, and she can only bite her lip and nod. They share one last look before he’s out the door, and Sansa finally lets a giggle escape her.
It’s less than half an hour later, while she’s on the sofa watching TV with Robb and doing her best to stop herself from smiling like a crazy person, that she gets his text.
How about another cooking lesson this week? My place? – Jon
When she looks up Robb is smirking at her again. “So?”
--
When she goes over to his place two days later, he teaches her how to make home made chocolate mousse.
She licks it off his finger, and then he licks it off her nipples before he fucks her on the kitchen table. By the end of the night it is obvious that cooking isn’t Jon Snow’s only talent.