It was a week after Arya’s wedding, her baby sister still on her honeymoon with Gendry, that Sansa Stark sat inside of the Starbucks a town over from where she lived and worked, a scarf covering her auburn hair, large sunglasses covering her face—though it was perfectly warm and cloudy outside the shop.
She could almost hear her sister laughing at how ridiculous Sansa must look right now, all furtive glances to the front door whenever it chimed open, all swinging her head around, looking for the thousandth time to make sure no one she knew was here, or that anyone was paying too much attention to her. Hell, Sansa from a week ago would have smirked if someone tried to say she was acting like this—but that had not been the Sansa that had made the mistake of drunkenly sleeping with her older brother’s best friend, AKA the boy who had been a part of their family for so long he was basically the 7th unofficial Stark. And she had slept with him!
Even thinking the words had Sansa’s pale skin turning red, her head forced down as she thought back to that night, wondering just what in the hell was wrong with her. What had she been thinking?! Why would she ever sleep with Theon Greyjoy?!
Well she knew the answer to both of those questions—one, she was not thinking and two, because of alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. It was all Arya’s fault—it always came back to Arya, didn’t it? She just had to go up and get married at the age of twenty-one, her engagement announcement coming on the heels of Sansa’s own breakup with that jerk Joffrey. Not that she regretted breaking up with Joffrey, who had also been intern at the law firm she was currently working at (the first time he had slapped her she had forgiven him when he started saying how sorry he was, the second time she had slapped him back and told him if he ever got near her again she would inform the world of his abuse)—she regretted it’s timing.
It was not as if Arya would suffer through a long engagement giving Sansa the proper amount of time to try and find another date to her younger sister’s wedding, and so Sansa had gone stag. Which she thought would be okay—if not for the amount of people coming up asking the same questions (“Where’s that nice Joffrey boy? When are you two getting married? Oh my, isn’t Arya younger than you?”) over and over again. It had been her friend Jeyne who had suggested they turn it into a drinking game, and so, every time she got asked any one of those three questions, it was a shot—needless to say, the amount of booze they had gone through in two hours would have put Sansa to shame if she were not too drunk to even really remember why she was drinking in the first place.
Everything got hazy after that, flashes and pieces—she did remember when Theon joined her on the dance floor though, his hips sensually moving in time with hers, the two of them pulling from the bottle of tequila he kept telling her he had won, though he never specifically told her what he had won. She knew she was drunk, especially as she blushed remembering how she had talked to him (“I might have been eye-fucking you today, but you’ve been eye-fucking me since I first got boobs—tell me Theon, how many times have you come in your own hand, imagining it was me?”), or the way she had groaned into his ear whenever he licked her THERE RIGHT THERE—and that was only the stuff she remembered.
Then had come the morning after. Waking up to Theon’s curses, finding them both naked in his hotel room, Sansa desperately trying to remember what had happened that night before she had allowed herself a moment to curse, to take in the fact that she was in a bed, naked with Theon. It did not take a genius to put two and two together and get sex. Then he had smiled at her, right when she had been about to really lose it, and Sansa’s splitting headache and all of her worries had disappeared for a moment. Theon was nothing if not charming, and she had to admit that his smile had always done something to her insides—though the moment was ruined the second her older brother and half-brother had pounded on Theon’s door, causing Sansa to wish the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
She had hidden in his bathroom, behind the shower curtains, taking her bridesmaid dress and shoes with her (the shoes had been flung far and wide across the floor, and the dress…well, it spoke of how quickly they had gotten undressed last night with it’s rips and tears). She remembered standing there, eyes squeezed shut as if that would somehow make her invisible, praying that no one had to pee. Just go away, she had thought, over and over again. She had waited until she had heard the voices on the other side of the door stop, the door to the room closing, before she had breathed a sigh of relief and quickly dressed, sneaking from his room without a backwards glance. Which was why she was meeting him today. She had not been in her right mind when she had left his room, and now she had to meet up with him, one-on-one, to get back something she had left in his room.
Gods, she was so stupid!
This time, when the door chimed open, she had locked eyes on Theon, who had yet to discover her in her darkened corner. She took him in, wishing just once he wasn't his usual good looking charming self. But he must have come straight from the consulting offices him and Robb owned— wearing a suit, tie gone, the first three buttons popped, his dark hair obviously ruffled from running his hands through his hair all day, and Sansa cursed, wishing she could remember if his hair was as soft as she imagined it was. Even as he scanned the coffee shop, he had that cocky smile on his lips and Sansa had to fight the urge to lick her lips.
Theon finally caught sight of her, she could tell by the way his eyes widened as he saw her get-up, though it changed into that easy smile of his as he made his way to her in the back corner—and Sansa was horrified that her stomach gave a little flip. Her body’s reaction really did not surprise her—he had always been the cute older boy who was at their house growing up, and she had definitely had many a crush on him when she was younger—but as soon as Sansa was old enough to see him as the playboy he was she realized she was too sensible to sleep with a guy like that. Well she had been too sensible—Gods! What was wrong with her?
Curiously, even as she was filled with shame, Sansa realized she was also mad at herself for being too drunk to really remember anything. She had always pictured Theon as a fantastic lover, everything about him screaming sensuality and promise of fulfillment—and she could not remember anything!
She had to admit she had awoken every morning since, her body burning, as unfiltered thoughts and images from that night came back to her. Like any good dream, though, when she awoke she could remember nothing besides the general feeling of unfulfillment that settled in her lower abdomen with an ache, one that had her pressing her legs together, trying to find some kind of release. The one thing she did remember though, that had her body heating over and over, was the beard burn he had so kindly left all over her body. She had never liked a guy who was not clean-shaven before—but the way his beard had rasped deliciously all over her body had her re-considering that….
“Sansa. Funny running into you here.”
Sansa motioned him down, whispering, “Shhhh! I thought we agreed no real names!”
Theon folded his long frame into the chair, then leaned back, smiling easily as he observed her, those eyes of his causing her heart to thump just that much faster. “Sansa, we’re thirty miles away from where we, and anyone we know, lives. I am going to use your real name—and would you take those ridiculous glasses and scarf off.”
Sansa frowned at him, but did as he asked, sliding the large glasses from her face, unwinding the scarf from her head, sitting as tall and as proud as she had always been taught. His smile grew as he took her in, really looking at her, but Sansa forced herself not to return it, and instead spoke as proper as she dared, “Theon, thank you for meeting me here today. Do you have it?”
Theon observed her, quietly, but Sansa refused to meet his eye, looking just past his shoulder, waiting until he spoke to glance at him, “Yeah, I have it.” He waited a beat, his voice sounding amused as he continued, “Though I have to ask myself what Sansa Stark is doing with a rhinestone monogrammed thong.”
The blush went from the neck of her shirt to her cheeks, and she shushed him again, though truly, no one was listening to them. “Shhh!”
Theon’s grin grew, her stomach doing that queer flip again, as he leant forward. She caught a whiff of his aftershave as he got closer, and she forced herself not to breathe deeper, especially as memories assaulted her with that whiff. His hands, firm and sure, tracing her body, his lips pliant and warm, all over her, his—not going down that route right now! His voice was low and warm, though, his eyes glinting in amusement, “Thong is a word you won’t say—but fuck is?”
Sansa glared at him, looking away as she haughtily sniffed through her nose, “That was an extreme case. I’ve never woken up next to someone before not remembering how I got there.” She gave him the best side-eye she could, with her chin held high, “Something I have no doubt you are well versed in.”
Theon’s grin was all the answer she needed, especially as he smoothly leaned back again, his hands behind his head, winking at her. “It get’s easier after the first time. Trust me.”
Sansa gasped at him, her hand going to her chest, the perfect picture of someone affronted, though her eyebrows snapped low over her eyes as she scowled at him. “There will be no second time.”
Theon shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest, looking as if he had not a bother in the world. “Whatever you say, princess.”
She gaped at him, but he just smiled sweetly back, and Sansa turned away, knowing when she was defeated. There were a few moments of silence as she took a long sip of her tea before she told him, “They were a gift from Arya.” Another prim sip, and when he did not say anything, she explained, “Her thank you for helping with the wedding.”
His laugh was musical, infectious, and she turned back to look at him, really study him, finding a small smile playing on her lips as well. Completely unbidden of course. “That’s so Arya.”
Their eyes locked, a moment of mutual camaraderie passing between them. Sansa found herself weakening in that moment, asking him, softly (of course), “Do you really remember anything? I mean…I was so drunk, and—well, you seemed surprised to see me in,” she stumbled over the next part, “your bed that morning.”
For the first time since he had walked in, Theon frowned, looking away from her to stare into the great beyond. “No, I mean, I remember enough, but nothing specific.” Sansa nodded, even though he was not looking at her, staring down at her tea. His voice was low when he spoke next, her head snapping up, to see he was looking at her again, though his dark eyes grew unfathomable in that moment, “Though I wish I could remember everything.”
That red blush was back and this time it went from her chest to the tips of her hair. Sansa’s mouth opened in a soft, ‘O,’ as she felt her mouth go dry, a coil of heat tightening in her belly.
But then Theon had stood, breaking the spell as he easily smiled down at her, holding his hand out, “Come on then, let’s go.”
Sansa stood, confused, but still placing her hand in his own, ignoring the heat as his hand closed around it as he led her from the store. “What do you mean? Let’s go?”
Theon turned back to face her as he opened the door for her, though he did not relinquish his hold on her hand. “Well they’re not here—they’re back at my apartment.”
Sansa’s voice was a whine when she spoke next, “Theon! You said you had them!”
He nodded as he let go of her hand, only to take her elbow, steering her towards the passenger side of his familiar Beemer. “Too right. And I do—back at my apartment.” He looked at her as he opened the door for her, motioning her in, “Did you think I would walk around all day with a pair of women’s underwear in my pocket all day today?” He put a hand on his chest, mimicking her from earlier, trying to look affronted—though the smirk on his face completely ruined it, “Dear lord Sansa, even for me that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
Sansa bit her lip to stop from smiling, standing in the vee of the open door, looking at him over the door itself before she frowned at him, throwing her hands up. “Fine. But only because I took the train out here.”
She sat, and he leaned over her, wiggling his eyebrows, “Let me guess, you did not want to be followed?”
Sansa’s blush was all the answer he needed, and he laughed as he slammed the door shut, walking around to his side, the amusement still showing on his face as he started the car up. As he pulled out, Theon looked at her, “Do you mind grabbing dinner before we go back? I came right after work and I’m starving.”
Sansa eyed him suspiciously, “You want to have dinner with me? Like a date?”
Theon smirked, the close proximity of the car making her stomach flip all the harder, even as the coil tightened in her lower abdomen at the look he shot her, “I’m hungry and I want to eat. You just happen to be here.”
Sansa was not sure why she was disappointed he was not calling it a date, but she nodded, “Fine. On one condition.”
He looked to her, curious, an eyebrow raised as he navigated the car to the highway, “Oh?”
He laughed, and Sansa found it hard not to smile back at him.
Later that night, as Sansa eagerly tumbled to Theon’s bed, her mouth sucking on his tongue, she cursed her no alcohol rule. Tomorrow morning, when she woke up, she would not be able to use it as her excuse.
Robb and Jon are going to kill him.