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"I'd forgotten the sound of silence," Robb exhaled, head falling back. The empty hall echoed his sigh, and Jon cast him a side-long smile.
"Your mouth is never shut enough for silence, Stark," he teased, and did not care to dodge the hand that fisted his cloak fur, reeling him in.
"With how often yours is stuffed full, one of us needs room for words," Robb breathed, grip twisting Jon's furs tighter. Jon hiccuped a sound, glancing across the empty room, but they were still alone, and would be.
Queen Cersei had begged the morning sick, Father had taken King Robert riding, Lady Catelyn had firmly lodged herself in her rooms, and the other children were sequestered away in the White Tower.
The only two unaccounted for were Jaime Lannister and Tyrion Lannister, though Jon wagered the former was 'taken sick' too and the latter was buried in a whore somewhere in Fishmark.
"Looking for an audience, Snow?" Robb purred, pulling him in closer, until his cloak threatened to choke him. "Little slut needs to be watched?"
"Robb!" Gasping, Jon drew back, swatting at his brother's arm. He'd made Robb promise that once the King got here their… Secret would be treated as non-existent. A thing-that-was-not-a-thing, for the safety of both their heads.
Robb, the fucker, only laughed. "Ah, relax. We're in the council hall. Nobody is going to trek all the way up here." Then he reached out again, pinching one of Jon's cheeks. "Aye, how I could I have accused you, hm? I forgot what a shy little thing you are. A proper virgin, you."
Cheeks blazing and furious, Jon kicked viciously at Winterfell's heir. "Fuck off with you, Stark, or I'll smear you across the courtyard again!"
Something flickered in Robb's gaze, a spurt of Tully fire igniting their blue, and then he was reaching a third time, yanking just as viciously at Jon's chemise until Jon was bodily dragged over the arm of his chair, fighting not to go sprawling.
It saw him half-draped over Robb's knee, and Robb moved might fast, a hand curling into the back of Jon's hair and grinding his face down hard into the soft heft of his cock through his breeches.
"Careful, boy," Robb warned, in the voice that proved he was the future Warden of the North. "I'm your Lord. Mind I don't have your tongue."
"You'd love to have my tongue," Jon muttered when he was let up, eyes rolling, and Robb smirked down at him before nudging his chair back.
"Aye, I would. So get on with it, then. Since you're already on your knees. Perhaps you are a slut after all."
"Gods help if your future wife wants for gentle pillowtalk," Jon grumbled, but the red spilling over his cheekbones was no longer fury. He could get up, call a bluff, go back to eating. Robb would let him; Robb never forced him to do anything, least of all like this.
Except.
The King had been here two weeks already, and Jon was considering if death by unspent cock was a genuine thing. He didn't want to risk even an accusation of one-sided lust, and so he had forbade them anything beyond true brotherhood.
He was cursing himself with each passing hour.
"All I've to do for a future wife is make you grow your hair out a little and start calling you Joanna," Robb teased him, pulling on an inky spill of curls. "Prettiest face in the damn Seven. The only reason Mother keeps you away so is she fears the King might toss aside his current Queen for one of colder blood."
"Robb!" Scandalized, Jon popped his head up, eyes wide. He twisted to look about the room again, but the table was in his way, and Robb was only laughing as he had before.
"Come on, Snow. While you're down there. I've almost forgotten how sweet your mouth is."
"Ask nicely," Jon griped, only half teasing, but Robb's fingers caught his chin gently, pulling his gaze around, a soft thumb swiping lightly over his lower lip.
"Please, brother mine," Robb begged softly. "You've made me wait two weeks already. The urge to ravage you turns me into a beast each time I look at you. Have mercy on your blood."
It was ridiculous.
It should've been ridiculous.
But Jon's cheeks were blazing and the room was empty and his fingers were already tugging on Robb's strings, and there was scant time between that and him swallowing Robb's softened cock right to the close-cropped hair at the base.
Robb barked a sound, knee jerking and bashing the underside of the table, and Jon suckled harder, feeling the heft of it, the heat, the taste of skin and rose-hip soap and sweat.
"S-Seven hells, Jon," Robb's hand found his hair again, softer this time, fingers careful as they carded adoringly through his hair. When Jon glanced up, Robb was watching him, intense with lust but also gentle with love. Jon scrunched his nose and eyes, a happy squint, then ducked his head again to focus.
Robb never took long to thicken, Northern blood and Tully fire coursing through him, and every mote the virile young man. Much sent Robb's blood down, and nothing like Jon's mouth upon him.
It was one of Jon's favorite things, to feel Robb's cock throb and fill, grow heavier, force his jaw open wider. Feel each pulsing flex that oozing a dribble of pre-cum against the back of his throat, thick and stringy.
It was true that, were it the norm, Jon would spend every morning like this. Keeping his brother warm in his mouth, swallowing his spend, choking quietly on the thick, firm heat nudging it's way past his teeth.
"Never seen a man happier to have a mouthful of cock," Robb murmured, like he could read Jon's thoughts, a thumb smoothing lovingly over the curve of Jon's brow. "Careful, Snow. You might make me jealous of myself."
Jon pulled back slowly, tongue stroking up the underside of Robb's cock, lips pressed against the shiny, smooth tip. "I love you both equally," he assured, the words traced into Robb's skin, and Robb groaned a breath, reaching down to stroke himself, knuckled bumping against Jon's mouth.
"Good," Robb declared, and nudged his cock past Jon's lips again. Indulgent, Jon sank down slowly, sucking harder with each inch until he held Robb against his tongue, tight and merciless. Saliva pooled and Robb moaned, deep and loud, hips bucking until Jon choked a little, wet and noisy around the intrusion.
Robb did it again, careful but firm, reveling in the gurgle that bubbled around his length. "Look at you," he cooed, "my precious—"
There was a screeching bang, the main doorway swinging open with force, and Robb and Jon both jumped in unison.
"Ah, Puppy."
In all his gilded glory, Jaime Lannister stood in the open doorway, sorely out of place in Winterfell and sorely amiss in the council room. Robb scrambled to shove his chair in and pull his cloak about himself, inadvertently trapping Jon between his legs, mouth full and only barely hidden by the low benches that had been moved to the table upon Eddard and King Robert's last meeting.
"Not with the rest of your little pack?" the Kingslayer asked curiously, head tilting and palm resting on his sword hilt. If he felt a way that Robb had not stood for him, he didn't show it, sauntering into the room with a lazily aloof air.
"I sought a moment of peace," Robb answered icily, just borderline of diplomatic.
He hadn't liked Jamie Lannister. Not from a glance. Admired him, to an extent. Kingslayer he might be, yes, but Robb had understood the true weight of his actions. The true justice in killing one man to stop the slaughter of thousands.
No, it was simply the Knight's attitude that Robb hated. The haughty bluster of it, the claim to everything, the dismissive and insulting air that clung to him like wine.
"Yes," Jamie mused slowly, as though the answer amused him. "The shine of gold must hurt your eyes after a time, used to steel as you are."
Robb's fist flexed and it was only when Jon whimpered quietly that he remembered he had a fist full of his hair, his mouth still full, drool pooling at the corners as he struggled to stay still and keep quiet. The council room's table was only small, and it did not afford Jon the space to pull away.
"Gold dulls as any other metal," Robb growled, words sharp-edged with threat. Mortified, Jon squirmed a little, scraping teeth along soft skin, and Robb stiffened, shivering, the warning heeded.
Jaime's head cocked again, bright gaze piercing and assessing, and then he smirked, only faintly. "A pup indeed, and yet, teeth sharp as a grown wolf's already." There might've been a hint of admiration in the words, were they from anyone else.
In the rattle and clank of armor, Jaime strode across the room, either oblivious to or uncaring of the panic that spread across Robb's face, horror etching quickly into his wide eyes and open mouth.
The Kingslayer dragged the bench back a little, and it was only Jon crushing himself forward into Robb that stopped the man's legs swinging into him as he took a heavy seat, eyeing Robb considerately for a moment before reaching for the straps of his breastplate and hauling it off.
"You don't mind, do you?" It was not actually a question as Jamie reached for Robb's mug, and Robb had no words to spare as the Queen's brother took a pull of the Dornish wine within.
"Say what you will about the Dornish, but nobody makes a wine quite like them," Jaime mused, eyeing the cup with approval. He set it down and, heart pounding, Robb belatedly realized there was another.
Jon's.
Two cups. Two plates.
One Stark.
If Jaime took notice, he said nothing, his gaze only on Robb with the intensity that the young Stark had seen his Father eye men accused of treachery and crime.
"How quaint," he announced after a moment, as Robb squirmed, the tickle of drool sliding over his balls distracting him. "It's like Lord Stark's blood didn't try at all. You look purebred Tully, eyes and all."
"I suppose Lannister blood must run sideways, then," Robb answered after a moment, blade's edge to the words. "Prince Joffrey looks all Lannister." His voice dropper lower, icier. "Hair and all."
There was a long, damning silence, broken only by a startled muffled gurgle that Robb covered quickly by scuffing his heel against the floor, fingers spasming in Jon's curls.
"Careful, boy," Jamie warned, devoid of entertainment. "I enjoy you, but all fires that burn too hot need smothering."
Robb growled again, a true wolf's snarl, and Jon panicked, one hand fumbling carefully to find Robb's free one under the table, squeezing gently. He swallowed around his cock, suckling softly, appealingly, pleadingly.
Robb shuffled, squeezing his hand back, growl ceasing. That warned fire dulled, fading to Robb shivering and dropping his head for a moment, breathing heavy.
Jaime's gaze was back to assessing, something heavier there, curdling with the glinting amusement. It was too knowing for Robb's comfort, but he daren't look away, focusing on his breathing, on the silken, sloppy heat of Jon's mouth around his cock.
Gods. His cock was in his brother's mouth. Not an arm's reach from Jaime Lannister.
The thought made him throb, heated and pleased, sticky fluid dripping steadily down the back of Jon's throat.
"Are you well?" Jaime asked curiously, leaning forward a little, gaze roaming Robb's face. "I must say, pup. You're mighty flushed."
Stricken, Robb glanced away briefly, sucking in a breath as he fought not to buck up into Jon's mouth. "S-Stain from the cold," he dismissed, voice strained.
"It must be," Jaime agreed, amused, leaning back again and taking Robb's cup once more, sipping slowly. "I've never felt colder air in my life. A man might wish for a hot place to store his cock, lest it freeze off."
Jon and Robb choked in unison, hopefully the latter overshadowing the former, and Robb looked back to the Kingslayer, startled. His full-body jolt had pushed him deeper into Jon's mouth, and Robb set a shaking hand upon the table, nails biting into the wood.
"Perhaps Lord Tyrion could g-give you some recommendations," Robb breathed after a moment, wild-eyed and fighting the urge to fuck into his brother's face with reckless abandon, audience be damned. He could not fully stop his hips, though, little jumps that ground him into that sloppy warmth.
Fuck.
Perhaps he was the wanton slut that needed watching.
That made Jaime chuckle, at least, wistful and knowing as he looked aside. "I'm sure he could. Though I'm afraid our tastes may differ some. I'm quite peculiar about mine."
He looked at Robb again, then, gaze suddenly weighted and fixed. "And you, pup?"
Jon swallowed around him, tight and hot, tongue curling in short, firm strokes that left Robb clawing at the table, legs shaking with the urge to remain still. Nothing spurred his brother like jealousy, and the discussion of Robb's preferences for another while his cock lay buried in Jon was such a sour little motivator.
Jaime's head tipped, considering. "Mhn, no. I'd wager you like them pretty. Soft-faced and cow-eyed. Sweet little things that look like every cock is their first."
Gods, but that was Jon word for word. Soft, round cheeks, eyes as wide and wet as pools in the Godswood. Every time Robb fucked him he whined and squirmed and panted like it was his first, so tight each time, hot and silky and always the perfect, snug fit.
Jon, who was still drooling all over his cock, perfect and pretty, lips swollen and dark, and Robb fucked into him again under the guise of adjusting his seat. His control was fraying, cock throbbing in time with his heart, just as swollen-dark and demanding.
Jaime watched him still, stare molten. "Though I suppose you can never truly know a man's tastes," he declared after a moment, reaching for his breastplate and strapping it on with a long-suffering sigh. "Perhaps our tastes aren't that different indeed."
He pushed to his feet, swept a hand through his golden hair, and walked for the door.
"Good day to you then, Stark," he called. And then, just before the door swung shut behind him—
"And you, Snow."