[Fanfic] Lies, or maybe Truth, pt. 2 [ Game of Thrones, Robb/Theon, M, complete ] F
Fandom: Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire Boy
Title: Lies, or maybe Truth
Pairing: Robb/Theon.
Word Count: ~7,900. Split into two even though I have no clue why because it's less than 10k, but OH WELL. HTML hates me.
Rating: M
Summary: Robb, Theon, and the illusion of intimacy.
STOP! Have you read part 1? If not, go back one post. XD
Robb's hand shot down to Theon's. Grasped him by the wrist. Yanked it out of his breeches, and tossed it to back down Theon's side.
"No," Robb said. Simply. With finality.
Those blue eyes looked at Theon cold and hard while the heat rushed and the blood drained and still his breath came in short gusts that billowed out in front of him in hazy blazes.
Shame burned down his spine. All other emotions gathered in his guts where they tangled and shook until he felt like retching.
"…As you will. Then we shan't." He straightened his back, and forced a casual smirk. "It makes no difference to me either way."
Robb looked slighted. It made Theon feel slightly vindicated.
Theon had expected Robb to do a number of things. What he ended up doing was lacing his breeches back up, adjusting his cloak, clearing his throat, and breezing past him with an unceremonious yet decidedly no-nonsense, "Follow me."
I have no choice, Theon knew, and so he lowered his head, bit his lip, and fell into step.
Warmth greeted them as soon as they stepped inside. Servants drifted past, greeted them with bows or curtsies. Robb nodded at each but said not a word, instead cloaking himself in silence as he went down stairs, bristled through heavy-set wooden doors, waltzed across the granite of the entrance hall, and marched deeper into the bowls of the castle while Theon retreated into his own head and gradually filtered out all external input to return to a place of mulish avoidance.
So much that, when Robb stopped, Theon nearly walked into his back. Stopping just inches from him, he blinked and let his gaze wander.
Granite floors. Flames popping in the brazier. Bookshelves hugging the walls.
Robb's bed chamber.
He wanted to ask what this was about. He wanted to smirk and make an easy joke that would lighten the atmosphere. He wanted to put up his barriers and defenses and go back to where he belonged.
He got to do none of those things, because he was grabbed him by the shoulder, twirled around, and pushed forward, forward, forward, until Robb had his wrists pinned against the wall, his body trapped between a hot body and cool stone, and Theon hopelessly, shamelessly, needlessly aroused.
Theon stared, completely taken aback.
The look on Robb's face roused the first wave of vertigo in Theon's ears.
"If we're going to do this," Robb said, voice grave, "we're doing it on my terms."
Theon's brain spun and spun while trying to come up with a suitable reply - any reply, a well-placed jape, a little dig, a cynical remark - but all thoughts froze in mid-dance when Robb's face snapped forward and mashed their lips together.
Breath caught at the back of Theon's throat. Heat shot into both into his face and down to his crotch. Thoughts tore free from their frozen lock long enough to scream and wail a mantra of, "he's kissing you, he's kissing you, he's -"
And then they, too, ground to a halt again and all wits left him in their entirety when Theon tilted up his head, grabbed Robb by the back of his neck, and yanked him into a thing too harsh and domineering to be a kiss. Heaving his weight forward when he ground open Robb's jaw, and subjected him to the dictatorship of his tongue.
Not for very long. Robb groaned, deep and low, and slammed Theon back against the wall for his trouble, yanking away control over this thing that was not a kiss and using his superior body weight to keep Theon in place while he shoved his tongue into Theon's mouth this time, large and wet and entirely without compromise.
Theon moaned. His body shuddered, his cock hardened, and his hips slid forward, grinding against Robb's heat, desperate for sweet, sweet friction. He heard someone's groan melt into moans and then slosh into something close to whimpers; it might have been him, but it didn'tsound anything like him. None of this was like him.
Robb forced open his mouth and pushed his tongue inside as far as it could go. (Not like him at all. Much too...) Robb's tongue rubbed against his, strokes inexperienced and a little too wet, but so full of enthusiasm and aggression that it made Theon's body sing. (Much too...
...submissive).
This tought would have angered him, if he had been able to muster up the mental resources to care.
"Robb." Air flooded his lungs when Robb let go off his lips to trail presses of his lips along Robb's jaw, neck, ear. "Robb. Robb, Robb, Robb," he said, like a mantra or a prayer or a curse.
Robb shivered against him and tore at his clothes, discarded Theon's cloak and buttoned down his doublet, and Theon lifted his arms where appropriate to help in the process until the air roused goose bumps on the skin of his exposed upper body.
As soon as Robb had finished his task, Theon tried a small jape, feeling dizzy by now. "Your future wife won't have any complaints."
Robb leaned in and claimed Theon's mouth again, bidding him to be quiet.
But Theon wasn't quiet, not nearly. Robb's stubble scratched against his face, his tongue dominated his mouth, flooded Theon's mouth with his taste (not sweet like some of these whores, no: earthier, spicier). Large, calloused hands ran across his chest and down to his waist and lower - and still Theon didn't stay quiet. He moaned. And then he laughed.
Unsurprisingly, Robb's broke apart to shoot him a quizzical look. "What's funny?"
Theon had no idea, not really. Except maybe for: "You do it like it's a battle." He laughed. "Remember what I said?" He reached down to press his palm against Robb's breeches again. "Think with your body. Think with this."
He earned a rugged moan for his efforts that went straight to Theon's cock. He held on to the opportunity for dominance and rounded on Robb, grin on his face.
Savagely, he tore open the laces on Robb's breeches and pushed down his hand to wrap it around Robb's cock. He rolled his fingers over the head before giving the shaft a sharp tug, and thought, A little thicker than mine, hmm.
Robb's torso slumped forward. "Oh, gods."
"Battlefields is where you'll need those. Bed chambers are no places for gods. Not the new ones and not the old."
It happened fast, so very fast that Theon's senses blurred and only cut into sharp awareness when he was well on his back, atop a bed, with Robb hovering above him.
Theon's hand still wrapped around Robb's cock, he gave it another tug, and then another, easily setting on the short, hard pumps he himself preferred when he tended to his needs by hand, and looked at Robb.
Robb's face looked nothing as much as someone who didn't quite know what he wanted, only that he wanted, and Theon didn't know why that was so exciting, only that it was.
"Your body betrays you," Theon said, willing a bastardized version of his trademark smirk onto his lips. "It's telling you, 'this is new, this is good, what did I wait so long for?' Look at your cock, Robb, look at it, all hard and red and slippery at the tip." He gave it a tight squeeze. "Your body says, 'I want release, I want to come, I want, I want, I want -''"
Near-violently, Robb tore away Theon's hand from his cock, face darkening. "Turn around."
Theon dropped his grin. "You can't mean -"
"You told me to think with this." Robb's cock ground against his hips.
To Theon, it felt sharp as a knife. "And it's telling you that its most latent desire is to bugger me in the arse?! I'm not a wench- "
Momentarily insecure, Robb soon found his footing. "And I am?" He ground again, as if for emphasis. "I thought you said you had no..." He trailed off to moan at the friction, then fumbled back for his voice to finish with, "... no virtue to speak of?"
Is this a game, I wonder? Because if it is, I'm losing, fast and hard. Though those are kind of unfortunate words at the moment. "I - "
I have never, Theon could not say.
Í'm scared, Theon could not say. Nor could he follow this with, But I kind of want to.
"I don't think you're man enough," is what he could and did say, infusing the words with just enough challenge and stubbornness to make Robb's nostrils flare, and the next thing he knew, Robb was tearing at his breeches and pulling them down to free his cock. Theon's embarrassingly hard cock, with the tip glossy in the fiery cast of the brazier popping beyond.
Robb gave it an unceremonious tug.
"Ah." Robb's movements were sloppy and inexperienced, but they felt better than anything had in recent memory. "Gods, Robb - "
"No religion in the bed chambers. It's not a battle," Robb reminded him, in the voice closest he ever got to sounding cheeky.
Theon wanted to kiss him, kiss him and not wrestle with their mouths, really kiss him now.
He didn't. Mostly because Robb got there first.
Tongues slid and fingers ran through hair, padded along jaws and necks and shoulders, and then somewhere along this sensory journey, Theon's brain proved too addled to take in many impressions but these: red lips bruised by kisses, half-hooded blue eyes, moans and gasps and skin sliding on skin, and then -
"Turn around," Robb ordered again, and this time, Theon did.
What would my father think of me, was the first thing that came to his mind when he settled on his stomach, naked from head to toe. Sudden, irrational panic pricked his spine, lingered at the base of it, then shot up again to tumble out of his mouth in a mad rush of, "You won't tell anyone. You can't."
Robb said, voice serious and humble, "I would never, Theon. As well you should know."
The worst aspect of this was that, in the rare moments when he was honest with himself, Theon really sort of did.
Robb gave him a weighty look. "I would never, because. Well." He hesitated. You're …."
Not this, Theon thought. Not this type of talk. Not yet. "I know what I am." He bowed his spine and threw a look over his shoulder. "I'm more concerned about whether you know what you're doing."
That put the discussion and Theon's temporary bout of some sort of male version of last-minute maidenly panic to rest, only to discover that Robb really sort of - well, didn't know.
After explaining to Robb that he couldn't just shove it in there without preamble - Theon might not ever have gone this far with another man, but he knew this much, at least - they each scrambled for something to ease the endeavor. Halfway through that, Theon ended up laughing at the sheer absurdity of their current situation: the both of them, one naked and the other barely keeping his modesty with a droopy doublet, rifling through a bed chamber looking for something so Robb could more easily bugger Theon in the arse. Some things in life just had to be appreciated for their inherent comedic value.
At long last, Theon presented Robb with a jar of scented oil he had swiped from under the bed.
Oddly and oddly endearingly, Robb blushed at that. "Present from Daemon Sand, when he visited a few years ago. I had forgotten - "
Theon cared much less about its origin story than the fact that it was there, so he just judged it with a, "That'll do," and kissed Robb some more until they were both hard and breathless again. Drunk on arousal by now, he didn't hesitate when he plopped down onto his stomach, didn't let shame get in the way when he dripped some oil onto his hand, and allowed him not to think of those eyes watching when he reached behind himself and eased a finger inside. And another.
It wouldn't block out Robb's erratic breathing, though. When Theon threw a look over his shoulder, he saw him propped up on his knees, the purple head of his cock appearing and disappearing from view with the strokes of his hand, face flushed so hard that the rosy tint extended down to his neck and what was visible of his chest.
Theon stumbled through a haze. "There." He slipped out his fingers. "You can figure out the rest, I trust."
After much fumbling and groping and hissing, Robb proved that he could, indeed.
Only, it wasn't at all like Theon had hoped. His muscles tightened in knobs of pure, unadulterated, intimately invasive agony. He hissed as if the breath had been punched out of him. He involuntarily squeezed and relaxed and squeezed again around him. Hot and unyielding, it pushed into Theon's body, a tiny bit at a time and then another, and another in what felt nothing so much as being ripped into - and yet Theon didn't want him to stop, not really (Why?), and when Robb dug his fingers into Theon's hips and asked, "Are you all right?" in a shaky voice that betrayed real concern, Theon endured.
Bravely. Theon looked over his shoulder to catch a whisper of heated blue eyes. Putting on his best re-enactment of his own infamous smirk, he said, "A maiden no more. It suits you well."
It really did: Robb looked good like this, dim light tracing fire in his auburn hair, eyes cast in shadows, and the blue of his eyes reduced to a fevered ring around the blown pupil, mouth opened in the lushest little 'oh,' he just - he just looked so -
Theon's and Theon's alone, in this moment only.
Their eyes met, and Robb's hips slowed. "... You're hurt."
He was, but no matter now. "I'm also a... Greyjoy - hah." He half-moaned, half-hissed while soldiering through the pain. "We... may get fucked. But when we do, we deserve the decency of getting fucked properly."
Then Robb's finally reached the point where he couldn't go in any deeper, and Theon kept very still. His muscles kept tightening and clenching around Robb as if trying to push him out; every little movement of Robb's sent flames of pain racing up his spine to bury in his brain and explode in bursts of sun-bright agony. Theon did his best not to cry out, but some mewls still passed, and he tried and tried not to shudder, but some tremors still made his muscles coil.
And Robb pulled out.
Irrationally, anger roused. "What are you doing?" Theon growled; in his world view, he had agreed to subject himself to the humiliation of being buggered by another man, so he was very well going to, and he was not going to be discarded mid-fuck like a whore you'd just found out was cavernous as a godswood. "I - hey - "
Robb grabbed him by the hips, spun him around, tossed him onto his back on the bed, raised one of Theon's legs to rest on his shoulder, and thrust back into him, all so fast that Theon had little chance to even get a single moment's reverie before Robb's cock was back in thereagain, and oh. Oh.
Oh.
"... Better?" Robb's breath breezed along the beads of sweat pearling on Theon's forehead. Blue eyes probed. Probed as if he could take apart Theon bit by bit, to study him, to learn, to see, to understand how things worked and where they had gone wrong so he could put him back together right.
Theon's body twitched helplessly. This, this new angle, he hadn't known it would feel like this, he had never, never, not ever, and it still hurt, it did, but something else mingled with that searing pain now, different and kind of, kind of, kind of good, and next thing he knew he was sort of rocking into Robb and had his legs spread like a cheap whore, and taking it like one, too.
If he had been any more coherent, he might have thought about how the position made him a little looser and therefore granted easier passage. Mayhaps even a darker, oft-silenced part of himself would've slipped through the pleasure long enough to whisper treacherous tales of blue eyes and smiles and Robb's face and Robb, just Robb.
But he wasn't coherent and so he thought of none of these things, only watched the way Robb moved, felt the way Robb moved, becamethe way Robb moved: faster now, better now, thrusts still over-eager and sloppy (and painful, here and there), but -
His eyes caught on Robb's lips, and he grabbed him by the back of his neck to yank him down to tangle their lips together in a kiss.
Or something that was not so much a kiss as it was this: clicks of teeth and desperate, uncoordinated smears of saliva and the thick heat of tongues, and then Theon had one plump upper lip caught between his teeth and Theon bit with no reason of cause but that he could and that he was drunk on sex and this and him.
"Ow." Robb broke the kiss with a wet smack, somehow managing this without interrupting the rhythm of his hips. "What did you do that for?"
"I don't know." Theon laughed, only to groan when Robb seemed to fuck him harder as if in retaliation. Theon tried to speak. "I... hnn … don't know. Nothing. Everything." He laughed, loud and abrasive and past the point of bloody caring, because he was on his back getting fucked by Robb Stark and this was in equal parts the most absurdly hilarious and thrillingly forbidden thing he'd ever heard, and he decided he could probably love it just for that.
Robb's lips quirked into a small smile before he propped himself up on his palms, took hold of Theon's waist to pull him closer and up, and continued his rhythm. "Is this... good?"
Even if it weren't, Theon decided, he probably wouldn't say so.
"Show-off," Theon said mock-annoyed. "You know very... hah. Very well." Every thrust dulled the pain a little more, until finally, by the hundredth or however many there had been by now, it had simmered down to a vague sense of discomfort nearly lost in the stream of pleasure. "Hnng."
A twitch, that was all Robb's smile was before it slid back into his face.
Mesmerizing, that face, Theon thought. So nakedly grateful and honestly yearning. Surprise flitted across Robb's features when he discovered how something new felt, as he learned what he liked, what it was like to share pleasure, to share intimacy or simply to fuck a tight hole.
It was then that Theon noticed the signs of Robb losing control and edging closer to his climax: his groans morphed into shameless moans, his grip on Theon's waist tightened until his nails bit into the flesh, and his thrusts grew hard and rough and desperate, not so much thrusting aspounding, in, in, in, in.
In, in, in, and Theon bounced with him, all rational thought forgotten, and they may have been at it for a moment or a fortnight, but then Robb was saying:
"I - soon. I am. Soon." His eyes shone down wide and questioning. "I - where?"
"In-inside," Theon said, and he would worry about why this turned him on later. "Do it -"
Everything narrowed down to the eye of the pulse. Robb fucked him with a few more thrusts, his hips snapping forward as though locked in the motion, harder, harder, harder, sloppier, more desperate, and still harder -
And then Theon felt it: a shudder, a pulse, a splash of wet somewhere deep inside him, all this just moments before Robb collapsed against him with a long drawn-out moan.
Robb's heart thudded hard; Theon felt the beats even through the clothes Robb still wore. Hot breath sped along Theon's sweat-slicked neck where it scuttled down his spine and made him shudder.
Painfully aware of his own cock still jutting up hard against Robb's hip, Theon reached down. A tug and then two was all it took before Theon finally, finally, finally stumbled into the bleach-white glare of orgasm himself. He spilled into his hand and onto Robb's hip, and almost as soon as he had, when his breathing had gone back to normal, a deep, bone-crunching tiredness swept up his entire body in a cocoon of sated warmth.
They remained like this for a few moments: Robb on top of him, still breathing heavily, softening and slipping out of him with a wet plop. Robb's release poured out thick and lazy, trickling down onto the bed.
Shooting an arrow was not like coming after all, Theon mused. Surprisingly enough, coming was most like coming.
Since Robb was starting to get heavy, Theon fidgeted. Taking the hint, Robb mumbled, "Sorry," and rolled off of him onto his back next to him where he collected his breaths until they simmered into something calm. When next Theon glanced over at him, he was Robb Stark, heir of Winterfell again all over again, poised and cool and controlled.
Except not. "I liked that." Robb rolled over to look at him, and paused. "Did you?"
".. Friendly advise, Robb: women do not usually appreciate this sort of question." Theon rolled onto his side and locked their eyes. Smirked.
"But you're not one," Robb said.
Theon couldn't argue with that. "... Hmm."
He shifted. So did Robb.
Awkwardly.
This was always the part Theon didn't like as much. The post-sex part. The part where you got up and left - or got up, paid, and then left - while going about your business and pretending like it had meant nothing, like it was just about thrusts and gyrating hips and the sweep of orgasms, and nothing else.
Sex was like wine: a great equalizer, a force that simultaneously allowed everything and stripped it of all meaning. Flushed professions of affections, heated kisses, caresses and private smiles and whispers; all were permissible as it happened and waved off after it had, brushed aside as having been brought on by the passion of wild rubbing bodies. An illusion of intimacy and little more.
Robb had been right and he'd been wrong, though Theon would never admit this to him or anyone else, because this wouldn't be any different. It wouldn't be.
So he put on his defenses in the only way he knew how, and smirked. "So, how does it feel to lose your maidenhead, sweet Roberta?"
Robb looked at him, nonplussed. "That's rich, considering who played the part."
Theon stifled a laugh. "And I played the part because I wanted to, not because I lacked the skill."
Robb frowned.
And that made Theon laugh, rich and throaty, and in that way that was both comfortingly familiar (the laughter of aeons past, when they had been children, and their games had not yet been corrupted, when Theon had still hoped), and then Robb smiled as well, and they might have been young again, for this one moment.
Then Robb said something Theon had never expected: "Then why did you lie?"
The words hung there, suspended in the air, tight like a physical weight.
Why, indeed.
Theon shuffled forward, and put one hand on Robb's shoulder. His lower body burned with pain, his nerves sang with vertigo, and exhaustion dripped through his bones, but none of that mattered now.
"Don't say a word," Theon said. "Let's just stay like this, for a bit."
Robb considered. "How long?"
"I don't know. A while."
Wordlessly, Robb placed a hand on Theon's waist and let it linger there and looked at Theon and Theon looked at Robb, just like he always had. Comfortable silence settled over them, one that didn't need words, only occasional grins and yawns.
And then, just like this, in the warmth of Robb's bed with their eyes locked together and that deep-seated, not entirely unpleasant pain burning low in his lower body, Theon allowed himself to hope again.
Just for now. Just for this little bit.
Where was the harm in lies, after all?
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Author's Notes: Hi! This be my first GoT fic. :D And, eh, also the first piece of prose I've written in like half a year, ahahahaha. Ha.
Well I'm pretty nervous about posting this here as a fandom newb, so all comments are welcome and much appreciated! GoT is the first thing I've felt fannish over in a long, long time. I never thought I'd end up writing for Robb/Theon of all things first, but I guess it... sort of... happened........................
In any case, thanks for reading this far! :)