Theon was tired.
Tired of this club, tired of this shitty music, tired of pretending. It was Sansa’s eighteenth birthday and following a particularly tedious family dinner, they had been dragged out to an even more exasperating nightclub, alongside Sansa’s dim-witted friends (really, for a girl so clever, you’d think she would keep better company?) and even worse, the Stark’s abysmal step-brother, Jon fucking Snow.
And Theon was tired. He was sick of the pretences, of having to make a show of chasing after Sansa like the lecherous bachelor that he was so expected to be, he was sick of watching Robb purposely keep his distance all night, sick of pretending to be something he was not.
That’s how he found himself here, dragging Robb firmly by the elbow into the club’s dingy male bathroom and pushing himself roughly up against the mouldy linoleum wall. Robb fights him at first – Theon, what if they – but he growls in response, swallowing his protests as he buries hungry teeth into the flesh of his lips. He bundles him backwards, pushing him into one of the unattended toilet stalls and slamming the lock shut behind them. As he turns, he sees Robb squirming in a mixture of discomfort and arousal, his hand raised in a weak protest:
“We shouldn’t, what if someone –“
It’s the same old argument and Theon cannot be fucking bothered listening to it anymore. What if we stopped hiding, what if we told your family about us, what if, what if, what if, and he’s not in the mood for these games - and he thinks sometimes that that’s what Robb thinks of it as, a game, so he smothers any further arguments with a kiss. He thinks he can feel Robb protesting further against his mouth but once he drops his hand to squeeze his cock through his jeans, such complaints are swiftly turned into gasps.
And this is what Theon’s been longing for all night, this is why he’s been gnawing the inside of his cheek every time he looks in Robb’s direction, because he doesn’t want to pretend in front of Robb’s family any more, have to keep up this ridiculous act of Robb’s insufferable best friend, he wants Robb, and Robb’s chipped nails rake thin white lines across his scalp and fuck.
Frenzy takes a hold of him.
He yanks at the zipper of Robb’s jeans, and pulls them down to pool around his ankles with a determined snarl. His boxers soon follow and then Robb is whining piteously as Theon’s long fingers wrap themselves around his cock. He’s already rock hard, apparently this night of putting up pretences has been as difficult for him as it has been for Theon, and his thumb brushes over the slit, slicking the precum he finds there.
“I can’t,” Robb mumbles, but it’s half-hearted, it’s a duty and it’s so very Stark, it’s so much like Theon wants to rebel against, that he sinks to his knees and darts his tongue over the head of Robb’s cock. Robb gasps and thrusts himself against Theon’s cheek, drawing a wicked grin from his partner. He glances up at him, and fuck, but he can’t help but suck in an unsteady breath at the way Robb’s looking down at him, fingers tangled in Robb’s hair, eyes alarmed but oh-so-fucking aroused. It’s almost too much, and he’s angry for a moment, angry that Robb still has this hold over him – so he takes his revenge by swallowing him whole.
Robb groans and Theon reaches around to bury his fingers in his ass. He wants to do more, really, but the confines of the toilet cubicle restrict him. His tongue slides agonizingly slowly over the length of Robb’s cock, and Robb hisses a silent reply, banging his head back against the cubicle. Theon can’t help but smirk at that, the same way he can’t help but take an odd sort of silent pride at the effect he always has on the oldest Stark son. He picks up the pace, moving his mouth in time to each thrust of Robb’s hips, freeing one hand from gripping Robb’s arse to busy itself by playing with his balls.
Robb curses then, more violent words than Theon was used to hearing from the eternally honourable Stark boy, and he bucked his hips forward, his cock so far down Theon’s throat that for a moment he thought he might choke. His nails bury themselves so deeply in his scalp that if he’d more presence of mind, he’d swear they drew blood, but he doesn’t and then Robb is pumping his hips violently into Theon’s face, hands yanking at his dark curls and murmuring Theon, Theon, Theon. It’s that he hears as he Robb’s release fills his mouth.
They stay like that for a while longer, Theon still grasping at his lover’s ass, still riding out the afterwaves of his climax. He stands up eventually, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and rewarding Robb with such a filthy kiss that the Stark son can’t help but blush all over again.
“They might wonder-“
Theon silences him by grasping Robb’s wrist and shoving his hand to Theon’s hardness.
“Let them wonder,”