Chapter Text
STANNIS
He could hear the water turn on above him. It surprised him how good it felt to have her here, in his space. Stannis liked being alone. What others called loneliness, he called quiet. Solitude was comforting. He didn’t need other people like most did. That’s why swimming suited him; it was a solitary sport, hours spent alone, working through the pain and silence.
But now, for the first time, having someone here didn’t feel like an intrusion. Even swimming with her wasn’t the total disruption he feared it might be. She listened to him, seemed genuinely interested in who he was, and damn - she just fit into the corners of his life with an ease that unnerved him.
The thought of her returning fully to team practices stirred something sharp and unfamiliar in his chest. An ache, maybe. He wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to wanting someone around.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to banish the thought and failing miserably.
Instead, his mind drifted to her upstairs, steam curling around her as the water poured down her body. The visual of her, here, in his home was almost too much. He hated how his body responded immediately to the site of her. He never felt so desperate to be skin to skin with someone else. He clenched his jaw. Begged his body to behave even as he felt his arousal growing stronger, harder at the mere thought of her.
Fuck.
Stop.
The last thing she needs is for you to push yourself on her and cross that line too soon. Shit, she's told you what she's been through, the isolation she's felt from her team, her family. Grieving her father. Losing that shithole of a boyfriend and her best friend. It doesn't matter how strong the chemistry, you've got to take this slow. Be the one who earns her trust. The one who gives her the world. Work for it. Earn it.
Be better.
She's stuck here with you in a god damn storm, that's not consent, that's entrapment.
His fingers curled against the edge of the counter, gripping the cool surface like it would somehow douse the heat coiling in his body. But nothing was helping to reel back in his baser thoughts, what he wanted to do to her on this counter, in the weight room, on his desk. He shut his eyes, imagining running up the stairs and barging into the shower. He couldn't reconcile how much he wanted to take her with an equally powerful desire to take care of her too. To show her that she could lean on him, trust him. That she belonged here. She belonged with him.
“So, this is what I’m wondering,” she called from the hall, her semi-dried hair spilling over her shoulders, a soft, loose cascade that caught the light.
Her voice tugged him out of his spiraling thoughts, and he found himself turning toward her, his breath slowing at the sight of her, all bright eyes and glowing skin from the warmth of the shower.
She leaned into the doorway, a smile playing on her lips. “Do you have a pristine kitchen because you’re secretly OCD, or because you never cook?”
He moved mechanically, pulling her plate from the microwave and placing it on the island, setting up a simple dinner for two. “Water or tea?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“No soda?”
Faking exasperation, he pulled himself back into safer territory. “What am I going to do with you Sansa? No. No soda. Never.”
Sansa smiled, glancing at the pre-packaged meal he’d scooped onto his plate. “So... no cooking either?” She bit back a smile.
He shrugged, trying to play it off as nothing. “I don’t have time to meal prep or grocery shop. This is a service. It’s all fresh, portioned macros, delivered weekly. Davos says I need to consume between five and eight thousand calories a day. These help.”
Her eyes widened, and she looked at her plate in horror. “Five to eight thousand calories? She poked at her food and finally took a bite. Her soft moan captured his attention. "Well, I guess that explains why this tastes so good.”
“Yeah, the meals are okay. But you,” he added, his tone softening, “you’ve got to eat more protein. And honestly, I don't think you're eating enough in general.”
He worried for a split second if he was being too direct, overbearing? Who was he to comment on her diet. Would she be upset by how much he noticed? She’s rail thin, and it’s probably why she’s always cold.
Sansa glanced at him, seemingly unfazed. “I get that. It’s just hard to find the time. I miss the dining hall windows, and I hate making food in the dorm kitchen... I mean, it’s disgusting in there. Sometimes it’s easier to just not eat at all.”
If you were here full-time, I’d feed you. I’d help you balance it all. The idea came to him, unbidden and unsettling. What would she think if he offered? What would he do if she accepted? Hell, his suggestion that she not return to them team hung unanswered in-between them. One step at a time, he thought, wondering if he was already too much, too intense for her.
“You can’t skip meals,” he said, more gruffly than intended, trying to shake off all his thoughts. She twirled her fork playfully in the air, smiling at him.
“You’re so concerned. I’ll make a deal with you—I’ll eat every meal this week... if...”
He raised an eyebrow, sensing where this was going. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“If I eat your massive amounts of food, then you have to listen to music while swimming in the evenings," she smirked at her cleverness.
Stannis felt a small smile tug at his lips despite himself. “Fine.”
She slapped her hand down on the counter triumphantly and extended it for a shake. “You know,” she started, shifting the conversation, “this isn’t how I thought things would go. I figured you’d be like barking impossible orders at me until I got angry or quit, trying hard not to like me - but secretly wishing...” she stuffed another bite in her mouth as her cheeks flushed red.
Wishing what? What do you think I want Sansa, tell me. Frustration simmered as he tried to decipher what she meant. But she didn't look up again. I want to know what you want.
He fisted a hand, trying to stay calm and casual, “You surprised me too,” he admitted. “You work harder than I expected... and you don’t complain. Not too much, anyway.”
You complain a lot, but I've gotten used to it.
Sansa laughed, leaning on her hand, "It was so easy when I started swimming, I didn't have to make much of an effort. But now, I" she paused, "You're going to hate me giving you a compliment, but you work hard. And it makes me want to work harder too."
Did she need him? The idea coiled deep inside of him, that he could make a difference and help her get back to the competitor he saw when he first watched her at nationals. When he first noticed her, the grown-up version of her. Would she remember that day, remember every word they exchanged as he did?
A loud clap of thunder shook the windows, startling them both. Stannis moved toward the front, peering out at the storm, needing some distance to pull himself back to solid ground. “We should turn on the news,” he called from the other room, hoping to find calm when he felt anything but. “See how long this is supposed to last.”
"Good idea," she said from the kitchen. He could hear her scraping off their plates, the sound of the faucet filling the quiet. He peeked around the corner, watching as she wiped the counters, tidying up like she’d done this a hundred times before.
She fits here, with me.
SANSA
The wind howled against the windows, the storm shifting into something that sounded far more dangerous as sheets of rain rushed against the house. The news report had warned against driving, advising everyone to stay put. Not that she minded. As neat and uncluttered as Stannis' home was, she felt comfortable and safe. She glanced sideways at him as he sat beside her on the couch, his expression still unreadable as ever, the low flicker of the TV casting shadows across the harsh angles of his face.
As the news droned on about the weather, Sansa grabbed the remote, flipping through channels, trying to find something else to fill the space between them. She marveled at how little he seemed connected to the world outside his pool and his lab. He definitely didn't 'Netflix and chill', in fact he didn't know what Netflix was. Sansa smiled over to him; she had a lot of coaching of her own to do too.
Her thumb paused as she landed on ESPN. Commentary filled the room, and her smile widened. “Oh, look at that,” she teased, leaning back against the couch. “It’s your greatest hits.”
The broadcast switched to a clip of an old swim meet - one of his first major wins. The commentators were discussing the upcoming national meet and how legendary he was, how he’d left his competitors in the dust. The footage shifted to a younger Stannis, cutting through the water with ease, his form perfect, his face grim with concentration as he touched the wall, hands clenched in victory.
Sansa’s chest tightened at the sight. That was the living legend that inspired her to start swimming. The teen she crushed on hard when he stayed with them all those years ago. And here he was, sitting on the couch beside her, staring at the screen and looking terribly uncomfortable.
“You don’t need to see this,” he muttered, lunging for the remote.
She laughed, holding it out of reach, but he grabbed it, switching the channel randomly to some mindless show, Bachelorette in Paradise or something equally absurd. Her jaw dropped in mock offense.
“Would you rather watch this - I'm speechless?”
He looked at the TV, and pressed a different channel. "It's CNN," he dangled the remote in front of her mockingly.
She snatched the remote back, flipping it to the ESPN broadcast again. “Come on, this is way better. You were amazing.”
“Were?” He arched a brow, and she shot him a playful glare.
“I mean, are amazing,” she corrected, before turning her attention back to the screen. “You know... I remember watching you at the Ironborn Invitational tournament. Robert called my dad to let him know you were competing. He was so proud of you.”
She didn’t notice the way Stannis froze at first, his gaze hardening. But when she shifted her legs and turned toward him, the change in his posture was unmistakable.
“Robert?” His voice was quiet, questioning. “He told your dad to watch?”
Sansa nodded, noting the sudden tension in his face. “Yeah. I remember Dad saying how Robert wanted to make sure our whole family would be watching, to see your big moment. You shattered the blue ribbon 100-meter record and went on to medal in every event.”
Stannis stared at the screen, though somehow she knew he wasn’t paying it any attention.
“He rarely came to my meets. Hardly ever. Couldn’t be bothered, he always had an excuse. I was never a priority.” His voice held a sadness in it twisted something in her chest.
She swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. She wondered if he pushed himself so hard to get his attention. It was the sadness in his eyes that made her heart ache for him, for the years of wondering if his own brother noticed how accomplished he was.
“He did care,” she said softly, blinking back the sting of tears in her eyes. “Maybe he didn’t know how to show it the way you needed him to.”
Stannis glanced at her, and she could see the storm in his eyes, the conflict and old pain that she suspected he never talked about. She felt her throat tighten, her emotions rising in her chest. She wanted to say that he wasn't alone in feeling like he had to prove himself to earn love, but the words stuck in her throat.
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly swiped it away, embarrassed by how emotional she felt for him. Stannis saw it, though as his eyes flicked to her face, and for a brief second, his expression softened.
And then, just as quickly, he moved.
“Give me the remote,” he growled, lunging for it again.
Sansa squealed, clutching it to her chest, twisting away from him, but he was faster. He reached over her, wrestling for the remote, his arm brushing against hers, his body pressing closer as he pinned her against the arm of the sofa. There was no struggle only his weight and warmth that settled over her, his hands near her waist, the press of his chest on hers.
She wanted to close her eyes and lean up into him. Be bold. She could feel his breath on her skin, smell the warmth of him, a mix of soap and chlorine and something earthier that had her heart pounding in her chest. He was so close she could count his thick, dark lashes that framed his midnight blue eyes. Those impossibly beautiful eyes.
The moment felt loaded, holding the potential to tip them into something - more. He was being playful even if still guarded, and his touch was stirring sensations that she prayed he felt too. She moved a hand to wipe aside a rogue curl of dark black hair that fell forward, watching his eyes widen.
The storm raged outside, but in here, the air felt still, waiting. She held her breath, wanting desperately for him to dive in first.
“Stannis...” she whispered, unsure of what to say, her voice trembling as she stared into his eyes. His body hovering over hers, their legs tangled against the cushions.
Underneath him, she heard the TV.
"Moving on to the ones to watch in the women's division, Brienne Tarth is looking strong as always for the butterfly. The closest in the field is consistently 20 seconds slower. The real drama is which Sansa Stark will show up at nationals."
Stannis' face flickered and he turned his head towards the TV.
Sansa continued to debate on whether she should wrap her hand around his neck, pull him closer. Or maybe lean forward onto his shoulder, all while the commentators droned on.
"Yes, ... that's right Mark. According to Vale's athletic director, the freshman is training with none other than Stannis Baratheon. An attempt, we assume, to help her strengthen her finish. Her last few races, she barely made podium."
"If anyone can make a difference, it would be Stannis... We will have all the live competition coverage here on Channel 4 one week from today. Bob, back to you."
Hearing his name, Stannis pulled away. Quickly. Too quickly.
His face shifted, the playful moment over, and he scrambled to push himself off of her. “We... how do they know?” he muttered, straightening himself as he retreated to his side of the couch. She watched, almost helplessly, as he shut down. Humor drawn back into a tight line of his lips.
Sansa sat up, pulling her legs toward her chest, trying to hide a worrying concern. He doesn’t want to work with me. He doesn't want others to know ... I'm a liability. Unwanted attention. The thought repeated itself over and over in her head, like that damn metronome he forced her to listen to.
She swallowed hard, donning a smile as she handed the remote back to him. “Fine, you win,” she said, attempting levity. “Enjoy Love Island.”
He didn’t meet her eyes as he took the remote from her, and the mood felt heavy. Sansa leaned back against the couch, her heart pounding, her mind racing, feeling more turned on and more confused about what to do next than ever.
"It's CNN but whatever," he deadpanned back.
Sansa shot him a sharp look, his eyebrow was raised. Maybe she misread his mood. Didn't matter, Sansa refused to get pulled under by all the conflicting emotions swirling through her. Keep it light. Keep it fun. That's what he needs now, not you being needy.
She looked over at the TV, then back to Stannis. He seemed to do the same and their eyes locked again. "CNN hasn't been any fun without Don Lemon."
"It's a news show. It's not supposed to be fun," he tilted his head towards her.
"Oh please, at best it's news as entertainment. I mean we're all watching on New Year's to see Anderson Cooper get drunk and make out with Andy Cohen."
"I don't know who you're talking about," he replied in his usual black and white, no apology way he had about him. He wiped his hands on his track pants, took an audible breath and stood up. "Time to show you how to make a peanut butter shake."
A what? her mind screeched, they had just eaten. She watched him walk into the kitchen, eyeing him a bit too intensely.
"You're staring, why?" he asked before he dipped under the counter and retrieved a large black blender.
Sansa thought for a moment, she could deny how nice it was to look at him, or use the moment tease him a little? He had to know how hot he was. Had to! Still, she wasn't sure if she earned the right to be that playful. And after what just happened, she knew he could get frosty pretty fast. Then again, what was the worst that could happen? More pool laps? She harmlessly teased her brothers, Jon and Theon. If she tread carefully with Stannis, she might be able to keep the mood light, upbeat. Maybe she couldn't make up for ESPN’s invasion of his privacy, but she was not going to waste this opportunity to get closer.
"Am I though? Staring…”
He pulled a large round container from the top of his pantry shelf, the hint of skin between his shirt and pants more scandalous than seeing him in a swimsuit. And damn, he did seem to know just how to make her stare. He lingered with his arm raised for at least a moment longer than needed to pull the protein powder down.
"I'm studying you. Observing for science. You should appreciate that ..." she said as she stood up from the couch and walked to the other side of his kitchen island, tracking all his movements as he retrieved ingredients from his fridge to a massive jar of JIF peanut butter, setting them neatly on the counter. "I'm curious, for women everywhere, how do you eat so many calories and look like" she waived her hand up and down, "like... that."
His eyes lit up, as a slight hint of pink dusted his chiseled cheekbones, "Like what... exactly?"
She smiled, for someone who says he doesn't like attention, he clearly did. She hit a nerve, knew it, and was going for it, "Oh you know, like someone whose front muscles are vying with the back ones for the 'most cut' award."
He frowned and smiled all at the same time, impossible for anyone else surely, "Front muscles?"
"Whatever. Most swimmers are lean, defined, but these muscles, your muscles, seem to be overachievers," her compliments rolled off her tongue. Yes, she thought about his body way too often, wondering at just that. Most swimmers were cut, but his body drew her attention like a magnet. She memorized each dip and line.
"Sansa, I'm worried about you," his voice flat as he worked a 1/2 cup of peanut butter into the blender.
A surge of heat melted its way down her chest, "What? Why?" She asked, thinking more about how her first name sounded on his lips.
"You want to be a Physical Therapist, and you've defined muscles as ‘front’ and ‘back’ and ‘overachievers’," he said, plopping two scoops of egg white protein powder in the blender, and reaching for a hanging banana.
She giggled, “Oh did I get those wrong?," she lifted herself onto the counter, “I’m ready for my anatomy lesson. What's this called again?” She pointed to his chest, "Hmm, is that a pectoralis ginormous?
Stannis coughed. His lips twitching into a self-satisfied smirk.
A blush creep up her neck as she clutched the edge of the cold granite countertop. Her focus didn't fail to notice a fresh scowl on his face as he watched the way she was swinging her legs. "Oh sorry. Ass not on counter. Got it, sorry" she jumped back down.
"No. It's alright," he said, quickly ducking back into the fridge for milk.
Sansa didn't know what to do with herself. Watching him move through his kitchen and heaping dairy products into a blender was turning her on way more than it should.
This averages “2,000 or so calories,” he pulled down two large tumblers.
“Gods no, I’m not drinking that. And not because I’m still digesting dinner - because it looks like brown sludge.”
“I put in creatine and pre-biotics…"
"You’re not selling this Stannis," she said.
"Sansa please - drink at least half a glass," he held the blender over a glass.
"Nope, I'm not taking a sip," she replied as she held her lips shut with her fingers.
He sighed, seeming to bite back a grin. The lopsided kind that made her heart melt, "1/4 of a glass. I promise it tastes like dessert."
She studied him. His insistence was making her stomach do flips. “Are you fattening me up to sacrifice me in some cult ritual?”
Without missing a beat, he said, "You’re too bony to eat as you are." His deadpan delivery again had her flushing hot. He turned, putting all his attention on pouring the sludge into the glasses. She swore the top of his ears had also turned pink.
She looked at the grey brown liquid and swirled her glass.
He turned towards her, his attention and tone suddenly serious, "Sansa I’m not good at this."
"Clearly... this looks like baby poo," she breezed back.
He shook his head, "No that’s not what I mean. This, umm, teasing. I’m not quick or clever, and honestly, I won’t think of the right comeback for at least two more days."
The image of him thinking about what she said was endearing, almost painfully so. Warmth bloomed in her chest, soft and sudden. “If it’s any solace, I spend days trying to figure out all the different ways you grunt at me.”
He blinked, tilting his head slightly, his brow furrowed. “I do not grunt.”
She couldn’t hold back her laugh. “Oh, come on, you have to know. It’s like a whole secret language.”
His confusion only made it funnier. Emboldened by his quizzical look, she imitated him, trying to match his deep tone. “‘Ugh, Stark!’ Or my personal favorite, ‘Guhhh, Stark.’ It’s cryptic - like some ancient text. I may never crack the code.”
He didn’t react at first, just watched her with that steady, unreadable expression of his. She started to worry she’d pushed it too far when he let out a faint chuckle.
“Everyone knows what ‘guhhh’ means, Stark,” he said in that impossibly dry tone of his. “I’ll wait for you to figure it out.”
Her laugh bubbled up again, pure and bright. She set her glass down on the counter, the space between them suddenly feeling too small and too electric. “There it is,” she said, grinning. “That was quick!”
His gaze softened, a flicker of something warmer than humor sparking in his eyes. She swallowed, trying to ground herself in the banter and not in the way his heat seemed to radiate through her.
“Okay,” she said, leaning back slightly, though it didn’t help much. “How about this? I’ll take a sip of this swill if you answer a question. Deal?”
He groaned, his head tipping back slightly. “More questions? Haven’t you pried enough out of me already?”
“No, Stannis. Not even close,” she teased, crossing her arms.
“Let’s see, so far I know your favorite color, your first dog’s name, your passably solid taste in music, your middle school locker combination, and that you hate chocolate.”
His brows lifted, unimpressed.
She grinned, undeterred. “Do you even understand how suspicious that is? Who hates chocolate? Do you know how many nights I’ve laid awake, wondering if you’re secretly a serial killer?”
He blinked and shook his head, then asked, “Was the plan to quiz me until you figure out all my passwords? Steal my identity? Drain my bank accounts?”
“Obviously,” she said, eyes widening with mock seriousness. “But robbery is way less creepy than cannibalism, so I feel like I’m taking the moral high ground here.”
“Drink,” he said, nodding toward the glass in her hand, his tone almost exasperated but softened by the faint twitch of his lips.
“Question,” she countered, tipping her head up slightly in challenge.
His eyes narrowed as he stared at her for a moment, then he gave her a slow, almost reluctant nod.
"Why me, why did you agree to coach me?"
A confused look crossed his face as he stood still, his eyes boring into her as if searching for any sign of ulterior motive. Finally he let out with a deep sigh, "Still not your coach."
She pleaded with him, her eyes drifting up towards his.
He coughed, "Why? I mean, why does it matter?"
Clouds drifted across her face, leaving a slight frown, "It's just that you seemed upset by the news report, and that those ESPN reporters knew we were training together. I never thought about ..." she stuttered on her words. Suddenly she didn't want to know why he had gotten upset. She was afraid of what he might tell her and this evening was going too well for his honesty to lead them in the wrong direction.
Shit. Have I blown it?
Sansa caught her breath as his hand moved over hers, grounding her in a way that was startling and comforting all at once. He took a deep breath before speaking, and she could see tension ripple through his shoulders. “I don’t want people to know about me. Not really.” His tone was serious. “It’s… jarring.”
She could tell this was difficult for him to admit. It was more than just wanting privacy; it was a boundary he’d kept for years, one that she messed up weeks ago.
He seemed to search her face before going on, his tone almost confessional. “When I was younger, I pushed back at the media. Got angry at questions about my brother, yelled, threw my goggles, my cap. That's all it took. I'll be described as "temperamental" for the rest of my career. A phenom - but hot headed. I was thirteen, Sansa, and somehow no matter what I do or achieve, that’s all I’ll ever be.” He looked away, his jaw clenching, a flicker of anger tightening through his cheeks.
Sansa leaned in closer, unable to fathom being defined by one pivotal moment or having every misstep and every victory scrutinized against who she was at thirteen. Her eyes lingered on him, noting how his gaze drifted down to the table, the pain threaded through his voice as he continued.
“I had to learn to give them just enough to keep things running smoothly. One interview here, one sound bite there. But nothing about who I am. Nothing that matters. No one wants to know - me.” He gestured toward her half-finished smoothie, nodding as he spoke. “They don’t care about the work, the hours, the grind. They’re just keeping up this story they invented. A myth of who I am.”
He ran a hand through his hair, as though regretting the admission, his posture tensing again as he picked up his glass and gulped down his shake, keeping his eyes hidden from hers.
Her heart ached for him, and in a soft voice, she confided, “You're so much more than what they see Stannis."
He looked at her, incredulously, and she yearned for him to believe her. How could she prove to him that her feelings weren’t tied to his success or the pedestal others had placed him on? He was guarded, layered. But the bits and pieces he willingly shared told a different story, and she wanted to know so much more.
"The media sharks, they circled me, too. They said the way I swam was so easy, effortless. I sacrificed a lot for my performance, but I don’t think anyone cared enough to look closer.” She moved to rest an hand on his arm. “So I stopped giving my all in the smaller events. Second place, third, sometimes fourth - just enough to stay in contention, so I could comeback if I wanted to. But I was able to side-step the white heat of the spotlight.”
His hand came up to her shoulder, gently pulling her to face him, his expression serious. “Those losses… you did that on purpose?”
She nodded slowly, feeling a pang of regret but knowing she did it to protect herself. “At first, yeah. Then… after a while, it just became who I was in the water, enough to make my dad smile and give him something good to hold onto.” She paused, her throat tightening. “Cancer… slowly stole everything that made him him.”
As she spoke, she saw a glimmer of understanding in Stannis’s eyes, something raw and familiar, like he knew that feeling too well. Heat burned behind her eyes and they began to water. Stannis gently moved his hands to pull her in closer, warm arms wrapping around her, his legs scissored between hers. It was more than a hug - it felt like recognition. They shared something that others couldn't begin to fathom.
With her head tucked against his shoulder, his cheek brushed against her hair as he spoke, his breath puffed out warm and comforting. “My mom was gone within eight months of her diagnosis. Stage four, from the start. I was five when my dad passed, and she's the one who pushed me into swimming. She was my biggest cheerleader. But then, suddenly, I was alone. My brother was already out of the house, married, well into his own life. So it was just me and the water.”
She felt her emotions break, throat tight, her tears wetting his shirt, and he pulled her tighter, comforting in a way she didn't realize she needed. His hand caressed her cheek then brushed over her hair, gentle and reassuring, letting the quiet wrap around her.
After a while, she calmed and pushed out of his chest. A move that had him tightening his grip around her hands, holding her in place. She looked up to see only softness and encouragement in his eyes.
“It hasn’t been fun for a long time,” she admitted quietly, the words tumbling out before she could second-guess them. “Until now. With you, I... I don’t feel like I have to perform. I don’t feel like I’m racing just to make someone else happy.” Her lips curved into a mischievous grin. “And don’t let this go to your head, but... I like being challenged.”
His brows lifted slightly, the corners of his mouth quirking into a fleeting smile. “Do you now?” he teased back, his voice warm and low, and suggestive in a way that had her heart beating faster.
“Shh,” she murmured, pressing a finger to his lips. The softness there a sweet surprise. “Don’t tell my coach.”
He leaned down even closer, the space between them shrinking until she could feel his breath against her skin. For a moment, she thought this might finally be it—he might let his guard down, might finally give in to whatever this was between them.
She blinked up at him trying to flirt him forward. “I mean,” she said, nudging her glass toward him, “I even drank your sludge.”
His mouth softened with amusement. “Are you saying… you liked it?”
“More than I expected to,” she replied, laughing, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.
"Good, then you should have more," he lifted the blender and nudged a thigh hard against her leg. She felt a pulse of warmth move through every nerve.
She took the empty glass she held in both hands and slid it behind her back, forcing him closer, making him move an arm around her.
His voice came out an octave lower, "Sansa ..." as he reached for the cup.
She took the handle of the blender from him and placed it to her side, looking up at him. Seeing his eyes darken to a midnight blue. "Don't I get a reward for downing the first shot?"
He looked at her wide-eyed and scraped his bottom lip between his teeth. A move that emboldened Sansa to grab hold of his t-shirt, curling the soft fabric into her knuckles. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his expression shifting to something heavier, something smoldering.
She licked her lips and met his eyes, gently tugging him forward, watching surprise morph into a frown. "Hey," she whispered, "don't do that."
"Do what?" he practically moaned as he dropped his hands to her hips.
"Decide that you don't want to kiss me," she breathed out, letting the air thicken between them.
He clutched her hips and hoisted her back up onto the counter. His body hot and solid between her legs. Time started to slow, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart, her body waiting, anticipating what might come next. She threaded her hand into curls of black hair at the nape of his neck.
“Sansa,” he moaned, his voice thick, almost pleading.
“Please,” she whispered, leaning closer. “I think you feel this too.” Suddenly nervous about losing the moment, "this, uh, us thing. It doesn't have to be serious - not if you..."
He cut her off, "I don't want casual," his voice low and thick, "I don't do casual."
"Oh," she couldn't find any other words. Then, despite knowing it was a terrible question, her mouth uttered, "Never?"
He leaned down, his mouth next to her cheek. "That's not what I want with you."
"Oh," she paused in surprise. Then a smile bloomed on her face, and she nudged her chin up to touch his.
He stiffened instantly, his jaw tightening. His voice was controlled, but rough at the edges, as if he could barely hold himself back. “Sansa… you’re here because of the storm. Because you've been forced to train with me. This coaching thing..." His words came faster, sharper, even as he pressed forward. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of the situation. I don't want to be the guy who can't keep his hands to himself when you’re vulnerable.”
Her breath stilled. Vulnerable? That wasn’t how she felt. Was that how he saw her? Maybe once, but not here. Not with him.
“And I don’t want screw this up,” he continued, his grip tightening on her hip, sending a wave of pleasure through her. “You deserve something real. If we do this, it’s going to matter. I want it to mean something.”
He searched her eyes as if pleading for her to understand, his restraint warring with the hunger she could see flickering in his midnight-blue gaze.
She tilted her head, letting her hands slide to rest lightly against his chest. “Stannis, I’m not fragile, and I don't feel like you're pressuring me into anything.” She let her eyes fall on the blender then back up at him, humor infusing the intensity of her words. “Well, other than that..."
He followed her eyes and frowned. "You just said you liked it."
She smiled up at him, trying to coax him past whatever wall he was building between them. "I did… but it’s more that I like you,” she tightened her grip slightly.
His jaw flexed, but he didn’t step back. He just stared at her almost bewildered. She pressed on, "I’m here because I want to be.”
His shoulders visibly relaxed, he exhaled, "I haven't even taken you on a date."
"You cooked me dinner? That counts," she encouraged him.
His resolve cracked, and she saw it happen - the flicker of a decision in his eyes, the moment he let her into his lane. One hand slid from her hip up to her neck, his long fingers threading gently into her hair as he leaned down, his voice thick and deep, “technically, I didn’t cook.” His breath puffed out hot on her lips, and a second later, he landed a soft kiss on her lips.
The warmth of him melted into her, his lips brushing over hers in slow, exploratory movements as he pulled her closer to the edge of the counter and him. His touch, soft lips and an earthy scent, infused with a hint of peanut butter, filled her senses. All of it had her grasping for more.
Her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer. His kisses were deliberate, like he was mapping her, savoring every moan and sigh that escaped her. It was like he was testing where and how he could pull out similar sounds. He was really good at this. The way his lips tilted against hers, coaxing, teasing, angling her for something deeper, she felt helpless to resist.
And why would she, every kiss was better than the last, but gods when his tongue brushed against line of her lips, the heat of it stole what little air she had left. Each slow lick and press of his mouth sent waves of pleasure rolling through her.
At the touch and taste of their tongues, Stannis let out a low groan in his throat, the sound vibrating between them. Her knees tightened instinctively around his waist, pulling him closer still. He broke the kiss only long enough that she opened her eyes, meeting his, before he pressed his forehead against hers. She felt his breath coming fast and unsteady as his hands shifted to her thighs, holding her steady against the counter.
“I’ve thought about this,” he confessed, his voice so rough it sent a shiver through her. “About you, here. What it would feel like to touch you, kiss you.”
Her hands slid to his back, her pulse hammering in her ears. “And?” she whispered, her lips brushing against his as she spoke.
“And…” His eyes dropped to her mouth, studying how raw and red they were. “I have mental spreadsheet of all the things I want to do with you, Sansa. You have no idea.”
Her stomach flipped, a rush of sensations flooding her as his words sank in. “Then don’t stop,” she said, her voice a breathless plea.
His mouth crashed against hers again, this time hungrier, deeper, and she moaned as the kiss turned into something even more intense. His hands slid under her shirt, his palms warm against the bare skin of her waist. She'd been touched before, but not like this, every nerve and fiber felt like it was suddenly on fire. She arched towards him, one hand pulling on his neck and the other finding its way under his shirt, fingers roaming and desperate for more.
But Stannis pulled back slightly, his lips skimming along her jaw, then lower, tracing a line down her neck with a series of slow, deliberate kisses. She gasped, her head tipping back, giving him more access as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below her ear. Pulsing need straight to her core.
“Gods, Sansa,” he murmured against her skin, his voice strained, like he was barely holding himself back. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Her hand moved instinctively to his hair, tugging into his soft curls. She wanted to drown in him, to feel every inch of his muscles and strength wrapped around her.
Then suddenly strong hands moved under her thighs, “Hold on,” he ordered as he effortlessly lifted her against him and carried her toward the living room. She clung to him, her legs firm on his waist, feeling how hard he was for her. And when he lowered her gently onto the couch, her arms begged him to press into her and relieve the ache growing between her legs.
But he resisted her pull. Hovering over her, his weight balanced on his arms, pupils shot out dark and black against a sea of midnight blue, he told her, “I want to take my time with you,” he brushed her hair away from her face, “we're not going to rush this.”
Her core tightened at the command in his words, “Oh,” she breathed out as he licked the line of her jaw. She wasn’t sure what he meant or if she could slow down her desire. Her body was practically feral with need for him. For all of him.
His lips trailed down her neck, lingering at the base of her ear, and she shivered as his teeth grazed her skin. “I’ve waited for this,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “for so goddamn long.”
The raw honesty in his tone sliced through the haze of heat and lust clouding her mind. She blinked up at him, startled. Watching as he dipped his head again, his lips skimming along the sensitive hollow of her throat. He pressed open-mouthed kisses there, sucking gently while his fingers traced lazy, deliberate lines over her hip and thigh. He was moving between intense, fast, hard kisses and soft reverential ones. The changes in pressure and intensity maddening and perfect.
“How long?” she breathed out in a whisper, as she wiped away a curl that fell over his eyes.
He stilled for a beat, his breath warm against her collarbone. Slowly, he pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, “Last Nationals,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “You walked into that arena, and I couldn’t look away. You weren’t the quiet girl I remembered, you were...” His voice broke off, and he shook his head, his jaw flexing as if he couldn’t find the right words, “... breathtaking.”
Sansa swallowed hard as she let the weight of his words settled over her, heavy and thrilling and terrifying all at once. He wanted her - had wanted her - but he held himself back. And now, here they were, the storm raging outside, but nothing in the world felt more real or right than this moment.
“And then everything with your team happened,” he continued, his voice rougher now, his thick thigh pushing heat between her legs. “You needed a coach, and I should have said no to the Chancellor, but...” He kissed her hard again, and when she moaned, he bit the bottom of her lip lightly but with a growl that promised something harder, consuming. Sansa's hips arched forward, her core searching for the swell in his pants, moving a long leg over his to grind against him.
"Shit Sansa, you taste so good." He pulled her leg up higher, moving a hand towards the seam of her pants, then just as quickly moving it away and anchoring it on her hip instead.
“I tried. I tried so damn hard to be professional, but Sansa... it's been impossible. You're impossible.”
“Good,” she hummed as she pressed her lips into his cheek, grazing against the fresh stubble there, “Because I’ve been waiting too... wanting this too.”
Her words seemed to unleash something in him. His lips crashed against hers, no longer tentative but demanding, consuming. His hands pulled her against him as his tongue coaxed her to open to him again. She dug her fingers into his shoulders for balance as the intensity of his kiss sent a spiral of electricity up her spine.
He shifted again, his hands sliding up her sides, dragging her shirt higher until her skin was bare beneath his palms. The sensation of his rough hands against her soft skin made her shiver, and she moaned against his mouth. Parting only to pull the fabric over her head, she fell back onto the sofa's soft cushion letting her hair splay in a halo around her head.
He stilled and pulled back onto one arm, studying her mouth, running his other hand through her hair. "Fuck Sansa ... look at you."
Her eyes half-lidded as she pulled him forward over her, his tight muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt, his cock scraping hard against the place she needed it the most as he moved forward. She moaned loudly this time, and breathed out, "You’re so hard.”
He shifted slightly next to her, and rasped out as if he was giving himself a reminder, “Just this tonight... Slow, easy pace. I want you begging for more.”
She could feel the length of him, hard against her thigh, his restraint both a promise and a torment all at once. And that alone was enough to send the fire in her veins roaring higher.
“Kiss me, Stannis,” she whispered, her voice trembling with both need and trust. “We can go slow, but shit, don’t stop.”
There was something magical in the way Stannis Baratheon kissed her - a perfectly devastating blend of passion and tenderness. His lips moved against hers like a vow, slow and deliberate, each kiss building on the last. His fingers traced over her skin with maddening precision, brushing every curve, every place that made her gasp. He was memorizing her, mapping out her body with reverence and care, telegraphing with his hands where his mouth would claim her next.
When his hand finally settled over the cup of her bra, the warmth of his touch seeping through the fabric, Sansa yearned for the feel of his lips and tongue there. “Yes,” she gasped, “please there.” The air between them seemed to crackle with an aching urgency that pooled deep in her core, a longing so intense it felt like it might pull her apart.
This. This was what it should feel like. His every move, every kiss, every lingering touch was rewriting what she thought she knew about desire. Kissing Stannis was hotter, more intoxicating, than sex, or whatever that was with Harold. This was next level, and it wasn’t just physical, he wasn’t demanding his satisfaction. He was worshipping her, making her feel like she was the only person in the world.
That urged her on, she tugged hard at his shirt, desperate to feel more of him. His lips stilled against hers for just a moment before he leaned back, his breath ragged, his eyes searching hers as though asking for permission she’d already given a thousand times. And then, with a single, fluid motion, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing the lean, sculpted muscles she’d studied and longed to touch so many times at the pool.
Her fingers were on him instantly, tracing over his chest and shoulders, down to his torso, following the pronounced line of his center, the taut ridge of muscle that ran from his chest to where his waistband sat low on his hips. Her fingers hesitated just above the deep indentations that framed his waist, those sharp, tantalizing lines that disappeared beneath the fabric. Fuck, you're so perfect, it's like you're not even real. She’d seen the flex of these muscles as he stretched, swam and emerged from the water, but here, now, it was almost too much - and also, not nearly enough of him.
A fresh wave of heat rolled through her as she explored him, doing as he had done, kissing and licking and sucking all the places she traced with her fingers. When she kissed the faint line of black hair regrown and stubbled on his chest, he groaned, deep and guttural. The sound of his pleasure sparked a heady rush of satisfaction in her chest and deepened her need to feel him even closer, bare and real against her.
She wanted him, all of him, and yet, the way he was letting her touch him was also achingly enough, for now. “I could do this forever,” she gasped against his warm skin.
"Yes... this... and so much more," he said in a voice filled with certainty, "for as long as you'll let me." And with that, he kissed her again, slower and somehow even deeper this time, with an intensity that made her toes curl. A kiss that promised everything he was waiting to give her.