prev. goodqueenalys // semi hiatus

You’re taking prompts???!!! *happy dance* How about #20 (“You can borrow mine”) from the “100 Ways to Say ‘I Love You’” list?

i sure am, babe!

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“You can borrow mine.”

At his words — the warm, deep timbre of them that shoots a shiver that’s part delight, part nerves up her spine — Sansa turns to tell him no, that’s quite alright, it’s a downpour out there and it’s her own fault that she’d left her coat at home.

But Jon, ever the gentleman, has already shrugged out of his jacket, and he’s holding it open for her to slip into. A tentative smile twitches the left side of his mouth, as if he’s worried that she might turn him down.

But how could she, really? Especially when he’s looking at her like that — like he wants nothing more but for his jacket to keep her warm.

So Sansa returns his smile with a murmured “Thank you, Jon.” She turns again, to allow him to help her into his worn, wool-lined coat. His cologne lingers on the collar, and the brush of his fingers across her shoulders, down her arms, has Sansa wishing they could wrap up in his jacket together.

Jon takes her by the wrists and gently turns her ‘round so that she’s facing him. That jolt shoots up her spine again, tingling like mad, as he begins to clasp the row of buttons.

She wonders if this should feel as good as it does, or if she’s only setting herself up for heartbreak at the end of it.

Sansa is eye-level with the bob of his Adam’s apple, but her gaze snaps up to meet his when he murmurs, “Looks good on you.”

His cheeks are tinged pink. Sansa feels her own heat up, more so when she can’t contain her smile.

“You’re sweet.”

His hands pause where they’d been busy straightening the coat’s collar. He blinks a few times; confused, perhaps, that she would say such a thing to him, or anxious about what he wants to do about it, if there’s anything to be done at all.

“You deserve someone who’s sweet to you.”

Sansa’s heart picks up its pace, a rapid rat-a-tat-tat, as Jon’s fingertips sweep the pulse point in her throat. He must feel it, surely. She couldn’t hide it if she tried.

And the look in Jon’s eye now — in that steady grey gaze that’s begun to darken, to blaze, as it flits from her neck to her mouth to her eyes — tells her that he doesn’t want her to hide it at all.

A storm outside and a storm in his eyes…

Perhaps now’s the time to take the plunge.

Sansa presses her lips together and Jon’s tongue swipes across his own. He tugs her closer, just a bit, by the collar of her — his — jacket.

He glances up to hold her gaze now, his voice still low and rich, making her shiver when he asks —

“Let me be sweet to you, Sansa?”

She smiles before she can answer. It’s a trembling, face-splitting thing, and it’s all the answer Jon needs to get him smiling the same way, too.

“Yeah,” she tells him on a shaky breath, just as he leans in to touch his smiles to hers, “yeah, I can’t think of anything better than you.”