crypt | meme #004 | slow-dancing ( think outside the boxstep )

[she doesn't know how she was talked into wearing those heels again, but somehow she's wearing them and she just knows something will go wrong.

it's already gone wrong, you're with robb stark. it's wryly thought because honestly he just had to be there with glass shards on his head and shattering the peaceful life of an ordinary nurse and now she was here and--

and you like it. fuck.

but jeyne westerling doesn't say these sort of things unless particularly angry or in a place not so public as this (or drunk) and so instead she has a smile on her face and pink cheeks; speaking quickly: ]

There's a very large possibility of me stepping on your toes. Or tripping. [she says this with a straight face as she cracks a smile. she's not nervous. not really. of course not.

and how did this all happen anyway? nursing was supposed to be safe!]

[ people are watching.

it's nothing new, nothing so different, but it feels like it is, because jeyne is on his arm and no one expected that. everyone expects roslin frey, roslin frey and all the political support her father brings to the table, and robb getting in bed with her is beneficial for everyone.

everyone except him, apparently, because all he wants is jeyne westerling and her sweet smiles and the ways she hums in the morning, thick black hair tumbling down over her shoulders, just the right length for robb to tug on lightly when he wants to kiss her.

and now he tangles his fingers with hers, offers her his arm like a gentleman. ]

Hold on to me. I won't let you fall.

[ and if she did step on his toes, at least she could be the one putting bandaids on them later. ]

[if her eyes are wide, it's because she's shy. she wants to tell him that she is all kinds of wrong for him and the way she wets lips painted red is as enough a message as her heart can share.

because even if she is all sorts of wrong, bad blood, bad family bad everything--she's here. and he's being a gentleman and he doesn't see westerling on her forehead he just sees jeyne. and while she could look, run, hide from all these voices and faces--she's looking at robb.

that doesn't stop her from wanting to pull on his hands, tell him they should go take a walk, she can be barefoot or dance just the two of them and kiss and do all the things that wouldn't be right--it doesn't stop her from wanting.

how did this even happen. she wants to say, how did she stop being so careful--was it when he blushed or had that smile or was it the curls? (she had such a thing for hair) and she just doesn't know.

she lightly pinches his arm at that, biting back a snort.]

Such a charmer, Robb. [but do you even know that no one ever talks to me like this? is what her face says, all pink and tan skin.

it's that and so many other things that keeps her standing there, sliding her arm through his in those heels she always wanted to try wearing again. and she likes to think she's putting on her brave face, smile and all.]

Okay. You've got me now. [you've had me for a while. ugh..]

[ there's a squeeze of his fingers, tight through hers. it's meant to be reassuring. i won't let anything happen to you. even if they're descending into the snake pit, into the den of wolves and lions and other dangerous things just waiting to snap up unsuspecting people and crush them in their jaws.

or maybe robb's just being too literal in that comparison.

regardless, he holds her hand tightly in the crook of his elbow, a little smile lingering about his mouth at her words.

you've got me, she says, and perhaps it's not meant to be taken any other way than just the clutch of her hand against his bicep, but he wants it to be more. wants it to be something binding and possessive, but that seems too much, especially for here and now, in this place with so many eyes on them. so he smiles, leans close to whisper in her ear. ]

I mean to hold you, Jeyne Westerling.

[ the way a conqueror holds a castle. ]

Do you want to dance?

[there will always be a part of her going back to a time when the cameras burned hot on her skin, hotter than anything. where she had slipped and no one had caught her when she fell.

when the eyes were scrutinizing and it was every member of her family for themselves. but it's not like that now.

she can feel his fingers laced through hers, warm and steady. she focuses on his curls, his blue eyes and his smile and nothing else. jeyne tries to imagine that it's just them alone going for a dance, and she's just jeyne. and it seems that robb is okay with that.

(just jeyne.)

as he whispers her full name in her ear it leaves ghosts of fingers on the back of her neck, little goosebumps that are far from unpleasant. his breath is warm and it's safe there; folded in the crook of his arm.

she glances down, at their folded sides interwoven and her cheeks color as she looks up at him knowingly.]

Not every day I get to wear something like this.

[her face softens, not so guarded, nervous. all she needs to focus on is robb. one of jeyne's soft, amused smiles tugs at the corners of her mouth.]

I did dress up, after all. Hold me then, Robb Stark. Hold me and dance with me. [she then laughs a little, lifting one red heel]

Or I'll bring us both down.

[ he smiles, kisses her cheek before they descend the stairs. all are watching, the freys with expressions of knife-edged distaste. robb turns slightly, putting himself between those expressions and jeyne, because none of this is her fault. it isn't her fault that robb's head was turned, that he opened his eyes to see her sitting aside of him. it's not jeyne's fault that her soft hands and sweet smile knocked all sense of duty out of his head. it was robb's own choice, just as it's robb's choice now to spin them onto the floor, slid a hand to the small of her back and tug her close. ]

It's a waltz. They're easy, just hold on to me.

[ there's a smile softening his face, the happiest he's ever been at one of these affairs. ]

You can stand on my shoes, if you like.

[jeyne thinks it's a little cute, that he's shielding her from the eyes of the freys. but she can't help but think in the back of her mind that this is all wrong. that it can only end badly. and she leans in a little to the kiss as if to make it last, like a luck-charm on her skin as she presses close to his side, a faint, breathy laugh escaping her. ]

Waltz..right. And it's usually the guy that doesn't know how to dance.

[she would bite her lip but her red lipstick would come off and tongue in cheek doesn't look good on cameras, so instead she quietly laughs into his shoulder]

Let's make that a last resort, Robb. These are weapons, let no one tell you different.

[but when she catches a glance at him she raises a brow, lips twitching slightly.]

I'd almost think you were enjoying yourself.

[ it's an instinct he doesn't understand, but doesn't mind. jeyne is something to be protected, something precious and necessary as the air in his lungs. ]

I've been waltzing since I learned to walk.

[ because people always think it's adorable, little children dancing at state functions. robb's been a feature for longer than he'd cared to remember, growing up before the eyes of the american public. and now here he was with a girl on his arm, a girl he might just love. it's a heady thing. ]

And I like these functions better, when I have you here with me.

[ everything is easier to tolerate with jeyne at his side to laugh and squeeze his arm and offer the kind of silent support he's never realized he wanted. ]

Impressive.

[and she sounds sincere when she says that, as her feet try to follow him and her dress curls around her calves. jeyne imagines a little robb in her mind, did he have a serious expression back then too? no..i don't think so. because she can see a smiling child in her mind and it makes her lips curve fondly as she lowers her eyes, keeping her body close to him.

he sounds genuine. when he says that. when he pulls her close and gives her those rare smiles that she collects and stores away in her mind. there's no reason for her to be here, but maybe there is. ]

Well, I can't imagine going to so many and not having at least a somewhat good time.

[she laughs quietly, glancing down--almost to look at her feet and just because sometimes she doesn't know what to do when he looks at her like that.]

Do you want to know a secret?

[ back then robb stark was too serious for such a small boy, small and angry and prone to lashing out with fists at inopportune moments. and maybe now he was better at it, better at playing his role and keeping his temper in hand, but the little boy wasn't gone, not truly.

the metal of her zipper is cool against his palm. he likes this, likes the way she fits so neatly against him, as if they were made for each other. two corresponding puzzle pieces, neatly matched and moving in tandem. her head ducks and he mirrors her, wanting to keep eye contact, keep his view of her face. ]

I'd like to know any secret you wish to tell me.

[ jeyne smiles a bit, her forehead barely brushing his as she wets her lips, (ever a habit), and purses them. she glances up again--then down once more. ]

It's embarassing. The last time I went to a function was..well, it was a really long time ago.And I had these shoes. They just looked like something I wanted to say I could pull off, so I wore them.

[ something ripples across her face, her brows furrowing. ]

I tripped in them. In front of everyone. By then our family had nothing worth keeping to anyone. It felt like the last straw.
So-- I..put them in my closet. Said I'd never wear them again because I wasn't supposed to, obviously. It wasn't major news, and everyone forgot about it--but I didn't.

[she forces a quick smile because she doesn't want to sound awkward.]

Yet I didn't throw them away.

[she glances up at him with a wry smile,
rolling her eyes at herself. ]

I figured they'd just give me more bad luck but I loved those shoes. So I kept them around. I didn't have anyone to help me stay upright with them back then.

[ she leans in, smiling into his shoulder ]

I'm wearing them right now, Robb. And I haven't fallen once. What do you think of that? I never thought I'd wear these again. I think you make me a little bit lucky, what do you think? I haven’t fallen down yet, but here’s fingers crossed.

[ ( it's too late now, isn't it? )
to run away in these heels because if she didn't have him to dance with she'd just fall. but she's already falling in another way, isn't she? ]

[ she lets it happen once. ]

[ just once and just at four in the morning, in his kitchen with a mostly empty tub of ice cream on the counter and her spoon warding off his for each bite. there is some sort of party going in a flat nearby; the walls are thick enough to lessen the sound, but not erase it completely, and while earlier the deep and methodic bass notes had been more than enough to keep them awake, even now as the genre has faded into something akin to smooth jazz sleep still does not come. ]

[ fucking comes. he comes and she comes and then they come from his bedroom for ice cream when he offers to play host again. asha has no problem taking him for all he has, and that includes the contents of his ice box. ]

[ it's chocolate. and she doesn't care much for chocolate, but likes it more than vanilla, so she eats it and listens to the saxophone solo. eventually she lets her spoon rest on the counter and beckons him to her, reaches out her hand for his and embraces him in something that is neither hug nor kiss nor simple touch; just presence, and slight swaying. ]

[ theon goes home with ros, and so robb goes home with asha, comfortable in the knowledge that they have all night and most of the morning to spend before they even have to consider the thought that theon might be disentangling himself from ros' sheets.

there's music. for a long time it's disruptive, and they fuck through it, get lost in each other in the assumption that when they've finished they'll be exhausted, ready for sleep. but they aren't, and asha raids his fridge, makes off with some ice cream and robb lets her. it's good, something cold in the hot summer night.

and then she surprises him.

she does things like this sometimes, so rarely that he can never prepare. she reaches up her arms, winds them around his neck and then they're swaying slow circles around his kitchen, with his hands hitching up beneath the fabric of her (his, this must be his) t-shirt to rest on the bare skin of her hips. his head ducks, cheek brushing hers, turning into her neck ]

Didn't know you danced.

I don't.

[ she corrects him lightly, because this - this does not count as dancing. as a child she had no doubt taken a ballet class or two before her mother learned that the relentless fighting about the tutu and leotard was not worth it, never worth it, and had let her stop. asha had been far too much 'one of the boys' when she had been younger to be interested in dancing; when her brothers cranked the music on their living room stereo and jumped from couch to couch in attempts to be mock rockstars she had joined them. but when it came to the age where school dances became a regular, yearly event she had staved off ever attending. ]

[ no one had minded. her father liked to think her more boy than girl, so a lack of any girlish indulgences swept under his radar and were generally ignored. so, no. asha greyjoy was not dancer. ]

[ she stepped on his toes for emphasis, though out of shoes it doesn't stand to cause much harm. just discomfort and a prove a point. ]

I suppose you've danced with lots of girls, though, haven't you.

[ she was right, and there was no point in denying it. people like dancing with robb stark at functions. there was no shortage of eligible daughters nudged over by their mothers, and robb had taken them all by the hand and whirled them around the dance floor like a dutiful son.

but that was different than this, half-dressed in his kitchen listening to slow blues guitar rumbling through the wall, hands pressed against bare skin. there had never been anything like this. ]

At functions, yes.

[ there's a quiet, indignant huff at the pressure of her foot on his toes, but he doesn't pull away. that's how it is with asha, just as many bruises gained as lovebites when they part in the mornings. ]

It's not so hard.

[ she laughs at him. it's more a chuckle, low and short, but not quiet enough to be drowned out by the music. it is not shallow and jaded enough to be drowned out by the mask of insincerity. it is hard to be consistant at early hours of the morning; it is a time for sleep, or some sort of rest, and sex with subsequent follow up dancing did not quite substitute that. ]

[ humor does. for she laughs in his ear and drawls sweetly; ]

Oh, you're right, it can't be hard.

[ she uncurls one arm from around his neck, reaches for her spoon and manages to scoop a small dollop of ice cream from the container with reasonable grace. it drips. it's melting. but asha doesn't mind; it tastes the same when she takes the bite in her mouth, and when she speaks again, it is with the spoon still in mouth. ]

You've mastered it.

[ there's a soft breath of laughter before he reaches to take the spoon from her mouth, lean in to kiss the stray drops from her lips. everything is easier in this half-darkness, so deep into the night that masks fall away with such ease. ]

My brothers and sisters are better than me. I was always skipping lessons.

[ it had been easier to shirk his duties when he was younger, too young to understand what was expected. he'd been such a tiny bit of a thing, stealing away to skate along frozen ponds and pretend to be wayne gretsky. he misses it, those solitary afternoons spent outside, skating until his toes froze and his cheeks were red and chapped. ]

And you dripped that on the floor.

[ she'd closed her teeth for a moment, held onto the spoon for a playful moment before letting him take it and occupying her empty mouth with kisses. asha had licked her lips then, slowly and thoughtfully, and decided that if they made a robb stark's mouth flavored ice cream, she would buy it. ]

Don't step on my feet and I think you'll have gotten your money's worth.

[ she shrugged, though had no problem stepping on his again to accentuate and ironic point before her attention was distracted, torn from his face to look at the floor and the little ice cream splatter. ]

Well, that's your fault. You keep leading me away from the counter.

[ and whether that is a jape at his dancing skills or an invitation to press her to the marble countertops is anyone's guess. the only one probably guessing right so far is the man playing deep jazz blues on the prerecorded cd next door. ]

[ there's a muffled grunt in response. his poor toes, what did they ever do to deserve this?

but that's all the admonishment offered, because what use is it complaining? he likes this moment too much to bother with it, and instead tightens his hands about her hips, steers her in slow circles around the drips of ice cream. this is effortless. robb knows dancing, has done it often enough that it's second nature. and instead of thinking about steps, he's free to give his attention to her, the way their bodies sway in time to the music. ]

I'll have to wash the floor now, you know.

[ because theon wouldn't do it. half the mess of this place came from situations where robb declared he wasn't fucking cleaning up anymore, and theon shrugging his shoulders and waiting until robb gave in. ]

[ he's almost too good at this, to the point where it isn't even fun to be sloppy with her footwork anymore. but far be it for her to let this turn into some sort of professional, uppity affair (affair was a good word for it). no, she would not stand up straight for this, nor stop knocking his knees with hers or stepping on his feet every so often. ]

[ she leans on him, too, preventing this from being too classy and romantic an encounter, though the damper asha is boldly trying to put on her uninhibited actions is rather ruined by the soft, wet kiss she places on his jaw bone. ]

I think you'd look dashing in a maid's apron. [ she breaths against his skin before dissolving into a chuckle. ]

[ it's par for the course with asha. banged knees and smushed toes, it's expected and makes him laugh softly. maybe there'll be bruises on his shins tomorrow, who knows, but that's the price he pays to be this close, and he bears it without complaint. ]

Maybe next time you sleep over.

[ one of theon's girls probably left one somewhere in the place anyway.

this close, she can most likely feel the full body shiver in response to lips against skin. she lays a kiss on his jaw, and his grip on her tightens instinctively, fingers digging into her hip. ]

[ if there is a next time, she thinks quietly, not even letting her own self conscious ruminate on that train of thought. it was not very hard to get her little brother out of the apartment. they both knew him so well - one of the few times where she recognized that robb stark knew her little brother as his own and didn't feel an immediate flare of aggravation in her chest - and between the two if them it was no trouble herding him about. her particularly favorite event had been the time she had called, told him she had something important to talk to with him, told him she was coming over, and when he threatened to not be there, to avoid her, she had gone anyway. she had texted him constantly the rest of the evening, giving him constant and unchanging updates about her location: his apartment. ]

[ that had been the first time she had spent a whole night, and left sometime after eight the next morning. later, when theon had called to interrogate her about her location - her own hotel room now - and asked what had been so damned important, she had told him she had forgotten. ]

[ asha squirmed gently, pressed her from to his and managed to press another kiss further up his Hawkins before dissolving into stored chuckle. her mouth stayed on his skin, lips brushing his cheeks and eyes drifting closed. ]

You shouldn't hold me like that, Stark. I might think you're trying for another round.

[ he chuckles. it would be an easy thing, to press her against the counter, to lift her up to sit on it and kiss the words out of her mouth. sometimes robb thinks they'll manage sex on every surface of the apartment, which is probably a cruel thing come to think of it, but appealing in its way. ]

Perhaps you shouldn't kiss me like that, Greyjoy, and then I might not hold you so tightly.

[ tightly enough to press bruises into her skin, like the ones he once sucked onto her collarbone in a foolish, foolish moment. marks were just this side of possessive, something robb told himself he wasn't, so he barred himself from leaving marks all over her skin, as if that were proof of his unattachment. ]

meme #004 | slow-dancing ( think outside the boxstep )

robb stark; asoiaf (modern au)

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i do what i want shut up

i am not complaining /chinhands

the relentless tagging will continue until moral improves.

are you tyler durden in this scenario or am i ?

i'm always tyler you should know this by now.

i can live with being the narrator.

which one of us gets shot in the face again.

i think it's both.

it's probably both

accurate.

yeah it's totally both. closed casket ceremonies.

matching caskets

white lillies and little lace pillows in them!

so cute

our funerals are gonna be boss

you bet

better than our joint weddings ngl

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