Chapter Text
The great hall of Winterfell was alive with the low hum of conversation and the crackle of enormous hearths, but the tension in the air was thicker than the furs draped over the benches. Banners of direwolves and lions hung side by side, uncomfortable allies, bound now by something far more intimate than treaties or hostages.
Jaime Lannister stood rigid at the front of the hall, golden hair freshly washed and braided with threads of crimson and silver, his usual mocking smirk nowhere to be found. The elaborate white and gold doublet they’d forced him into felt like a cage, the high collar brushing his freshly scent-marked neck. The maesters had given him suppressants for weeks to dull his heats, but nothing could fully hide the sweet, golden-amber scent that still clung to him, especially now, under the weight of so many northern eyes.
Across from him, Robb Stark looked every inch the Young Wolf and King in the North.
Robb was devastatingly attractive in the torchlight, broad-shouldered and powerfully built from years of training and war, his frame filling out the dark grey and white tunic with quiet confidence. Fiery red curls fell just past his shoulders, a few strands escaping to frame a strong, stubbled jaw. His bright Tully-blue eyes, sharp and intense, were fixed on Jaime with an unreadable expression. The alpha’s natural scent, crisp pine, fresh snow, warm hearth-smoke, and something deeper, more primal, rolled off him in waves, cutting through the hall like a northern wind. It made Jaime’s stomach tighten despite himself.
The septon’s voice droned on with the old words of union, but Jaime barely heard them. His golden gaze flicked up to meet Robb’s, defiant even now. The septon finally tied the ribbon around their clasped hands—crimson and grey—and declared them husband and wife under the old gods and the new. A cheer went up, half-hearted from the Lannister side, thunderous from the northerners.
...
The heavy oak door of the Lord’s chambers had barely closed behind them when the noise of the feast faded into a distant murmur. Only the crackle of the large hearth and the howl of the northern wind outside remained. Jaime stood motionless in the center of the room, spine straight as a lance, golden hair spilling over his shoulders. The ceremonial doublet had already been discarded; now Robb’s large, calloused hands worked slowly down the laces of the fine white shirt beneath. Each tug loosened the fabric, exposing more of Jaime’s pale, scarred skin to the warm firelight.
Robb was right behind him, close enough that the alpha’s broad chest brushed against Jaime’s back with every breath. The Young Wolf’s fiery red curls tickled Jaime’s bare shoulder as he leaned in, nose tracing the sensitive line of the omega’s neck. Robb inhaled deeply, a low, involuntary rumble vibrating in his throat at the rich, golden-amber scent that bloomed stronger now that suppressants were no longer dulling it
Robb's stubbled jaw scraped lightly against Jaime’s pulse point as he nosed higher, lips barely brushing Jaime's scent gland. One big hand slid around to splay possessively across Jaime’s flat stomach, steadying him, while the other continued its patient work on the laces. Jaime refused to lean back into the touch, but he couldn’t stop the faint shiver that ran down his spine when Robb’s scent wrapped around him like a cloak. It was maddeningly comforting and arousing all at once.
“You’re enjoying this far too much, Stark,” Jaime said, voice tighter than he wanted, the usual Lannister drawl fraying at the edges. His hands clenched at his sides, fighting the instinct to arch into the alpha’s warmth. “Tell me, do all northern wolves drool over their prey before they devour it?”
Robb chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through Jaime’s back. He finished with the laces and gently peeled the shirt open, letting it slide down Jaime’s arms until it pooled at his wrists. Broad palms smoothed over newly bared shoulders and down the lean muscle of Jaime’s arms, tracing old tourney scars with surprising reverence.
“Only when the prey smells this good,” Robb answered honestly, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below Jaime’s ear. His free hand drifted lower, fingertips teasing the waistband of Jaime’s breeches. “And only when he’s my husband now.” He nosed again, slower this time, dragging the flat of his tongue along the omega’s scent gland until Jaime’s knees threatened to buckle. The alpha’s voice dropped even lower, thick with restrained want.
“I’ll make it good for you, Jaime. I swear it.”
Robb’s hips pressed forward just enough for Jaime to feel the hard line of his arousal through their remaining clothes, the promise of a thick knot already beginning to swell at the base. The alpha’s bright blue eyes were dark with hunger when he finally turned Jaime around to face him, one hand cupping the omega’s jaw, thumb stroking over the sharp cheekbone. Robb walked him backwards to the massive canopied bed, the thick furs dipped under Jaime's weight as he laid back, golden hair fanned out across the pillows like spilled sunlight.
He didn’t fight as Robb pulled down his trousers, undressing himself soon after. He didn’t snarl or claw or spit venom the way part of him still wanted to. What was the point? This was his life now, traded like a prized mare, wedded to the Young Wolf to bind lion to direwolf. A hole for the Stark pup. A pretty omega bargaining chip with a Lannister name and a cunt that the alliance demanded be filled.
He spread his legs without being told, knees falling open, exposing the slick, flushed folds of his cunt to the firelight. His scent had thickened in the warm room, sweet amber and honeyed arousal mixed with the sharp edge of resignation. Jaime stared up at the carved wooden beams overhead, jaw tight, waiting for the inevitable.
Robb knelt between his thighs, broad and powerful, red curls wild and falling into his bright blue eyes. His massive cock stood heavy and flushed against his stomach, thick, veined, the head already glistening, the knot at the base swollen and promising. The alpha’s chest heaved with barely-leashed control as he gripped Jaime’s hips, thumbs pressing into soft skin, lining himself up.
The blunt head of Robb’s cock nudged against Jaime’s slick entrance, teasing the sensitive rim, ready to shove inside in one powerful thrust.
Then Robb stopped.
A harsh breath tore from his throat. His hands trembled once on Jaime’s hips before he pulled back sharply, as if burned. The alpha sat up, cock bobbing angrily between his legs, untouched and aching. Without a word he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, moving to the heavy chair by the roaring fireplace. He dropped into it, elbows on his knees, head bowed, red curls curtaining his face. The fire painted gold and orange across his broad, muscled back and the tense line of his shoulders.
The silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of logs and the distant wind.
Jaime lay there, legs still parted, cunt clenching uselessly around nothing, slick slowly cooling on his thighs. Heat burned in his cheeks, humiliation, sharp and unfamiliar. He couldn’t even get fucked right, apparently. Not good enough for the great Robb Stark. Not even worth a quick rut to seal the damned pact.
Jaime pushed himself up on his elbows, golden eyes narrowed, voice dripping with bitter mockery to hide the sting.
“Well,” he drawled, the Lannister sneer firmly back in place, “this is humiliating for both of us, isn’t it? The mighty Young Wolf can’t even bring himself to mount his new wife. What’s the matter, Stark? Does the lion scent turn your stomach after all? Or are you just realizing you’d rather fuck a sheep than a Lannister?”
Robb didn’t look up immediately. His big hands flexed, then curled into fists. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough, strained with something deeper than simple lust.
“I won’t do it like this.” He lifted his head, blue eyes meeting Jaime’s across the room, intense, conflicted, hungry but not cruel. “You’re lying there like a sacrifice on an altar, Jaime. I can smell the resignation on you… it’s choking the want right out of the air.”
Robb dragged a hand through his red curls, exhaling sharply. His cock was still hard, still leaking, but he made no move to touch it or return to the bed.
The fire had burned low by the time Jaime turned onto his side, curling away from the alpha still seated by the hearth. He pulled the heavy furs up over his bare shoulder and closed his eyes, jaw locked so tightly it ached. Humiliation sat like a stone in his throat, hot, choking, impossible to swallow. He couldn’t even get fucked right. The one thing every omega was bred and told they were made for, and here he was, legs still slick and open, cunt throbbing uselessly while the Young Wolf sat there like a statue of northern honor.
His omega, traitorous, needy thing, whined inside his chest, devastated. Rejected. Held open, offered, and turned away. It didn’t matter that the alpha was Robb Stark, the boy who’d once been his enemy. It only cared that an alpha had looked at him, scented him, and still walked away.
Sleep came eventually, thin and restless.
...
The next few days were worse.
Robb kept his word. He didn't touch Jaime again. They shared the lord’s chambers because the alliance demanded it, but the great bed might as well have been an ocean between them. Robb slept in the chair by the fire most nights, or on the narrow cot the servants dragged in when the silence grew too loud. He spoke only when necessary, polite, clipped northern courtesy that made Jaime want to scream.
“Good morrow.”
“The maesters wish to see you.”
“There’s more stew if you’re hungry.”
Jaime thanked the old gods and the new for the distance. He told himself he was relieved. No hands on him. No knot. No claim.
But his omega was utterly devastated.
It paced and clawed and whimpered behind his ribs every time Robb’s scent, pine and smoke and strong, warm alpha, drifted across the room and then pulled away again. Jaime bathed three times a day, scrubbing until his skin was raw, but nothing could rid him of the sour, sharp edge his own scent had taken on. Golden-amber had curdled into something bitter and metallic, like spoiled honey and old blood. The servants exchanged glances. The maesters asked careful, probing questions about heats and bonding and why the lord’s omega still carried no mating mark.
By the eighth night, Jaime had had enough.
He cornered Robb in the solar after the evening meal, the door slammed shut behind them. Firelight painted the room in harsh oranges and reds.
“Just get on with it, Stark,” Jaime spat, voice low and vicious to hide the tremor underneath. “Fuck me. Bite me. Do whatever it is you northern savages need to do to shut the maesters up. I’m tired of their side glances and their bloody questions. I’m tired of smelling like failure.”
Robb exhaled slowly, broad shoulders slumping. His bright blue eyes flicked over Jaime’s face, searching, conflicted, before he sighed, deep and resigned.
“Jaime…”
“Don’t.” Jaime’s golden eyes flashed. “Don’t you dare make this noble. Just do it.”
Robb stood. He was so bloody huge, taller, wider, every inch of him carved from years of war and winter. He crossed the room in two strides, caught Jaime by the wrist, and pulled him toward the bed without another word.
Clothes came off in silence. Robb stripped him efficiently, almost gently, then shed his own tunic and breeches. His cock sprang free, gods, it was obscene. Thick as Jaime’s wrist, veined and flushed dark, the head already leaking. The knot at the base was even bigger, swollen and heavy with the promise of what was coming. Jaime had never taken a cock before. Only Cersei, soft, slick, omega fingers and tongues and grinding in dark corners of the Red Keep. Nothing like this.
Robb laid him down on his back, pushed his knees up and apart, and settled between them. One big hand gripped Jaime’s hip to hold him open. The other guided that massive cock to his entrance.
“Try to breathe,” Robb murmured, voice rough.
The first push was brutal.
Jaime’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp as the thick head breached him, stretching his cunt wider than he thought possible. It burned, sharp, overwhelming. Slick helped, but not enough, he was tight, untouched, and Robb was fucking huge. Inch after inch sank in, slow and relentless, until Jaime’s belly felt full and the stretch bordered on too much. His hands fisted in the furs, golden eyes wide and wet.
“Fuck— Stark—” he choked out.
Robb’s jaw was clenched, red curls sticking to his sweat-damp forehead, stubble scraping Jaime’s neck as he leaned down. “You’re doing so well,” he breathed, the praise slipping out before he could stop it. “So tight… seven hells, Jaime.”
He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush, the swollen knot pressed right against Jaime’s rim. For a long moment Robb just stayed there, letting him adjust, chest heaving. Then he began to move, deep, powerful strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside Jaime and forced broken sounds from his throat.
The omega in him sang even as his pride screamed. Finally. Claimed. Filled. The sour edge of his scent began to sweeten almost immediately, honey and amber blooming again under the heavy musk of alpha and arousal.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Robb growled against his neck, voice wrecked. “I’ll stop—”
“Don’t you dare,” Jaime hissed, legs wrapping around Robb’s waist despite himself. “Finish it.”
Robb’s teeth found the junction of Jaime’s neck and shoulder. He bit down hard as his knot finally caught, thick, burning, locking them together. Jaime cried out, back arching, cunt clenching rhythmically around the impossible stretch as the first hot pulse of come flooded him.
The mating bite sank deep. Blood and bond and alpha scent crashed over him like a wave.
Robb shuddered through his release, hips grinding in tiny, possessive circles, knot pulsing again and again until Jaime was overflowing, belly slightly swollen with it. When the knot finally began to go down, long minutes later, Robb didn’t pull out right away. He stayed buried deep, forehead pressed to Jaime’s, breathing hard.
Jaime rolled away the moment Robb’s knot deflated enough to slip free. He turned onto his side, back to the alpha, and pulled the furs high over his shoulder without a word. The fresh bite on his neck throbbed in time with his pulse, hot, claiming, impossible to ignore. Robb’s spend still leaked slowly from his stretched cunt, marking the sheets, but Jaime pretended it wasn’t there. He slept in silence, jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.
...
The heavy oak door to the Lord’s chambers slammed shut with more force than necessary, the sound echoing like a thunderclap through the stone corridors of Winterfell. Robb Stark stood in the threshold for a moment, shoulders heaving, snow still clinging to the shoulders of his thick cloak and melting into dark patches on the wool. His red curls were damp and wild from the wind, plastered to his forehead and temples. Mud and blood flecked his boots and the hem of his tunic, another long day of duties, another council that had dragged into the night, another set of bickering lords and sharp, edged messages from the south.
Jaime was already in the room, standing near the hearth in only a loose linen tunic that barely reached mid-thigh, golden hair unbound and gleaming in the firelight. He’d been waiting, pacing earlier, but now he simply turned, arms crossed, golden eyes narrowing at the sight of his husband.
“You’re late,” Jaime said, voice clipped, the Lannister drawl sharpened to a blade’s edge. “Again. The maesters sent another bloody raven asking about the bond. I told them to shove their questions up their—”
“Not now, Jaime.” Robb’s voice was low, rough, exhaustion and frustration bleeding through every syllable. He yanked off his cloak and tossed it over the back of a chair with more force than needed. The pine-and-smoke scent that usually wrapped around him like comfort was edged tonight—bitter, stormy, like wind whipping through pine forests before a blizzard. “I’ve spent the last six hours listening to Glover and Karstark snarl at each other over grazing rights while your father’s latest letter threatens to burn half the Riverlands if we don’t bend the knee faster. And then Theon's name came up. Again.”
Jaime’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “Oh, wonderful. So the great Young Wolf comes crawling back to his lion wife with his tail between his legs because an Ironborn bitch is still haunting him? How touching.”
Robb’s head snapped up, bright Tully-blue eyes flashing with something raw and wounded. “He's not— Seven hells, Jaime, can you not be snappy for one gods-damned night?” He dragged a hand through his wet curls, leaving them more disheveled. “I’m trying. I’m trying to hold this cursed alliance together, to be the king they all want me to be, and every time I walk through that door you look at me like I’m the enemy still. Like this bond means nothing.”
Jaime’s lips curled into a bitter smile, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it, hurt, maybe, or the same restless need that had been gnawing at both of them since that first awkward claiming. “Perhaps because you still treat me like a hostage in silks. Polite words, separate sides of the bed, and a knot only when the maesters start whispering too loudly. Forgive me if I’m not swooning over my devoted alpha.”
Robb crossed the room in three strides, towering over Jaime, the heat of his body cutting through the chill he’d brought in from outside. Up close, the exhaustion was carved deep into his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the tight set of his stubbled jaw, the way his broad shoulders sagged just slightly under the weight of it all. His scent surged, heavy and primal, wrapping around Jaime like a storm front.
“I’m not your enemy anymore,” Robb growled, voice dropping into that low, rumbling register that made Jaime’s omega instincts sit up and take notice despite everything. “You’re mine. My husband. My omega. And tonight I—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply through his nose. “I just… I need…”
He didn’t finish the sentence with words. Instead, large calloused hands gripped Jaime’s waist, spinning him around and walking him backwards until the backs of Jaime’s thighs hit the edge of the massive bed. Jaime’s golden eyes widened slightly, a sharp retort dying on his tongue as Robb dropped to his knees in front of him, right there on the cold stone floor, the mighty Young Wolf kneeling like a supplicant.
“Robb—what are you—”
“Quiet,” Robb muttered, but there was no real heat in it, only desperate hunger. His hands shoved the hem of Jaime’s tunic up roughly, bunching the fabric at his hips and exposing the smooth, pale skin of his thighs and the flushed, already-slick folds of his cunt. The golden-amber scent bloomed instantly in the warm room, sweet and heady, undercut with the faint metallic edge of lingering resentment.
Robb leaned in without hesitation, burying his face between Jaime’s legs. A low, broken groan tore from his throat the moment his tongue dragged through the slick heat, broad and flat, tasting the sweetness that had been driving him half-mad for days. Jaime’s hands flew to Robb’s red curls, fingers tangling tight, not pushing away, but not quite pulling him closer either.
“Gods— Stark—” Jaime’s voice cracked, the snappish tone fracturing as Robb’s stubbled jaw scraped deliciously against his inner thighs. The alpha’s tongue was relentless, licking long stripes from entrance to clit, circling the sensitive nub before dipping inside again, fucking into him with wet, obscene sounds. Robb’s big hands gripped Jaime’s ass, spreading him wider, holding him open as he devoured him like a starving man at a feast.
Jaime’s knees buckled. He would have fallen if not for the iron grip on his hips and the bed behind him. A broken moan slipped free despite his best efforts, hips jerking forward into the wet heat of Robb’s mouth. The alpha’s scent was everywhere now, pine, smoke, snow, and that deep primal musk that made Jaime’s cunt clench and leak more slick onto Robb’s eager tongue.
Robb pulled back just enough to speak, lips glistening, voice wrecked and raw. “You taste incredible,” he rasped, blue eyes dark and glassy as they flicked up to meet Jaime’s. “Even when you’re spitting venom at me. Especially then.” Then he dove back in, sucking Jaime’s clit into his mouth with just the right pressure, two thick fingers sliding into his cunt without warning, curling hard against that spot inside that made stars burst behind Jaime’s eyelids.
Jaime’s head fell back, golden hair spilling over his shoulders as a sharp cry tore from his throat. His thighs trembled, the omega inside him purring and keening at the sudden, overwhelming attention after days of cold distance. “Fuck—Robb—don’t you dare stop, you bastard—”
Robb didn’t. He ate him out with single-minded focus, tongue and fingers working in tandem, growling and humming against sensitive flesh until Jaime was shaking apart. The tension that had been coiled tight in Jaime’s chest all evening unraveled in a rush of heat and slick and broken moans. He came hard, cunt clenching rhythmically around Robb’s fingers, flooding the alpha’s mouth with fresh slick as his vision whited out.
Robb kept licking him through it, gentler now, lapping up every drop like it was the only thing keeping him sane. When Jaime finally sagged, panting and boneless against the bed, Robb rose to his feet, towering again, lips swollen and shiny, red curls a mess from Jaime’s fingers.
Jaime stared at him, chest still heaving, golden eyes half-lidded and wary. The bite on his neck throbbed faintly, warm and claiming. For once, a sharp retort didn’t come. Robb’s blue eyes darkened with renewed hunger. He pushed Jaime back onto the furs, following him down, the weight of his powerful body pressing him into the bed as the night stretched on, filled with the sounds of wind, fire, and two reluctant mates finally giving in to what the bond demanded.