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the sea's asleep & all the rivers dream

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The phone alarm has to ring several times before it first pierces the heavy fog of sleep, at first only registering enough that Robb wants it to stop. Groaning, he blindly stretches out an arm to put it on snooze.

There's a distressed, sleepy noise in his ear, and then an arm tightening around his waist. It’s not a familiar sensation, and it doesn’t make sense in Robb’s morning-addled head until he remembers that last night he’d badgered Theon into spooning with him.

Cautiously, Robb presses back more fully against Theon. It doesn't seem to wake Theon up, just makes him nuzzle a little harder into Robb's shoulder.

Robb smiles to himself. Theon must still be asleep, or he'd be pushing Robb away instead of clinging. And probably denying ever doing it in the first place.

Then Robb remembers why he’s up in the first place. He glances over at the clock. If he gets up before his alarm goes off again, he'll have enough time for a shower, and he'll get a chance to skim those notes for work he's been putting off reading. It's what he should do, but the thought of crawling out from under the covers kind of makes him want to cry.

Spooning is one of Robb’s favorite things. It’s not something he has often, because Theon has weird hangups about cuddling, and Robb usually tries not to push too much. Last night was freezing, though, even under the huge pile of comforters. Robb had endured the shivering for a few minutes, before deciding it was ridiculous not to take advantage of Theon's warmth. He’d reached back, decisively pulled Theon's arm over him, said “I'm cold. I need your body heat.” He then proceeded to pretend to be sleeping, steadfastly ignoring Theon's protests. It’d taken a minute, but eventually Theon settled back in behind him.

It was a good way to fall asleep, and an even better way to wake up. Robb's tucked snugly against Theon, the both of them cocooned in the heavy blankets. Their legs are still tangled together, with Robb's back flush against Theon’s chest, Theon’s nose pressed against Robb's shoulder, his arm firmly holding Robb in place. There’s an enveloping sense of safety in the sheltered nest. It's comfortable almost to the point of bliss.

His eyes can’t seem to stay open. Getting up seems like a monumental task this early in the morning. All he wants is to bask in this feeling before he has to get out of bed (ugh) and go to work (ughhh). It’s harder because of how rare this is; he doesn’t get to wake up this well every day. It seems horribly unfair that he can’t indulge in it while it lasts.

Well, the snooze button was made for a reason.

Decision made, Robb contentedly stretches out the morning stiffness, arching his back and letting his toes curl, before burrowing back into the comforters, and back against Theon. The textures all feel so pleasant against his sleep-warmed skin that his nerves feel like they’re purring.

Robb's dozed off again by the time the ungodly phone alarm cacophony starts up again, fifteen minutes later. He slits his eyes open to glare balefully at his phone.

"Turn it off," Theon mumbles against Robb's neck, voice rough from sleep.

Robb shivers a little. "If I do that, I have to get up."

Theon groans. "Fuck," he says. Robb's inclined to agree.

Still, he can’t stay in here forever. Because he's an adult, and sometimes adults have to do things they don’t want to. With a deep, resigned sigh, Robb reaches out and thumbs off his alarm. He starts squirming out of Theon's grasp, only to have Theon cling tighter.

"Theon," Robb says, exasperated. Last night he doesn't want to cuddle, and now he doesn't want to stop; it’s so contrary, so typically Theon. “I have work.

“Mmm. Better get up, then,” Theon says, making no move whatsoever to free him.

"That was the plan,” Robb says. “Theon, seriously—”

What he was going to say turns into an embarrassing squeak when Theon presses a warm, opened-mouth kiss to the back of his neck. That cheater. He knows how sensitive Robb's neck is. Theon does it again, sending a tremble throughout Robb’s whole body.

"Come on," Robb says weakly, when he can make words again.

Robb can feel Theon's smirk pressed against his skin. It’s simultaneously annoying and endearing. Theon’s always so pleased with himself when he can steal moments like this, just by being—distracting. He probably thinks he’s won something just by rendering Robb speechless for half a second.

That smugness rankles just enough to give Robb enough incentive to free himself. He waits until Theon's gone still again, and then levers his elbow between them to pry Theon off. Theon makes a protesting noise and clutches at him, but Robb’s got the advantage in upper body strength. In the ensuing scuffle, Robb frees himself with relative ease from Theon’s grasping hands before stumbling out of bed.

It feels like he just jumped into a snowdrift, cold air hitting him in an immediate, overpowering wave. The floor, frigid under his bare feet, makes his toes try to curl up away from it. Robb shudders with the sudden, overwhelming cold, and tries to remember why he had to get up again. Work, he thinks, and swallows the groan that threatens to escape.

Behind him, Theon wastes no time before rolling into the cavity where Robb had been sleeping and burying his face in Robb's pillow. There’s no chance he’s venturing out into the cold just to drag Robb back, since he’s got the day off today, the lucky little shit.

Trying not to pout, Robb tugs on a pair of socks and shrugs on his bathrobe before making his way down to the kitchen. On early-morning-autopilot, he gives Grey Wind his breakfast and lets him outside, puts bread in the toaster and sets coffee to brewing. Then, once Grey Wind is taken care of and there's enough coffee to fill a cup, he shuffles back up the hall to get dressed.

Unsurprisingly, Theon hasn’t moved. All that's visible of him is the mess of hair peeking up over the pile of blankets. Robb stands in the doorway, staring at the most comfortable bed in the world with poorly disguised longing.

It's not fair, he thinks, feeling particularly petty and jealous. He’s hit with a strong urge to physically yank Theon out from the blanket nest. As tempting as it might be, Robb knows it wouldn’t accomplish anything. He’d pull Theon, howling, onto the floor, along with most of the blankets, and then Theon would drag Robb into a wrestling match, and Robb would still wind up being late for work, defeating the whole purpose of getting up in the first place. And then, after Robb left, Theon would just go back to sleep.

Robb decides to try another tack.

"You should get out of bed," he says.

"Like hell I will," mumbles the Theon-shaped lump.

“There's coffee,” Robb says.

Wordlessly, one arm emerges from under the covers.

“You can’t have coffee unless you get out of bed,” Robb counters.

The blankets come down enough for Robb to see that Theon's eyes are opened the slightest bit. He gives Robb and his mug a considering look, as if calculating the pros and cons. Robb stretches the coffee out far enough for Theon to be able to smell it, but not near enough for Theon to make an attempt to grab it out of Robb’s hands. He raises his eyebrows, challenging.

Theon's gaze flicks one more time between the coffee and Robb's face. Then he yawns, pointedly, pulls his arm back in, and tugs the blanket back up over his face.

Robb frowns.

Sighing in defeat, he drains his mug and turns his attention instead to getting dressed, wriggling out of the soft old Nike t-shirt he sleeps in and kicking off the sweatpants. He misses college, where no one cared then if you showed up in your pajamas. He supposes it’s a sacrifice he has to make if he wants to actually get paid.

His slacks are still hung up on the shower door. Using shower steam to press them is a trick Robb's learned to avoid ironing. It sort of works, sometimes, and as a bonus he usually knows where his pants are. Finding a clean, relatively unwrinkled shirt proves to be more of a struggle. Robb goes back to the room to rifle through the pile of clothes he hadn't gotten around to hanging up yet. He's straightening up to try the sniff test on a dark blue button-down when he notices that Theon's emerged, sort of, poking his head out just enough out of the blanket cave that he can watch Robb get dressed.

Robb makes an offended noise, his hands going automatically to his hips in disapproval. Caught, Theon drags his eyes slowly up Robb's naked torso and meets Robb's glare with a shameless, shit-eating grin.

"If I don't get breakfast in bed, at least I get a show," he says.

Robb huffs. "I should change in the bathroom," he gripes. It's an empty threat, though, and judging by Theon's laugh, they both know it.

Instead of making good on it, Robb buttons and tucks in the probably-clean shirt, before distastefully eyeing the dresser, where the ties live. He hates ties. They always make him think of being eight and forced into dress clothes so he could fidget through someone's wedding.

Maybe his clothes are formal enough that he can go without. Theon would probably know. But then, Theon would probably just say, “put on the tie, you huge fucking baby," so Robb decides not to ask. If he doesn't know for sure he needs a tie, he can justify going without. Plausible deniability.

Regardless of his tie situation, he definitely needs to find his shoes, and he has no idea where they are. Robb begins the hunt, promising himself yet again that he'll start putting his shoes away instead of just kicking them off whenever it occurs to him.

Robb checks the closet first, then crosses the room to check under the bed. There's nothing under there except the storage containers and a balled-up sweatshirt. He straightens with a sigh, mentally listing places his shoes might be—by the couch, by the front door, in Grey Wind’s crate—and he’s distracted enough by his thoughts that he doesn’t see an arm snaking out from the covers until he’s physically yanked down onto the bed.

Grunting in surprise, Robb lands heavily on top of Theon, who immediately grabs his face and pulls him down, kissing his chin, the corner of his mouth, his upper lip.

Robb splutters through it. Theon laughs at him, pressing an obnoxious, smacking kiss to Robb’s cheek. Then he angles Robb's face in for a real kiss. Robb rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest, sinking contentedly into it. It’s good, until Theon tries to stick his tongue in Robb's mouth.

“Ugh," Robb says, pushing at his shoulder. "You taste like morning breath."

“You taste like coffee," Theon says blissfully.

Then Theon shoves Robb over until he’s flat on the bed, overtop the covers, and crawls out to climb on top of him, kissing him again. Robb should probably buck him off again, but he likes Theon’s warm weight on top of him, and he really likes kissing. He gives into it easily, even opening his mouth under Theon's, despite his complaint about the way Theon tastes, humming in pleasure when Theon's tongue slides along the underside of his own.

They keep it slow and warm, completely devoid of urgency, allowing him to savor the feeling of Theon’s lips smoothing lazily along his, of Theon’s hot tongue leisurely tracing the inside of his mouth. He can feel Theon’s eyelashes against his cheek, Theon’s morning stubble bristling pleasantly against Robb's chin. Robb loses himself to the it, kissing him until realizes he can't taste the morning sourness or the coffee anymore.

That catches Robb's attention enough to make him break the kiss and glance at the clock. He groans. There's seven minutes until he really, really has to be out the door, and he still hasn't found his damn shoes.

Theon leans back down impatiently, in an attempt to restart the kiss. Robb lets him, because he’s only got so much self restraint, but he keeps it brief, moving Theon back gently after a few short seconds.

“Theon," Robb says. “I have to go.”

“Door’s right there,” Theon says, mouthing along Robb’s jaw.

“I—” his voice breaks, embarrassingly, when Theon nips at his skin. “I really have to leave.”

“Good, get the fuck out,” says Theon as he kisses down Robb’s neck.

“I'm going to be late,” Robb whines. He goes to move Theon off of him, except then Theon, still kissing Robb's neck, opens his mouth to flicks his tongue against Robb's skin, and somehow Robb’s fingers clench in Theon’s hair, holding him there instead of pushing him away.

“Best get moving then, fucker,” Theon says, not bothering to hide his amusement.

“I would, I really would,” Robb says. “Except for some reason I can’t seem to get out of bed.”

“Weird,” Theon says, cheeky smile crooking the corner of his mouth.

Then, without waiting for a response, he kisses Robb again. Robb sighs, half in exasperation and half because kissing is nice, and tilts his chin up to give Theon better access to his mouth.

He shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but he’s helpless against the undemanding familiarity of the kiss. It’s slow and warming in wonderfully intimate kind of way. The easy, leisurely affection to it makes it dangerous, the kind of kiss that can sneak up on you and consume you, melting time away into nothing. Maybe, Robb thinks, if he's aware of it, he’ll still retain enough self-control to pull away and leave, except then Theon starts sucking on his lower lip, and he's lost.

It's something Theon does a lot, but the effect isn't any less potent for it. It always feels like he's tugging directly at a string in Robb's gut, making heat bloom there and spread throughout his body. And it's better knowing that Theon does it because he likes how swollen and well-kissed it makes Robb's mouth look, likes knowing that he did that.

And then, too soon, Theon lets Robb's lip slide free with a slick pop. He turns his head, glancing over at the clock. Robb doggedly swallows a whimper at the loss, instead following Theon's eyes.

Two minutes left. Fuck.

Theon looks back down at Robb. "Do you want to go to work?” he asks.

No, Robb thinks. “There’s a conference today," he says instead.

Theon pushes himself up on his arms to smirk down at him. Robb's breath goes out in a huff. He’s got this weakness for the way Theon looks on top of him, and, as much as Robb doesn't like to admit it, smugness on Theon looks good. And there's the way Theon’s looking at him now, his eyes gone heavy-lidded and dark, this hot intensity to his gaze like he's thinking about pressing Robb back down on the mattress.

Without exactly meaning to, Robb reaches out until he’s cupping the jut of Theon's jaw. Theon leans into it, turning his head enough to press a kiss to Robb's palm.

“I'm going to be late,” Robb says, hating how petulant he sounds. “I'm never late. You're making me late with your face.”

Theon's unrepentant smile widens further. He leans back down and brushes his lips against Robb’s, ticklingly light, deliberately being frustrating. He pulls back, and Robb instinctively chases his mouth, involuntarily angling for another kiss. Obligingly, Theon kisses him again, still too gently, barely letting their lips touch.

Fed up, Robb growls. He grabs Theon’s face, demandingly tugging him closer. Theon goes, laughing as he does, clearly proud of himself and the results of his teasing. It’s infuriating, even more so because it makes little thrills shoot up Robb’s spine.

He sinks his teeth vengefully into Theon's lip, relishing the way Theon gasps. After that, the kiss gets very sloppy very quickly, in a way it hasn't been all morning: open-mouthed, filthy glide of lips and tongue. It's slow and deep and dirty, their spit-slick lips making wet smacking sounds. Theon pushes his warm, calloused hands under Robb’s shirt, rubs torturous circles with his thumbs on the hollows of Robb's hipbones.

Robb wraps his arms around Theon's neck, inclining his head enough to suck Theon's tongue in deeper, earning a muffled little noise. Theon resumes the languid tongue-fucking, a carnal kind of ebb and flow, while their mouths slide and press together. Robb realizes, muzzily, as if from a long distance, that he can feel his pulse in his lips.

For all its lewdness, it's still a gentle kiss; the roughest part of it is the slight rasp of their stubble tingling when it brushes his lips. The sounds are quiet, pleased hms and mmfs, muted murmurs and purrs. It's absorbing, nearly enchanting, so intense that the rest of the world slips away, everything muted except sensation.

They kiss and kiss and kiss until they have to break apart for air, panting heavily into each others' mouths. The hot breath against Robb's kiss-sensitive lips makes his nerves prickle and a shiver shoot through him. The closeness is thrilling, as is the naked hunger in the way Theon's stares at him. Robb takes it in greedily, his eyes roaming all over Theon's face, until Theon's mouth slowly stretches into another self-satisfied grin.

Still muddled from the kiss, Robb stares back in confusion until Theon tilts his head to indicate the clock.

So much for not getting distracted.

"You—" Robb starts, then shakes his head with a begrudgingly admiring laugh. "You're the worst."

Theon leans back in until his mouth is scant inches away from Robb's. "Call in sick," he murmurs.

Robb stares up at him a long moment, then shakes his head. "Worst," he says ruefully, then pushes at Theon's shoulder. "I have to get my phone."

The call's over with quickly. It stirs some automatic guilt in Robb's chest, since he's lying and shirking responsibility, but he manages to squash it down by focusing on how great it feels to strip out of his work clothes. He's halfway to reaching for the abandoned pile of pajamas before he pauses and thinks better of it. Instead, he turns around, backs up, and takes a flying leap back onto the bed, buck naked.

Robb lands, bouncing slightly, on all fours, making the mattress creak. He glances expectantly at Theon, who snorts, says, "really?" shaking his head in fond exasperation.

Beaming, Robb crawls over on his hands and knees to hover over Theon, knees on each side of his waist. Theon smiles up at him, raising his hands to Robb's waist, and Robb leans down for another long kiss.

Lazily, Theon slides his hands down Robb's hips, then over to palm at his ass. Robb arches back into it, moaning when Theon squeezes. He kisses Theon more insistently, working his hand under the elastic of Theon's boxers. He cups Theon's dick, making Theon hiss, smiling at the way Theon's hips jerk up.

It's not a good angle for a handjob, though, so Robb starts trying to push the boxers down. Theon, realizing what Robb's doing, tries to help, but they don't have much success with Robb on top of him, knees bracketing Theon's hips. Giving up, Robb rolls off of him, instead lying down on his back so Theon can finally wriggle out of them and drop them over the side of the bed. He turns back around, absurdly triumphant for such a small success.

Robb grabs his hand, pulling him down until he's laying on top. He tilts his chin to catch Theon's mouth with his own, kisses him until his lips ache.

He hooks his leg around Theon's waist to bring their hips together, and a hot pulse of arousal quivers through him, making friction abruptly seem very important. They start to writhe against each other, cocks trapped together between their bodies. Their hips find an easy, steady rhythm that makes the world go hazy around the edges, Robb squirming up and Theon grinding insistently down. Their mouths are still pressed together, becoming gradually less and less a kiss and more panting desperately into each others' mouths. It's good, really good; Robb's gulping for air, flushed and tingling all over, hot pulsing pressure building steadily at the base of his spine. Then Theon starts kissing sloppily down Robb's chin to mouth at his neck, and a choked noise escapes Robb's mouth as his hips jerk against Theon's, harder and harder until he comes all over his own stomach.

It's dizzying, making everything but the hot rush of feeling go muted and fuzzy. Robb's brain takes a while to come back online, and then first thing he notices is that Theon’s near trembling against him, coiled tight with tension and hard as steel. Gently, Robb pushes them over until they're lying side by side, worming his thigh between Theon's. Robb cradles Theon's face in his hands, rubbing his thigh against Theon's cock. It only makes Theon shake harder, faint noises coming high in his throat. Robb clumsily strokes Theon's hair, whispering half-comprehensible encouragement into his mouth: come on, come for me, that's it, that's it, c'mon. Theon leans his forehead heavily against Robb's, panting, and Robb watches his expression, even with Theon's face close enough to make his vision swim. Theon squeezes his eyes closed and rides Robb's thigh until he comes, gasping and shuddering.

They stay twined up in each other after, to catch their breath, sweaty limbs all tangled together, Robb still absently petting Theon's hair. After a while, Robb realizes how sticky and gross he is, and attempts to use the hem of Theon's shirt to wipe at the mess. It's not very effective with Theon still wearing it. Realizing what he's doing, Theon makes disgusted noise, face screwing up, but he doesn't protest more than that, just moves back enough to tug the shirt off. He wipes the worst of it off himself, then gives it to Robb, who does the same before tossing it onto the floor.

They climb hurriedly back under the blankets, since now that they're done fooling around the cold seems much more present. Robb immediately snuggles up against Theon, delighting in feeling Theon's skin against his own. He slings his arm decisively over Theon's waist, laying a sleepy kiss onto his chest, and closes his eyes.

Theon only grumbles a little before slowly and carefully slipping his own arm around Robb. After a moment, Robb feels a light, quick kiss pressed to the crown of his head. He smiles, nuzzling against Theon's collarbone. They fall asleep like that, Robb's nose mashed into Theon's shoulder, Theon's lips against his hair.