sevensneakyfoxes:

I’m pretty sure this has ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with your request, so there
you go.  Unrequested werewolf aus have become a theme.  SORRY, I know you meant
this more in a sexual dynamic kind of way, but this is how my brain translated
it.

–

“It’s a disgrace,” Lord Glover says.  "She may be an
alpha, but this land has never been ruled by a female regent, and your
father…“

“Uncle,” Jon interrupts.  "And my uncle is dead.  Sansa is the
last of his line.  She is the last Stark alpha.“

“You are the last Stark
alpha.”

“My mother did not give me her name,” Jon says coldly.  Jon’s
mother lay with a wolf outside her pack; regardless of the power of Jon’s
father, an unsanctioned bonding means he is a mutt.  He will never lead the
Stark nor the Targaryen pack unless he kills his cousin or aunt and takes their
names by blood.  "And regardless, if you think you will reap greater benefit
under my rule, you are sadly mistaken, Glover.“

I guess we know whose
bitch he is…

It’s one of Glover’s sons who whispers it, loud
enough that Lord Glover blanches.  It’s Johal, the beta second son who feigns at
being an alpha, enough so that he had first sought out Sansa’s hand when Ramsay
had been put down.

"Do you enjoy your tongue, Johal?” Jon asks, his eyes
flashing red.

–

Later, Sansa finds him in his chambers, not bothering to
knock before she enters.

“I hear you and Lord Glover quarreled today,”
Sansa says, barring the door and letting her robe slip off her shoulders.  The
claw marks that mar her skin are no longer as red and fresh as they had been
when she’d first come to Castle Black, when she stank of Ramsay and
fear.

Now she only smells of the Wolfswood, of the change.  It’s a smell
he’s enjoyed many times; Sansa’s blood always runs hot after she changes,
always making her want to climb atop him and fuck.  She comes to him naked, like
she has this time, and though the world would rather see her bend to his will,
he bends to hers.

“A minor disagreement,” Jon says, turning his head to
expose his neck to her.

She hums, the noise he’s learned means that she
does not believe what she is being told.  But she still climbs on top of him,
reaching for the laces of his breeches as she presses her sharp teeth to his
exposed neck.

“They need to understand,” Jon says, wrapping a hand in her
hair to pull back on it until they are nose to nose.  They may both be alpha,
but Sansa’s strength has always been in her cunning, whereas Jon’s lies in his
fists.  Few men respect the former, and Sansa’s rule is fresh and
weak.

“Surely they do now,” Sansa says, rubbing her nose against his in a
wolf-kiss.  "I heard it took the Maester nearly two hours to close all Johal’s
wounds.“

"Are you cross?”

The look she gives him is curious, more
like the girl she once had been, sharp and determined in a goal that the world
tried to strip from her along with her life.  

Her hand slips into his breeches
as she replies, “They need to understand.”