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title: untitled
fandom: Game of Thrones
pairing: Jon/Robb
rating: PG-13
summary: AU. Jon & Robb at Oxford. Jon decides to pay his brother a late night visit.
spoilers/notes: Written in response to [livejournal.com profile] teamchanada’s prompt Modern college!AU (because every fandom should have one!) at [livejournal.com profile] stark_n_snow’s prompt meme. Probably strayed a little far from the prompt when I went for Oxford colleges, not US-style ones though. Also, took definite liberties with Trinity College & probably a few other setting elements because I’ve actually only spent a limited amount of time in Oxford. 1224 words.


“Jon, Jon, you can’t,” Sam pleaded, running after his friend as best he could. “You can’t. The gates’ll be closed. The night porter’ll never let you in. Jon, don’t. Come back. We can stay in or go to the bar but, you can’t Jon—”

“It’s okay, Sam,” Jon replied, looking over his shoulder as he strode down Queen’s Lane, “I can climb the gates. Don’t worry about it. Go back to college, Sam. I promise, I’ll be fine.” He stopped walking as he looked back at Sam to allow his friend to catch up to him, thinking it kinder. “Worst that can happen is the night porter catches me and decides he doesn’t like me. This isn’t like your prep school where they beat you with a slipper when you were caught up after lights out. I’ll be fine, I promise.” He smiled and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder, “Look, I’ll see you tomorrow. Get a good night’s sleep. Classes start tomorrow. I’ll see you then, yeah?”

Sam’s eyes shined as if with water but he nodded nonetheless and Jon said “you’re a good friend, Sam,” and clapped Sam on the shoulder with the hand which was resting there, as if to prove the point. It had only been a week and Sam had already become his closest friend at Oxford. They shared a staircase with a couple of boys who’d only gone to Teddy Hall because it had the best rugby team and who’d spent all week getting leery and drunk and taunting Sam, as if those were the only things they knew how to do. They were, Jon discovered, not so bad as they seemed, but they were rough and unkind with that specific type of locker-room manliness which exists as a survival instinct to ward off anyone who might think to slight them.

Jon watched Sam turn back and round the corner before he continued on his night-time stroll. It was only eleven thirty and gates had closed half an hour ago but he liked the challenge of climbing the Trinity walls almost as much as he liked the idea of what he’d find on the other side. He’d scoped them out when they’d delivered Robb’s stuff to college the day both of them had gone up to Oxford. The gates weren’t especially high and the ornate details in the ironwork would make them easy to scale. The porter’s lodge had a good number of blind spots so Jon was confident that he wouldn’t have a run in with the night porter — though he was prepared to meet him if he had to.

Broad Street was not quite empty when he approached the gate, a few cars passed by and a couple of students coming back from a pub were talking loudly as they walked along the road on the opposite side but Jon paid them no mind. Doubtless, they would be climbing over a wall or begging a porter for admittance soon enough themselves.

He stepped up to the gate and put his foot on the base of the wall which led up to it. Grabbed onto the black-painted iron, and slipped his foot between two of the bars. His foot was uncomfortably twisted into a diagonal position by the narrow-spacing of the bars but he thought he’d be able to heft himself up easily enough. He launched himself off the wall and put his second foot higher up, in the next slat. Attempting to retain his momentum, he moved his first leg up onto the top of the gate. It was precarious but he thought that the faster he did it, and the less he thought about it, the easier it would be.

Readjusting his hold on the bars, he lifted his second leg off the gate slat and pivoted as best he could with his one leg on the top of the gate. His second foot found a place on the other side of the gate and he lowered his first leg to meet it. He lowered his feet again, one at a time, to rest on an ornate flourish which patterned the gate around its mid-height, as though it were a ladder. The fall from here wasn’t far so Jon let go and allowed himself to fall the few feet to the ground.

The Trinity lawns were poorly illuminated and Jon had a little trouble counting the stairwells to figure out which was Robb’s but he managed it and as he approached he saw Robb’s name on the plate, along with those of the other’s on his staircase. He took a deep breath, pulled the hem of his shirt straight, and knocked.

It didn’t take long for Robb to answer and Jon heard feet on the stairs before the door opened in front of him.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” his brother said, standing in the doorway with one hand on the frame. He was dressed in jeans, an old t-shirt and a green-hooded sweater and he was grinning at Jon. He looked, Jon thought, just like he always did and he wondered why he was surprised by it.

“I said I would, so I’m here,” Jon rejoined, smiling back at him.

“Did you climb the gate? Or con the porter?” Robb asked, stepping aside to let Jon in and leading the way up the narrow stairs. Jon could hear the shower running as he crossed the first-floor landing.

“The gate. It was easy, really. I bet you do it all the time.” They ascended another flight of steps, to the second floor and Robb held open his room door for Jon.

“Not yet,” Robb said, as Jon brushed past him to go inside, “But I’m sure I’ll be practised at it soon enough.”

Jon smiled and looked around the room. Robb’s new room was sparse decorated with things from his childhood bedroom at Winterfell; the main part of this was an old He-Man poster (the ironic value of which Jon had always questioned), a half-shelf of books and a few scattered trinkets. The furniture in Trinity was much like that in Jon’s room in Teddy Hall and, he supposed, most other college rooms, but Robb’s bed had his familiar blue-striped sheets on it and Robb had mounted the old heirloom sword father had given him on his eighteenth birthday on the wall above the bed.

Robb watched Jon as he took it all in and Jon caught him looking once he’d torn his eyes away from the pile of discarded clothes beside the desk and where Robb’s laptop was set up with his email open on his screen. “So, um, good first week?” Jon ventured, returning Robb’s gaze.

“Pretty good,” said Robb, “and you?”

“I have a feeling it’s about to get better,” Jon said, taking a step towards Robb, and crushing their lips together. It was everything Jon had hoped for and better because it was real, and happening, and now, and Robb’s lips felt just the way he remembered only now he didn’t have to remember, just feel.

Robb kicked the door closed and buried his fingers in Jon’s hair, pulling him in closer as Jon’s hands found the small of his back.

With a sharp intake of breath, Jon thought home, and let his fingers brush the skin under Robb’s clothes.


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