At the start, Jon was embarassed by the size differences. He never thought he was scrawny, at least not compared to others at Winterfell, but he knew he could never stand at eye level with Tormund

Robb is leaving tomorrow, but he's here for tonight. Even if Jon and Theon aren't using him as thoroughly as they could be.

Theon loses a bet that means, for the first time, Jon gets to fuck him, rather than the other way around. He assumes Jon will treat him as roughly as he's always treated Jon. This proves incorrect.

"It's not like he's noticing anything you're doing. Face it Greyjoy: when he's on top like that, you could be anyone in the world and he'd enjoy fucking himself on you just as much.” In which Theon is easily manipulated, Jon is a smug git about it, and Robb would like to get off at some point.

When Jon realises where Theon's looking though, he turns bright red and hurriedly covers himself with his hands. “What are you staring at?!” Theon forces his jaw to close again. Great, now the bastard's going to think I'm some sort of deviant. Well it's his bloody fault; if he's going to show off that monster he should expect the odd glance. “Nothing Snow, just figuring something out,” he says, forcing his usual mocking tone, “I know your heritage is a bit of a mystery, but I think you might be part-centaur.” At Jon's bewildered look, he rolls his eyes. “Because you've got a horse's cock between your legs.”

She has only caught fleeting glances of Margaery today, their future queen being too busy with official matters, but every tiny glimpse of her sweet half-smile or the sunlight glinting on her pale shoulders has only pushed Sansa closer to the brink of madness. She does not know what is wrong with her: she knows she has no good reason to be craving Margaery's attentions so much today of all days, but then again, she has grown to crave it more days than not now.

There were a lot of wedding gifts, oddly enough, although they weren't all meant in exactly the same spirit.