Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/216143.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Petyr_Baelish/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Petyr_Baelish, Sansa_Stark, Varys_(ASoIaF)
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Nipple_Play, Community:_kink_bingo, Older_Man/Younger
      Woman
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-06-27 Words: 2730
****** Bare Heart ******
by QDS
Summary
     After Sansa's plea to the new king, Lord Baelish offers Sansa the
     chance to pour her heart out to him – perhaps though not in the way
     she first expected.
Notes
     Written for 2011-12
     [[community profile] ]
kink_bingo. Prompt: nippleplay/tit torture. Spoilers up to and including
episode eight.
Raised voices outside her door made Sansa looked up from her needlework. The
careful act of stitching, of pushing threaded needle through the material, was
a comfort, for it was familiar, and a task she was always good at. What was
strange now was doing it alone. She was used to the company of other women, of
Arya's scowling through the task and her tatty threads, of Septa Mordane
guiding Sansa through the stitching, sitting next to her.
Sansa had shed no tears for all that had happened; her heart was too numb, too
much in shock, and her mind utterly focused on saving her father. There was
little time to feel sadness, nor did she want to let it overcome her.
Yet she was very alone in her room. The windows had been barred shut to prevent
her from escaping, though she could never imagine herself scaling a wall, let
alone leaping from a great height, nothing to break her fall but the sea and
the rocks. Even with her things about her, the room was hollow. Her movement
about the palace had been restricted; she had two guards at a strange behest,
being able to ask them to accompany her without question, but only to limited
places, and she was strictly forbidden to go anywhere else but her room after
sundown.
Sansa was sure it was Jorin's voice she now heard, stern and abrupt. The words
she couldn't make out, but she found herself rising in her chair to the softer,
smoother voice that responded.
The door flung open, and gruff Jorin stomped inside. "Lord Baelish to see you,
if you will."
Sansa put the needlework down, and nodded, trying to keep the relief and joy
from her face. "Please, show him in."
Lord Baelish entered with a soft step. He wore plain clothes, subtle as the
shadows. His expression was unreadable, and very hard. Sansa bit her lip. He'd
had been kind to her in the Queen's chambers, but perhaps he too had turned
against her? It was only Lord Varys who had spoken for her in court earlier
that day.
Still, a lady must remain so, even in times such as this.
"Lord Baelish." She curtsied.
"I trust I am not disturbing you, Sansa?" His tone was formal.
"No, my Lord."
"May I speak with you? In private?"
Sansa blinked. His voice betrayed nothing, but there was a glint in his eyes
that were imploring, not commanding.
So she nodded. "Yes. Of course."
Lord Baelish turned and nodded to Jorin, a cutting smile on his lips. Sansa
forced herself to look demure rather than smug as Jorin grumbled under his
breath but left the room and closed the door. When he looked back at Sansa, his
face was much gentler.
"They do seem an unnecessary measure, for an innocent."
Her heart gave a little beat. Prin--King Joffrey had had to be stern, she knew
that, but she so longed for something other than suspicious looks from everyone
else at court.
"Please, my Lord, sit."
He settled on the chair opposite hers at the table. Sansa began to push her
needlework further aside when Lord Baelish held out his hand to her.
"Do you mind if I looked at your work?"
She passed it to him. He held it before him as if he were examining items to
buy in a shop, and was inspecting for flaws. Undoubtedly he would find plenty,
for without Septa's hand to guide her, Sansa had been forced to figure out
knots and missed stitches with her own intuition, and the design itself was
becoming quite different, no doubt, from what Septa intended.
"You have a talent." Lord Baelish passed it back to her. "No doubt you need
some kind of distraction at this time."
"It helps," she said, folding her hands in her lap, clutching at the frame of
the needlework.
He gave a gentle smile. "I'm glad."
So was she, for his kindness.
"Lord Baelish...I think you did not come to speak about my needlework."
"No. I did not." Lord Baelish leaned closer to her, hands clasped, his
eyes...what colour where they? On first meeting she was sure that they had been
cold blue. Now, in the candle light, they seemed gray, a calm sky over
Winterfell.
After a long pause, he said, "That was a very brave thing you did today."
Her heart fluttered, and for the first time since it had all gone wrong, tears
threatened to spill over her eyes. But Sansa kept herself, and said, "It was
the only thing I could think of to save my father."
Lord Baelish gave her a sorry look. "You spoke well, but your father is an
honourable man, and I fear that his dignity and pride may not lead to the
outcome – "
"My Lord! Please!"
Her words came out sharp, and Sansa clamped her hand over her mouth. Lord
Baelish jerked his head back a fraction. Oh how could she be so stupid, to
speak like that to one of the King's Council!
Sansa shook her head. "My Lord Baelish...you have been one of the few who...oh
my Lord, forgive my outburst!"
"Shh, shh...nothing to forgive." Lord Baelish's voice soften again. Sansa
clutched her needlework to her.
He continued. "I was simply...but no. It is not necessary for me to state the
facts when you are aware of what is believed, compared to what you believe –
what you know – to be true."
"Th...thank you, my Lord."
"I will confess, Sansa, that it may cost me much if anyone finds out I have
come here. But I felt it important, my connection to your family, to your
mother..."
Lord Baelish pressed his lips together, and looked away, fingers under his
chin. He looked unsure, as if he were searching for the next words, or trying
to avoid the more accurate ones in favour of a less direct phrase. Sansa
straightened up, determined this time not to snap at him.
"Please, my Lord, I will listen to what you have to say."
He glanced back at her, fingers to his mouth, and he looked a little shy. "To
be very truthful...I thought you needed a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. I
can't promise I will be able to see you often, for you must see my position is
a delicate one, but...would you let me play that role? Be someone you can take
comfort in."
His words were so sincere, so heartfelt, that everything Sansa had been feeling
welled in her eyes and came spilling down her cheeks. Lord Baelish opened his
arms, not stretching towards her, but inviting her to him. Sansa dropped the
needlework, and threw herself into Lord Baelish's arms.
Lord Baelish held her with a strong grip, and ran his hand down her back,
murmuring sounds that had no meaning but were gentle on her ears. He rocked her
a little. Cradled on his lap, her tears burst from her and she knew they were
dampening his collar, but Lord Baelish seemed to pay no heed, only continued to
murmur. She cried and cried, each sob bring more gentle strokes to her back.
When her sobs began to subside, Sansa could feel the side of Lord Baelish's
face against her chest, slow lifting with each breath. The presence of a warmth
near her heart was more than comforting. The tip of his nose brushed past the
skin just above her bodice. That sheer instance of his skin on hers made her
chest flutter, the comfort now a beautiful sensation.
She pulled back, her position on his lap allowing her to look down at his face.
He had always seemed so smug and clever, but now all she saw was kindness.
Sansa pressed a kiss to his forehead, the only way she could think to show her
gratitude in ways that were not words. Lord Baelish exhaled, and his cheek fell
against her chest, where her skin was exposed. Apart from the brush of his
beard, his cheek was smooth.
Lord Baelish said in a low voice, "You are very soft, Sansa."
Sansa stared down at Lord Baelish's features. He ran his tongue over his upper
lip, and his hooded eyes had a hunger in them. Each breath he made became more
ragged. His gaze reached up to hers, and he smiled, a little sadly.
She knew then what he wanted, what he wished to ask, but would not.
Her brothers had talked of the sight of a woman's bare breasts, of the look of
softness and their desire to touch them. It was a strange thought to Sansa, who
only thought of the comfort of her mother's embrace, with little regard for her
own bossom. Yet she saw hers were round and full, and Lord Baelish looking on
them now...she could not understand it, but there was a deep sense in her
stomach of what it meant to a man.
He has risked so much to come here...Sansa thought. She did not know precisely
what he desired, but she thought too of his skin against hers, and her hands
reached to ties at her dress. As the sides of her dress parted, revealing her
breasts, all of Sansa's spine and ribs tingled with a tension that both scared
and excited her.
Lord Baelish's eyes grew wide, locked on her bare breasts. He looked up at her
again.
"Sansa..."
She couldn't speak; her throat was tight. So she nodded. Lord Baelish's looked
so grateful that when one hand left her back and gently cupped her right
breast, it was almost a reverence.
Lord Baelish squeezed. Sansa pressed her lips together. Under his hand, she
became very aware of house soft her breast was, how tender. He brushed a firm
thumb over her nipple, and to her shock, she felt the spot between her legs
flush with warmth.
Lord Baelish met her eyes again, and once more flicked his thumb over her now
hardening nipple. Sansa twitched. It had only ever done that in the cold of
summer snows, but this sensation was so different. It stirred right through her
body, and she squirmed on his lap.
Lord Baelish's hand splayed on her back, keeping her steady. He rubbed his
thumb around the darken softness that surrounded the little teet. Sansa found
her breath beginning to hitch, and she wanted him to touch the nub itself
again, but she couldn't speak the words. Her eyes were transfixed on the
rolling of his thumb, so much so that when Lord Baelish ducked his head and
kissed her left breast, she gasped.
His mouth became entirely occupied with her breast. He kissed it all over, his
moustach and beard brushing and tickling a little. Sometimes she giggled, but
then he'd nip at it, which made her shudder and sigh all over again.
Then his lips fell onto the teet itself, and his teeth sank down. Sansa wanted
to cry out loudly, but she put a hand to her mouth. The guards were still on
the other side of the door.
Lord Baelish nuzzled there, as if he were chewing on a particularly delicious
piece of fruit. Sansa now understood why her brothers had alluded to such
things in those terms. Yet no one had told her she too might delight in the
touch.
With his teeth, Lord Baelish pulled at her nipple. It was like being cut, only
as sharp as it was, her chest flushed with pleasureable heat. Lord Baelish drew
his head back, stretching it. Sansa moaned. The place between her legs almost
throbbed, and she now felt a delicious wetness there too.
He ceased his attentions of her left breast, and turned to her right. It was a
cursed relief, the loss of his mouth, and terrible anticipation of his next
move. His tongue began lave on the underside of her breast, a wet yet feathery
gesture. She wanted him so badly to bite down again, to try and devour her
nipple. But all she breathed out was, “My lord...”
Lord Baelish gazed up at her with wet eyes. "Does this comfort you, Sansa?"
"Yes..."
He kissed the nipple whole. She bit her lip, and urged forward, just a little,
her breast pointed right at his mouth. Lord Baelish smiled, pleased, like a cat
with cream, but Sansa did not care – all she wanted was his mouth once again on
her breast.
He said in whisper, and sound that echoed in her belly, "What do you want, my
dear?"
With his thumb and forefinger, he pinched the teet, and began to roll it
around. Sansa's whole body trembled, and he held her steady on his lap.
He squeezed harder. "That, Sansa?"
She threw her head back. "Yes...yes...your...teeth...Lord Baelish."
"Of course."
And he obliged her. The sweet sharpness made her hand fly to her mouth. Sansa
bit against the heel of her palm, muffling the cry that came.
Lord Baelish continued to tend to her breasts for sometime. Each touch and lick
and bite brought a tremulous delight to her, but all too soon they felt a
little sore. When she told him this, Lord Baelish nodded, and soothed them with
soft touches, before brushing some stray hair from her face.
"How are you feeling now, Sansa?"
For some reason, Sansa giggled. "I feel...very well, Lord Baelish."
"I'm so glad to hear it. Are you comfortable as you are?"
"I am."
"Perhaps you'll take up your needlework again, here on my lap?"
Sansa smiled. She slid off his thighs for a moment, picked up her needlework,
and sat back down. Lord Baelish put his arms around her waist, and allowed her
to lean back against him. His forehead fell lightly against her chin. From
there, with his occasional comforting strokes down her back or across her
thighs, Sansa sat and stitched with a contentment she'd not felt for a long
time.
*
"Lord Baelish."
Petyr looked up from his work, eyes askance at Varys. The Spider's plump
features were bemused. A dangerous sign.
"One of my birds tells me that you've visited a certain...captive bird, shall
we say."
Petyr kept his face blank as he put his quill down. "You're little birds tell
you many things, Lord Varys. Are you sure all of them are true?"
Varys made his familiar expression that tried to say 'I only know what I am
told.' Why he bothered doing so with Petyr was a mysterious – both men knew
exactly what the other one was.
"Perhaps this one is not. After all, you wouldn't want your loyalty to our new
King put to question before the whole court and council, would you?"
Petyr shrugged. "I don't see how my offering Sansa Stark some words of comfort
and advice about the coming days questions my own loyalty. If the Queen or the
King were to ask, well...I would simple say she is – "
"The daughter of an old, dear friend," Varys finished. "Of course. And...yes,
it might be conjectured that after all you bare no love to the Starks
themselves, but a Tully..."
Varys let the implications hang. Petyr raised an eyebrow.
"I suspect that his Grace will be more interested to hear of your visits to the
somewhat darker parts of the Red Keep, Lord Varys. Or do you think he'll be
generous and understanding with your reasons for doing so?"
It was rare to get a reaction out of Varys. The eunch scowled, and left Petyr's
chamber.
Petyr cursed the Spider once he was well out of earshot. It was, he had to
admit, perhaps not the wisest of decisions he'd made, visiting Sansa like that.
At least though he and Varys held each other by their, figurative in any case,
balls. But the memory of her begging voice, the softness of her delightful tits
in his mouth...that was delicious. If only he had better access to Ned Stark,
something to further taunt him with before he marched to his death. For Petyr
knew that either way Stark made his move, Joffrey's idea of mercy was...well.
Not unlike Petyr's.
Petyr's cock twitched against his leg, and he imagined with a delicious clarity
what other comforts he may have to offer Sansa.
–
End
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