Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4060669.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Petyr_Baelish/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Petyr_Baelish, Sansa_Stark, Myranda_Royce
  Additional Tags:
      Explicit_Sexual_Content, Rough_Sex, Fingerfucking, Jealousy, Pseudo-
      Incest, Dom/sub_Undertones
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-02 Words: 3757
****** Lessons in subtlety ******
by Alayne_StoneColdFox
Summary
     Sansa wears something rather daring to a feast, and she can tell
     Petyr is conflicted about her choice of attire.
     On one hand, he could not stop staring, but then again, neither could
     any of the other men in the room.
Notes
     A birthday fic for Marquise/Apprenticemockingbird! Everyone should
     indulge themselves with what they love on their birthday, and if that
     happens to be some dark minded kinky fuckery, then I am happy and
     willing to give.
I had been sick of drab grey and dull green dresses, with plain stitching and
even plainer fabric. Alayne's choice of clothes, not mine, but bastards could
hardly ask for better. So when Myranda announced she would be throwing an event
three evenings from now, to keep all of the knights and nobles entertained, I
was immediately worried about what to wear. She said it was no great ball,
simply an evening to keep everyone amused (Since she could not stand the idea
of anyone thinking her court was dull, she had said) but even so, I would have
liked to have a decent gown to show off. What girl wanted to look dull at an
event?
Thankfully, Myranda declared it would be a crime for me to wear any of the
meagre gowns I owned. Not while she had something to say about it. In her
typical Myranda way she had said It would have been an embarrassment to her, to
have a friend in ones company look so bad, but really she was playing down her
kindness.
She had lent me a gown, one from when she was younger, and less buxom in the
hips and waist. Though I still had to sew it tighter in some places, it ended
up fitting as perfectly as I wanted it too. I had laced up my corset even
tighter than usual, since I wanted to cinch everything in, and push certain
other things up. See, this gown was very, very low cut. It sat lower on my
breasts than any gown I'd ever owned, or rather, anyone had ever let me own.
True, I did not have too much to work with, but with them all pushed up like
this, and compared to the narrowness of my waist, my little handfuls looked
quite inviting. I had dabbed perfume behind my neck, as well as on the tips of
my nipples. I remembered the maids doing that before my wedding all that time
ago. It was clearly the done thing when a girl was expected to be bedded.
The hall was filled with every one of the knights and noble men and women who
had been invited from across the vale for the tourney, and as soon as I entered
I could feel their eyes on me. I faltered for a moment, just a brief flutter of
self doubt in my tummy.
No. I look good, I told myself. They are staring because I look good.
Petyr had been talking to Ser Roland and Lady Waynwood, but as I came over,
they stopped and turned to see what had caught Petyr's attention so abruptly. I
knew it would elicit a response as soon as he saw me in it, but I had to
contain my smile, as it was simply too self satisfied.
“Daughter,” Petyr proclaimed as I approached “I was wondering when you would be
joining us.”
Of course his voice was even, and his face a mask, though his glance took me in
head to toe.
I did a polite little dip to the three of them “Father, Lady Waynwood, Ser
Wallace.”
“My lady,” Ser Wallace regarded me, all charm “Let me be the first to say that
you look stunning this evening. I feel quite inclined to take you to dance now,
as I'm sure men will be lining up for the honor all night. I best get in quick,
while I have my chance.”
I couldn't decide between giggling sweetly, or looking down bashfully, so I did
a mix of both. Sweet, sheltered Alayne was not used to such compliments.
“You needn't worry, Ser Wallace, I would gladly give you your chance when you
want it.”
I notice Lady Waynwood bat her eyes too quickly as her lips thinned, though Ser
Wallace seemed to have liked it.
The small talk continued on politely, as I nodded and looked pleasant
throughout. I chanced a look at Petyr and saw that his smile was unassuming,
but his eyes met mine quite fiercely. I didn't hold his gaze though. I may lose
my nerve if he stared at me like that for too long.
Harry found me not much later, and whisked me away to dance. He also made
mention of how nice I looked, and his glances weren't un-subtle, and that had
made me feel better. Ser Wallace had been right about the boys of the hall,
they all wanted my hand as soon as it was free. For an hour, or even close to
two, there was not a moment I was still. Myranda would pull me to the side of
the hall as well, filling my cup as she laughed with me, making comments about
the worse dancers behind her hand to my ear. I danced with the knights, Lord's
sons, even a one particular handsome squire, as well as an older Lord, who I am
quite certain was married. They held their hands on my waist, some of them
stroking precariously low so that they almost held my rear. They would dip
their heads towards mine, as if they hoped for a kiss right there and then. I
didn't give it to them, but I did not pull away either. I danced until I was
dizzy, though that might have been the wine. The one Myranda kept giving me was
so sweet It went down as easy as water.
The whole time I wondered if he was looking. I did my best not to search him
out, to seem like I was keen for his gaze. Though, in saying that, I couldn't
help but glance his way when I spotted him by the side of the room, or talking
to some other lord, or sitting by the raised table overlooking the hall.
He would catch my gaze every time.
I was breathless by the time I pulled myself away to the side of the room,
another five songs later, realising I was famished, as well as a tad light
headed. I should have something decent to eat, I thought. The sensible thing to
do would be to sit down, and try some of the quail or roast vegetables, but the
tray of cakes passed me by first. I plucked one from the tray, marvelling at
the fact that the cakes were even being served. Had time truly passed that
quickly?
I bit into the cake, and to my surprise, warm gooey jam dripped from the
centre. My mistake, I had thought it was a lemon one. I brought my hand up
quickly to dab at my mouth, but a drop of the jam had already oozed out and
dripped down to my chest, and I let out a whine as I realised it had stained my
borrowed dress.
“Alayne.”
I turned, red face, my mouth still full of cake, as Petyr appeared by my side.
“Do you feel in need of some fresh air?”
He slipped his arm around mine, and I knew it wasn't really a question, so I
didn't even bother to answer. Instead I resigned myself, because what good
would causing a scene do? I let myself be led out of the main hall and up the
steps to the guest apartments. How much fresh air would there be in our
chambers? I thought, but didn't say.
“Alayne,” My name was called a second time, this time by Myranda, who had
followed us out “You are retiring? It is not even midnight yet”
I turned on the steps, wanting to tell her that I would've loved to stay till
midnight, but my answer was given for me.
“I'm afraid Alayne may have had enough of the festivities for one night, my
lady. It may be time for her to see her bed”
Myranda slumped a little theatrically “Oh, but we were having the best time.
Can't she stay an hour longer at least?”
“With the way I saw you filling her cup, I doubt she would last that long”
Myranda laughed and pouted “Oh, why must fathers always ruin their daughters
fun?”
Petyr smiled at her “As is our duty, I suppose.”
He turned to leave, with me still attached to his arm, when Myranda called back
up the steps.
“Will you be returning, once you've put your daughter to bed, Lord Baelish?”
I didn't turn back for the frown that had come over my face. She spoke of me as
if I was not standing right by her to hear. You are only a few years older,
Myranda, and my friend at that, and I am not something to simply be put away.
But Petyr smiled at her “Only if I am promised a dance, my lady.”
O0o0o00o00o0o0o0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0
The walk to our chambers was a quick and uninterrupted one, and soon as the
door was open, I was unceremoniously pushed inside and the door latched behind
us.
I almost stumbled, but not quite, and for the first time the idea that I might
be slightly drunk crossed my mind.
“Well, you've certainly made a show of yourself tonight.”
I caught the condescension in his voice, and it hurt me a little, so I didn't
turn to face him.
“What do you mean?” I said, with false innocence that I knew he would see right
through. I crossed the hearth towards the bed, the half eaten cake still in my
hand, the raspberry jam having trickled between my fingers in a sticky mess. I
crawled on top of the covers, more childish than ladylike, and plucked crumbs
from the mess of the cake to my mouth with my fingers.
As I turned around, Petyr had already crossed the room and was stood by the
foot of the bed, right by me.
When Petyr was angry, he was never truly angry. I had come to think he would in
fact never yell at me, or curse at me, or spit at me...his anger was never
obvious or easy to assess. You had to look at the way his eyes watched you, the
barely noticeable shift in his tone, and the words that he perhaps didn't say,
rather than the ones he did.
My eyes met his as I tried to gauge how to play this best.
“Look at you....look at the state of you.” he tutted, not entirely kindly.
He raised his hand to my face, where his thumb wiped roughly over the corner of
my mouth, where there must have been a smattering of crumbs.
My worry subsided a touch when I noticed his eyes, as dark as they were, still
dipped down to the hem of my bodice.
“What must the Lords of the vale think of you? To see you staggering from boy
to boy, everyone that asks you, as if you were a village girl in a tavern?”
“Where does a bastard girl get the gall to turn down the offers of those of
noble birth? She is lucky enough to be asked”
I made my tone as gentle, and my words just as biting, as he did.
“Well, can you perhaps tell me where a bastard girl gets the gall to dress
herself such as this?” His hand found my bodice, gripping just under my
breasts, his thumb not an inch away from my nipple. The touch made me swallow,
and I tried not to squirm under his grip, if only to have that thumb shift that
extra inch...
“Do you not like my gown, father?” I asked, in a small voice “Lady Myranda
gifted it to me. It too would be in poor form to turn down.”
I was surprised by the brevity of my own answers. Perhaps that was the wine.
“If this was your misguided attempt to woo your dear Harry, you know there are
other ways to tempt suitors than flesh. I have taught you better ways myself”
I caught the contempt in his voice as he uttered 'My dear Harry' and I couldn't
help but flash him the smallest of smiles at that.
“Harry seemed happy enough with my ways”
Now I was simply being reckless, and as if to cross the point of no return, I
raised a hand to my mouth, the one still stained with raspberry jam, and darted
out my tongue to lap at the sticky coating on my fingers.
That was when I was pushed down onto the bed with a small yelp. The remnants of
my cake were dropped, as Petyr pinned me down.
Yes, good.
“When it comes to garnering attention from men, you need more lessons in
subtlety, sweetling” he murmured, his face ever so close above mine. I wondered
if he could smell my perfume, or the wine on my breath, as I could smell the
mint on his.
“I would suggest lessons in subtlety yourself. Your jealousy couldn't be more
apparent”
His eyes, that had been so focused on the the tops of my breasts, my lips,
flicked upwards in a moment. In silence he told me that was too far. I should
not have said that.
But I had known that. Harry was his sore spot and we both knew it, but to utter
it out loud...what could be considered a weakness...and here I was jabbing a
finger to that mottled bruise, only making it darker.
His hand went to grab at my breast, and he was not gentle. His fingers dug into
my skin as he yanked down the fabric to expose me, and I hissed as he pinched
at my hardened nipple.
“You didn't like Harry's eyes on me?” I goaded further, legs parting as Petyr
slid in between them.
“He will have his turn...he will have you eventually.” He said, hands winding
to my waist to pull my dress down further, yanking at the laces.
I was sad to hear the rip as he lost patience, and pulled the last of the
skirts and materials down over my hips, as I wriggled out of them, my flesh
goose pimpled against the cold air and alive with his touch as he scraped his
nails down my stomach, leaving smooth pink lines to appear where they had
traced.
“Until then you would have me wear gowns up to the neck? Sleeves to the wrist?
Not even an ounce of flesh on display to keep his blood hot?” I gasped as his
hand found my pussy, claiming it with a grab of his hand. I could feel the cool
touch of his rings against my wet lips, as his fingers curled into me.
“Until then I would have you as mine, to hell with Harry's blood, lest I spill
it” He answered with undisguised venom. His fingers played at me until I was
wet and coating his hand, slipping three fingers into me at once so that I
gasped as he stretched me. He would not let me have pleasure alone, as he
fucked me roughly with that hand, crooning his fingers, and latching his mouth
into my breast where he bit.
He was going to dance with Myranda after this, he had said. When he led her to
the floor, would he have washed himself, or would she feel the tac of my cum on
his fingers as she clasped his hand in hers?
I decided I wanted him to bury his face between my legs too, to grunt and snarl
into my pussy in that way that he did, like an animal, hungry beyond belief for
me and my taste, licking and rolling his tongue over me, lapping at my as if he
was starving. Let him kiss her hand then, as their dance ended, with those same
lips.
But he didn't. He ordered me on my knees, and his hand pressed down on my neck
on the bed. Again, his fingers entered my pussy from behind, this time to lift
my ass up, to spread my legs and submit. To let him pose my body as he wanted
to view it.
With my face pressed to the sheets, I could not see him, but I knew he was
admiring me, so I arched and pushed my ass up as high as I could. This is what
animals do when they want to fuck, I thought, presenting themselves like this.
My pussy clenched around his stilled fingers at the base thought.
“You know you're beautiful, don't you?” he spoke “My beautiful, beautiful girl.
How they'd all like to see you like this. All those admirers of yours....a
beautiful face, beautiful breasts and a beautiful pink slit, glistening like
this....look....look at what they'd see.”
I lifted my head, so that I could look through my own parted legs, and I saw a
thin rivulet of cum dripping from me down his hand to the bed sheets below. It
made me feel like a whore. It made me roll my hips back on his hand, all the
same.
“You want me to fuck you?” Petyr asked, and I nodded, a muted yes escaping my
lips.
His hand thrust into me, so that my ass and thighs shook, and I was ground into
the bed even further.
“Speak up when you answer me”
“Yes!” I cried into the soft mattress “Yes, fuck me, please, yes!”
His fingers left me, but I was jolted forward with a cry of relief as his cock
replaced them, thicker and longer.
I remembered a time, that did not feel too long ago, when he told me we would
never do this. When he used to insist that I had to remain a maiden for Harry.
The smart course of action.
But reason and rationale had left us soon enough. The kisses and caresses
turned into mouths on each other's necks, and hands pawing above our clothes,
until those clothes were eventually discarded, and our mouths moved lower.
I truly believe he had the notion of keeping me as a virign. Perhaps he thought
he was strong enough to only allow himself a taste of me.
I could hear the sharp hiss of him sucking in breath as he felt my tightness
stretch around him, and I felt almost proud. As if I had personally proven him
wrong.
It wasn't long before his pace quickened. Sometimes he was languid with me and
took his time, drawing out the nights he had me smuggled in his bed, and he
would spend hours bringing me to the brink and back again until we were both
flushed and exhausted.
No. Tonight was about his jealousy. Hard and fast and brutal.
“He's not going to fuck you like this, is he?”
Is he? Is he? I could almost hear the question beg off his lips, desperate
sounding. He was a powerful man, stood over me, thrusting into me, raw and
rough, with his hand threaded through my hair so that I was pushed down to the
bed, but yet he was still the weak one here.
“You wont push up your ass like this for him....you won't drip down your thighs
like this for him...” his voice was strained as he fucked me hard and fast,
hands gripping into my hips, nails digging into my skin, sure to leave marks.
“I won't, I won't...” I panted into the covers, delirious and drunk on both
wine and pain as his cock slammed into me “Only you, father, only you...” I
reassured him, thinking the words for empty, but as they tumbled from my lips I
knew them in my heart to be true.
Harry would fuck me gentle. Perhaps he would not even fuck me at all. He would
make love to me, press soft kisses on my neck, not bites, and he would stroke
at me, and not grab. I would be delicate and virginial in his arms and in his
mind.
I could hear Petyr's breath quicken even more as his thrusts came even shorter
and sharper, and he tilted my hips, and I let out a strangled cry as he hit
upon a point inside myself that had me arching against him, pain and pleasure
no longer definable to their own measure, instead so intermixed all I could do
was scream into the covers.
Harry would love me as an innocent, and I would feel all the more a whore for
it. If he ever knew how far I'd sunk into depravity with the man rutting behind
me, the man I called father as I came, Harry would be disgusted. Any sane
person would be disgusted, I reasoned, it was I who was the sick girl. The sick
girl who's father fucked her rough, who let him slide his fingers into her as
she sat on his desk with her legs spread, and later sucked them clean of her
own juices when he offered her a taste. That's who I was. Thats who only Petyr
knew I was.
With a man like him I would always be virginial in comparison. For all the
innocence I had lost, no matter how far I slipped, how far I sinned, I would
never be so far gone as him. Even when I cried out, wracked in sweat, with his
cock pressing deeper and further into me, I felt pure. He was hell itself, and
I was only a little girl lost in him, drowned in his shadow. When I knelt at
his feet as his daughter Alayne, with my eyes wide and my pink lips parted
around the tip of his cock, suckling, staring up with adoration...it may sound
mad, but I felt it. His eyes would grow dark and lost under the shroud of the
sinful pleasure he took from me, and I would feel an innocent again under that
gaze. A girl giving her father a kiss, thanking him...that's what he called it
when he stroked me softly after, and called me sweetling, as if I really was
his pure little girl that he had made and cherished and loved.
I pushed myself over the edge. My own hand came up to my clit and rubbed, with
Petyr jerking violently into me from behind, and I wailed as I came. A girl
gone mad, shaking and gasping into the sheets, slack jawed and lost in the
feeling as I came.
For as sinful as I had become, I didn't fear any of the seven hells. Not when I
knew the devil himself, and the devil himself loved me.
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