Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/889663.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Cersei_Lannister/Sansa_Stark, Sandor_Clegane/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Sansa_Stark, Sandor_Clegane, Cersei_Lannister
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-19 Words: 2435
****** The Lioness's Game ******
by TimmyJaybird
Summary
     In an AU where the Hound returned to battle after Blackwater Bay.
     Cersei decides to have some fun with her little dove before she is
     married off to Tyrion.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Cersie lounged, bored in her chambers. Her glass of wine sat empty to her, as
she stared out at the window. The chaos Blackwater had caused had subsided, and
she could hear men and woman alike outside, so many men now that the Tyrells
were here, joining the cause with their little Margery.
She grimaced, twirled some of her blonde hair. Joffrey’s betrothal to the girl
made her unhappy- she rather liked the Stark girl, with her pretty auburn hair
and blue eyes. Sure, she was a meek thing, little and helpless, but Cersei
liked the power she could hold over her. Margery she could not grasp.
Sansa’s pretty face was stirring in Cersei’s mind, young and innocent and
freshly a woman. She knew her father planned to marry the girl to Tyrion now,
and it angered her. If the Stark girl went to her brother, she would have
nothing to toy with. Not so freely, at least.
Thinking of toying with her made Cersei thirst. She was so utterly bored.
Outside, she heard a gruff, raspy voice, and a smirk grew on her face. She
stood, walked to her chamber doors, and opened them wide. IN the hallway
Clegane was making his way past two chamber maids, giving them a gruff, raspy
bark of words at their stares.
“Clegane,” she called, adn the man stopped. He turned to her, bowed, though she
saw no amusement in his dark eyes.
“Your Grace.”
“Bring my Sansa,” she said, “and be quick about it.”
Clegane gave a curt nod, and was gone. Cersei returned to her room, filled her
wine glass, and drank deeply. Her long nails tapping on the golden cup. If she
was to lose her play thing, she would have one final game with her, and give
Tyrion only her scraps.
She heard them before they entered her room, heard soft words between them.
Sansa sounded concerned, and faintly Cersei heard her ask what she had done.
“Just do as you’re bid, little bird,” the Hound whispered, and then the door
was open and Sansa walked in, hair down and wavy, gown fresh and a beautiful
plum color. The Hound went to close the door, but Cersei held up her hand.
“No, Clegane. In here.” He stepped inside, closed the door, and took up a rigid
post at the doorway, confusion laced in those dark brooding eyes.
“Your Grace,” Sansa said, bowing her head and curtsying low. Cersei liked the
way the gown clung to her breasts, leaving pale flesh exposed.
“Little Dove,” she said, reaching out so Sansa could kiss her ring. “I hope you
have not been beside yourself with grief, since Joffrey has broken your
betrothal.”
“No,” Sansa said, “His Grace is more deserving of a woman with a loyal family.
I am traitor’s blood, after all.” Her eyes didn’t meet Cersei’s, stayed cast on
the floor. She was afraid of the Queen, and that fear did something to Cersei
she swore only Jaime could do. She set her wine glass down, reached out and
touched Sansa’s chin. She titled the girl’s face up.
“Little Dove,” she said, “I have a gift for you, to ease the pain of losing my
son.” She walked past her, to the door, and reached up, latching it, knowing
the Hound’s eyes were not on her but still on Sansa. When she looked back, she
saw fresh fear in the girl’s eyes.
The Queen sauntered back over, tracing a finger along the neckline of Sansa’s
dress, over the top of the swell of her breasts. Sansa’s heart quickened, and
Cersei smiled. She pulled on the lacing in the front, revealing more of the
girl’s breasts, while Sansa turned pink.
“Your Grace,” she whimpered, and Cersei hushed her.
“You’ll never know what a man is like,” she said, “not with the future you
have. You’ll never know anything good between your thighs.” She reached down,
pressed to Sansa’s sex, held her firmly with her other arm. “The least I can do
is let you experience it once.”
Sansa squeaked, a delicious sound, and Cersei pulled on the front of her dress,
tore the lacing so her breasts were freed. The Queen shot a glance over at the
Hound, saw his face was stoic, but his eyes a wildfire of desire and rage. She
smirked.
“Hound,” she said, and he looked at her. “Come here.”
He stepped forward, and Cersei gripped Sansa’s shoulders and turned the girl
towards him, letting his eyes feast on her breasts. “Help the girl with her
embarrassment. Stare at her while I undress her.” She pushed some of Sansa’s
hair out of her face. “Little Dove, if you can get the blush from your cheeks
by the time I have you naked, you may leave.”
Sansa swallowed the lump in her throat, and Cersei continued her work, tugging
on her heavy plum dress, freeing her arms and then her belly. The Hound stood
tense, his eyes looking into Sansa’s. Her face was crimson, would stay tinged
until his eyes were off her, yet he could not look away. The Queen would not
allow it- nor did he wantto.
Cersei was smirking, could see the color not only on Sansa’s face, but her neck
and chest as well. Quickly, she ripped the dress down, and it fell to the
floor, leaving Sansa in only her smallclothes. Cersei took her time with those,
long fingernails scraping along Sansa’s skin, giving her goose flesh before
they were pulled down as well.
Cersei straightened, and Sansa was still beautifully pink. Perfect.
“I-I’m sorry, your Grace,” the girl nearly sobbed, and Cersei held up her hand.
“Hush, little Dove. You’ll enjoy your punishment.” She turned to the Hound,
still smiling, and said in a cool, even voice, “Hound, fuck her.”
Sansa cried out, covering her mouth, and Sandor faltered. He looked at the
Queen, muttered, “Your Grace?” and Cersei waved her hand.
“You heard me. Fuck the girl.” The turmoil in his eyes was delicious, as Cersei
knew it would be. The joy that playing with Sansa meant playing with the Hound
was such a treat.
Cersei grabbed Sansa’s shoulder, guided her to her bed, pushed her onto it. Her
thighs spread as she well, giving a glimpse of the treasure between them, and
Cersei heard the raspy groan the Hound thought he hid. She stared as well,
Sansa looking sweet and delicious, making Cersei’s own womanhood stir, throb
ever so slightly.
“Trust me child, you’ll thank me when he’s done.” She walked to her chair,
grabbed her wine, and settled in. “Even if he is a beast of a man, he’s still a
man.”
She sipped her wine, watched as the Hound knelt by the bed, Sansa staring at
him.
“Make it a good show,” Cersei added, not wanting it to be over too quickly. “I
do want the little dove to enjoy herself.”
Sansa was trembling, and the Hound ran a hand up her thigh, leaned over her,
was whispering something to her. Cersei wondered if he had ever gotten that
close to her before, and idly she wondered if perhaps the longing between the
two was not just in glances.
When the Hound removed his gloves and cupped Sansa’s breasts, kneaded them
gently, the look in his eyes told Cersei he had never dreamed he’d actually get
this close to the girl. That pleased her more. She straightened up, watched as
his mouth went to Sansa’s neck, her collar bone, and she wondered if the girl
liked those hideous scars of his.
Clegane’s lard, rough hand was between Sansa’s thighs, petting her almost, and
Cersei twisted her face. She stood, walked over, and placed her hand on his,
moving it the way she wanted to.
“Don’t play coy,” she hissed at him, “You know how to touch a woman, bloody
well best do it right.” Sansa was gasping, looking from the Hound to the Queen,
scared and excited and wanting to disappear. Her eyes made Cersei tremble. The
Hound gritted his teeth, doing as he was bid, stroking Sansa with a knowning
ease, making her slick and ready for him.
Cersei sat on the bed now, watching him, watching Sansa gasp for breath, the
way her breasts rose and fell, small and firm. She traced her fingers over
them, pinched one of her nipples. Sansa bit her lip.
“Now,” was all Cersei said, and the Hound stood, grudgingly removing his sword
and unlacing his breeches, still otherwise armored. Cersei liked the stark
contrast, the little dove completely exposed, this beast still covered in
armor. When he cock was free, Cersei was amused at how ready he was already.
She chuckled, like warm wine with a spike of poison. “Sansa, look what you’ve
done to the poor man. You’d best make up for such torment.”
Sansa had pushed herself up on her elbows, saw the Hound’s cock, and turned
such a shade of red that Cersei was sure her skin had dissolved. But something
in her blue eyes showed excitement, and Cersei was sure her thighs were wetter
now. She waved her hand, growing impatient, and the Hound was holding Sansa,
one hand buried in her hair, around her shoulders, the other guiding himself
inside her.
Sansa cried out, long and hard, her eyes tearing up. Cersei remembered that
pain, the feeling of invasion, and drunk down Sansa’s tears and pain. She
watched the Hound still, hold her, lean in close to whisper something-
When Sansa closed the gap. She kissed him, her lips tangling with his
passionately, whimpering into his mouth. She was still crying, her arms around
his neck, pressing her body up against his. Cersei was taken back, and stared,
emerald eyes wide. The girl showed no recoil at his scars, even released her
hold on him with one arm to touch them, run her finger tips over them. The Houd
stared at her, before his eyes grew dark, stormy, and he was pushing her down
into the bed, driving into her body, making Sansa squirm and gasp and cry out,
arching into his touch, spreading her thighs wider for him.
Cersei swallowed. She had not expected this. She had seen the lust in the
Hound’s eyes, how he played at being curt and keeping his distance with the
Stark girl. And she had seen the way Sansa feared him, but the little glint in
her eyes that said she was curious. Still, she had expected the girl to put up
a fight, the Hound to not be so gently with her. But to see him taking her, and
the little dove enjoying it, calling out to him, this she had not expected.
She straightened her shoulders, reminding herself this was for her, not for the
Stark girl or the dog. “Stop,” she said, and while Sansa ceased her squirming,
the Hound gently thrust into her a few more times, slowing his pace. “Get up,
Sansa,” Cersei ordered, and the girl obeyed, whimpering at the lose of the
Hound inside her, “and get on your knees.”
Sansa did as she was bid, knelt on the bed facing the Queen. Cersei reached
out, dug her hand into the girl’s hair, and pulled her down. Sansa caught
herself on her hands, and then Cersei nodded to the Hound, who gripped Sansa’s
hips and was back inside her. The girl cried out, and Cersei grinned.
“Do you like being fucked like a bitch in heat, Sansa?” she asked, and the
Stark girl just stared at her, biting her lower lip and drawing blood. Cersei
knew she was fighting to hife the pleasure, fighting to keep from squealing
that she did. Cersei reached out her other hand, kneaded Sansa’s breast, leaned
in closer. “Tell me you like it.”
“Yes,” Sansa whimpered, and the Hound drove into her faster, leaning over her
to kiss her shoulders. Cersei took one of Sansa’s hands, made her balance on
only one, and guided it between her quivering legs. Sansa was shaking her head,
but Cersei was firm. She made Sansa touch herself, that spot the Hound had
rubbed for her, and suddenly he gasps were breathier, turning almost gutteral
in a sweet way.
Cersei leaned back, loving the torment on the girl’s face. She was such a
wanton young woman it seemed, and Cersei was shocked, but not unpleasantly.
Perhaps she had underestimated Sansa Stark just a bit.
“Your... Grace,” the Hound said, pulling her attention from the girl. The look
in his eyes told her all she needed to know, and Cersei said the single word
that drove the two to the brink.
“Inside.”
Sansa gasped, and the Hound gripped her hips like iron. Sansa felt the heat
inside her body coil up, and Cersei watched as the girl peaked, crying out,
thrusting back against the Hound’s cock. Clegane drove into her one final time,
giving a vicious, guttural groan, emptying himself inside her sweet body.
Cersei leaned back, watching as Sansa descended from her joy, her eyes going
from a glazed blue fire, to a haze, to the slow realization of what she had
done.
And then her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were horrified. Cersei squirmed,
pleased.
“Get dressed,” she ordered Sansa, as the Hound relaced his breeches. He helped
her, steadied her as Sansa stepped into her dress, even tied it for her. The
gently way he touched her was making Cersei lose the rush from her fear, and
she grew irritated. “Leave me,” she said, and the two hurried to the door.
“Sansa,” she called out before they reached the door, and the girl turned to
her, silently.
Cersei couldn’t explain why she reassured the girl, why she spoke at all. “No
one will know,” she promised, and Sansa’s lips gave a soft smile, before she
simply nodded her head, and the two were gone. Cersei threw herself back onto
the bed, closed her eyes, remembered the girl’s sweet discomfort and fear, the
way her little body contorted for the Hound. She hadn’t thought she’d find as
much joy in simply watching them couple as she had, but the perfect girl and
that beast of a man truly looked an enticing sight together.
She tugged on her skirts, splaying them, slipping a hand beneath her small
clothes, and sighed as she touched herself as she had made Sansa do, drank down
that feeling of power over the girl like sweet wine, and in the back of her
head, knew she must scheme a way to keep power over Sansa from going to Tyrion.
End Notes
     This was just something that popped into my head while I was coming
     home form work, and I needed a break from working on The Eternal
     Summer. I'm really quite a fan of Cersei Lannister, as ruthless as
     she is.
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