Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/233193.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Petyr_Baelish/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Petyr_Baelish, Sansa_Stark
  Additional Tags:
      Porn_Battle, Community:_kink_bingo, Dirty_Talk, Oral_Sex, Licking,
      Bondage, Older_Man/Younger_Woman, Underage_Sex
  Collections:
      Porn_Battle_XII_(The_Dirty_Dozen)
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-08-02 Words: 900
****** The Taste of Lies ******
by QDS
Summary
     "All fairytales are lies...but you have learned that now, haven't
     you, sweetling?"
Notes
     Written first as a prompt to Porn_Battle_12, Petyr Baelish
     (Littlefinger)/Sansa Stark, fairytales, liar (original post here),
     and also for my wildcard for
     [[community profile] ]
kink_bingo, kink being 'dirty talk' (for a creative use of the term!) Spoilers
for the entirety of the first series of Game of Thrones
*
Sansa's breath is halting. She can hardly move; the bonds at her hands, silken
ties holding them above her head, allow her little freedom. She wants to cry
out but cannot, will not. Any sound she makes will be her death. Lord Baelish's
too, and she has aided enough deaths for her lifetime. The bed is little more
than a cot, and is hidden far from the eyes on anyone in King's Landing. She
did not question how he found it. The room is dark, except for a small high
window above, just enough light to catch his glistening mouth and her wet sex.
"It is like a dungeon in a song," she says, voice soft. There is no one to
rescue her, but she does not wish for it.
"All fairytales are lies." His beard is both soft and bristly against the place
between her legs, but the tip of his tongue is a firm pointed sponge, a strange
comfort and shocking pleasure. "But you have learned that now, haven't you,
sweetling?"
She secretes, and he licks all of it up, soothing her folds. Her body is taut
but on the edge of shuddering apart. His fingers keep her thighs spread and her
sex free to his probing, laving mouth.
"Tell me more lies, Lord Baelish," she says. When he raises his eyebrows at
her, she says, "They give me some comfort still."
He smirks. "I'm not sure it is a wise comfort, my dear."
Sansa sighs, and says, flatly, "I am done with begging, my Lord." She turns her
from him to wait until he is done.
Lord Baelish tilts her cheek back to him with two firm fingers. He leans up,
and kisses her. She has never tasted herself before, and on his lips, she is
tangy.
He plucks at an exposed nipple with his finger tips. Her teeth sink into her
lower lip as it rounds and hardens.
As he rolls it around, he whispers, "Lies then. Fairytales and lies."
Lord Baelish lowers himself to her body, his mouth suckling her other nipple.
Her sex drips again, running down her thigh. He pulls back.
"Handsome princes are honourable and just," he says, and she feels a pulse at
the bud between her legs.
He plants a kiss below her breast. Her chest swells as continues down her body,
kissing her skin between each word.
"Knights slay the monsters and are still kind when they return home. They wash
the blood from their hands and forget their past violence when their beloved
greets them."
A bite to her hip bone, and Sansa gasps.
"The advisers to the king only wish to serve him and the realm."
Their eyes meet, and despite her fraught and tremulous body, she smiles at his
devious mouth.
One finger encircles her belly button, the trails down to her tuft of her hair.
"Noble men sacrifice themselves for the greater good, and their cause is always
won."
"The first part is true..." Her father's face swims into her vision. Lord
Baelish's mouth, now again between her legs, lulls her, and opens her up to the
image of those last moments. She tries but cannot suppress her sob, nor the
sudden empty feeling in her stomach. Lord Baelish stops, reaches up and places
his hand on her belly. Sansa continues to breath, watching his hand rise and
fall, and he waits, until she nods. Tears trickle down her cheek, and he wipes
them away.
Lord Baelish kisses a spot just above her downy hair. "If a man of the court is
in love with the Queen, he will allow his passion to consume him rather than
dishonour his position or the Queen's virtue."
She laughs in a hollow tone, though she is not queen yet, and he winks at her,
before licking the length of the folds between her legs.
"Lords only wish to please their ladies. And never ask anything in return."
That lie is almost so ridiculous that she starts to laugh again, but Lord
Baelish begins to nibble and press the bud above her entrance. Her neck arches
and she lifts her hips, closer to his face, but he grips her, keeping her
precisely at a distance, tenderly close, frustratingly too far, teasing and
toying that single spot. Sansa wants it to burst, either to split her apart and
leave her in pieces on the cot for the monsters to come and devour her and her
foolishness, or for Lord Baelish to keep her together in his mouth as his
tongue tells her more delicious, deceitful tales.
When she comes, his holds her, keeping her still against his mouth as she
convulses against the bonds at her hands, sharp breaths of air the only sound
she makes.
Even as the ripples continue, Lord Baelish stands, removes his breeches, and
straddles her chest. His shaft is erect and red, and close to her chin. Sansa
gazes up at him, her vision focusing on his tense face, and sweaty brow. His
beard is dotted with her secretions, and his eyes are hard.
"You know what to do, little bird."
Sansa wets her lips, and opens her mouth, preparing to swallow Lord Baelish, to
be fed with his falsehoods. When he fills her mouth with his shaft, the scent
is musky, very male, and real, and the taste is both bitter and sweet.
–
End
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