Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7737946.
  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), Shae_(ASoIaF)
  Additional Tags:
      Cunnilingus, Undercover_Oral, Loss_of_Innocence, Non-Penetrative_Sex,
      Naughty_Petyr, Naughty_Sansa, hormonal_teenager, Semi-Public_Sex, Hiding
      in_Plain_Sight, Keep_it_Together_Sansa, Innocent_Sansa, Young_Sansa,
      Older_Man/Younger_Woman, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Season/
      Series_02, Season/Series_03, Petyr's_Beard, Oral_Sex, Sex_Education_By
      Way_Of_Demonstration, Desperation, Face-Fucking, Petyr_Has_A_Talented
      Tongue, 16_Year_Old_Sansa
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-11 Words: 3112
****** Uncomfortable Dresses Are Good For One Thing ******
by casstayinmyass
Summary
     Sansa is approached by Lord Baelish in her chambers, a close friend,
     as well as a man old enough to be her father whom she secretly lusts
     after. Forced to do some last minute thinking, Petyr hides under her
     skirts upon the arrival of others... Of course, trapped between Sansa
     Stark's legs isn't the worst of positions for the devious Master of
     Coin.
Notes
     A little smut ficcie for ya :) For those wondering about the
     plausibility of the situation, trust me- I've seen it done lol.
Sansa sat, staring sourly at her reflection. The dress she had on- a large,
puffy blue piece that itched around her wrists- was horribly uncomfortable. She
preferred something a lot slimmer; not necessarily more discreet, just
something that decreased the chances of her getting stuck in a doorway. Blue
was even her colour... The only reason she had it on was because Cersei had it
made for her, and Sansa thought it best to please the Queen. Interrupting her
fretting, she heard a noise that jolted her from her transfixed gaze.
"Yes?" Sansa inquired, following a soft knock on the door of her chambers.
After a moment, it opened slowly, to reveal a man in a smart-looking tunic and
his famous silver mockingbird pinned to the collar.
"Lord Baelish," the Stark girl stood and smiled pleasantly as she saw her
familiar guest, then looked around. "This must be something important... her
grace's spies could see you visiting my chambers." She couldn't say she cared;
being in the presence of Lord Baelish elevated her mood, and, dare she admit
it, gave her a very pleasant feeling.
Petyr smiled, leading her back into the room, and put his hands on her
shoulders.
"Sansa, my darling," he greeted in his comfortably familiar rasp, "The queen
may have her spies, but I have more than she ever will- as she is so quick to
point out, power is power." He looked out the terrace doors at the beautiful
weather. "What a lovely day it is... and an even lovlier dress to pair it
with."
"Its skirts are huge and annoying," Sansa complained, "I could fit Lady under
here!" Petyr cocked his head in inquiry, and Sansa smiled a little, wistfully.
"She was my direwolf." The redhead sighed. "We never had to wear anything like
this in the north." She sounded like a whiny child, but she couldn't really
bring herself to care at the moment.
"You'll be home soon- I'm heading that way, and you'll be coming with me- if
you still wish to. That is why I've come... to speak of my upcoming travel
plans."
"And to take me out of this horrid dress, hopefully," Sansa laughed, then
realized what she had said, and how it could be taken. Petyr swallowed,
directing his gaze elsewhere to avoid staring at the way the dress dipped
between her breasts, his mind wandering to what she would look like free of
it...
"I'm sorry you're not comfortable in the garment," he offered, "though, if it's
any consolation, the southern clothing agrees with you. You look positively
radiant, my love."
Sansa blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She had no idea why she
was acting this way today around him- like a little girl with a crush. She
looked down to her lap. "You flatter me, Lord Baelish."
"Flattery you rightfully deserve." Sansa smiled back at him, a warmth spreading
throughout her at the compliment, then her smile faltered. She wondered when
Petyr would turn her back on her, betray her. It was so nice having him around,
someone she could trust... but she wasn't stupid; not anymore. She knew that
everyone in King's Landing, maybe even Westeros, used people like her for their
own personal gain. It was only a matter of time before the friend of her
mother's left her side.
"What's wrong?" Petyr asked, walking a little closer. Sansa sighed, drawing
away a little.
"It's nothing, really... I'm just..."
Petyr took another step, stroking her arm gently. "Please, tell me. You can
always trust me."
"But that's the problem, my Lord," Sansa murmured, "I don't know who I can
truly trust! Everywhere I turn, people are trying to kill me or use me. Why
should you be any different?" She felt bad immediately after saying it; Petyr
had done nothing to her to warrant this suspicion; rather, the opposite. Oh,
seven hells, now she had turned him against her for herself. She waited with
baited breath for harsh words or even a slap, but the man before her simply
held his smile, and shook his head.
"Sansa," he sighed, "You have nothing to fear with me. You have my confidence,
my wisdom at your ready if ever you find you need it, and..." he trailed off,
looking down to her hands, where he had taken them in his.
"And?" Sansa asked, and Petyr looked up again, into those beautiful Tully blue
eyes. She felt her breath catch as she watched Petyr's dark eyes as well.
"And my heart."
Sansa was startled by the revelation- she couldn't have heard him right. No,
this was a dangerous man who owned brothels, made royal problems disappear, had
people killed to save secrets... but something about his confession seemed
painfully honest; as if he was bearing his soul to her, and only her.
"I... I love you too," Sansa muttered, and Petyr's eyes widened a little. He
had expected her to be just like her mother- throw him out, humiliate him,
possibly even put a knife to his throat- but Sansa Stark was too kind for that;
hearing her confession sent a surge of want through him. Unable to stop
himself, he reached forward, gently cupping her face in his hands, easing her
in for a kiss. It started out slow, Petyr all too aware that this was her first
time being kissed, but Sansa wanted more.
Her lips became desperate on his, the warmth inside of her only growing at
Petyr's experienced touch. She didn't know how things worked just yet... she
was innocent, clueless, but she could learn very fast. Petyr broke the kiss
when he felt her nimble fingers on his breeches- she was certainly more eager
than he had imagined she would be. She had obviously felt the outline of his
hardening manhood, as there are some things that just can't be helped, but this
was not the time nor place for that.
"Sansa, my darling... we must resist," Petyr murmured, catching his breath,
"You must not lose your maidenhead yet- if your husband was to find it broken
on your wedding night, there's no telling what he'd do."
"My husband? But I'm... not betrothed to anyone yet."
"A beautiful young woman like yourself with an ancient, powerful family name?
You're going to have suitors lining up for you, my dear," Petyr smiled wryly,
"And, gods forbid, the one chosen may not be as gentle with you as I am." Sansa
frowned.
"But... Lord Baelish, I want you." Petyr exhaled. He wanted nothing more than
to give in and make her scream his name like he knew he could, like he had
pictured every time he took himself in hand at night or upon waking. But Sansa
was gentle as a dove, and was easily broken- he had to ease himself into her
affections.
"Sometimes we confuse want for someone with desire that demands to be satisfied
immediately," he whispered patiently, trailing his hand down her arm, "We must
determine what we truly want under clearer circumstances." Sansa glanced at the
ground, readjusting her skirts in embarrassment. Petyr lifted her chin up with
a finger.
"Dont be embarrassed, love. Another time, is all- we must wait the longest for
the things we want most." Again, Petyr found himself imagining how wet her cunt
would be for him... how wet it was now, even. So, so sweet she would taste,
untouched, unspoilt- so good she would feel around him, repeating his name in
ecstasy as he showed her how a woman should be made to feel. Snapping out of
his distant gaze, and before things got too heated, Petyr opted to kiss her one
more time before he left- this time, a chaste placement on her forehead.
"Where are we going, then?" Sansa asked morosely, and Petyr removed his hands
from her.
"I'm taking my best horses on my way directly North. I can't go all the way to
Winterfell, but the Umbers will care for you for the time being- I've heard
whispers your brother Rickon is there as well."
Sansa smiled a little. "You know it's going to be chaos here without you to
contain it all."
"My dear Sansa," Petyr smiled, "Chaos is a ladder. A time of disquiet allows
one to slip in and climb the rungs, one by one, unnoticed."
"You're so calculated," she murmured, "In everything that you do."
"And you, my love, are the future of House Stark. We depart at daybreak." Petyr
leaned in for one more parting kiss, but the gesture was interrupted as they
heard voices coming down the corridor, approaching the room.
"It's just my handmaiden, Shae," Sansa assured him, but Petyr looked
perplexed. 
"Nobody can know we spoke here today," he whispered, "Even a handmaiden has
ears and a mouth- too many people are watching you, and such a meeting will
attract too many dangerous eyes if conspiracy is suspected."
"But where can you hide?" Sansa asked desperately. Then they both got the same
questionable idea, looking at each other.
The door opened to Sansa sitting by her vanity mirror, brushing her hair
casually. Shae came in, with none other than Varys tailing.
"Lady Sansa," Shae started slowly, "I was walking in the gardens, and Lord
Varys asked me to see you. Are you busy?"
"No, no!" Sansa feigned, fluffing her large skirts over Petyr, who was buried
rather uncomfortably underneath them, "Please, do come in, my Lord." Thank
goodness Petyr had such a slim build- Sansa almost giggled at the thought of
fitting someone like The Hound under there. 
"My sweet girl," the master of whispers greeted with a short bow, "How lovely
you look." Sansa nodded in thanks with a smile. "I shall make my point with
haste, my dear- it has been brought to my attention that Littlefinger is
heading north with some riders..." Sansa felt Petyr tense under her, and she
held her breath. "I know you and he are in... considerably comfortable company
with each other, which is why I'd like to ask you if he's come to you about the
whole ordeal." Sansa blinked, and Varys took her hand. "Now, don't be
frightened, child. Petyr Baelish may be the most dangerous man in Westeros, but
he can't hurt you if my affiliates are protecting you. Which, of course, they
are."
Sansa chewed her lip, wondering what she should do. Deny seeing him? Deny ever
being close with him? Suddenly, she knew what she had to do.
"We spoke," she mentioned, "He's heading north because someone has made him an
offer he can't refuse, one that would make him a lot of money." Under her
skirts, Petyr listened intently, grinning. She was a good liar... almost as
good as he was.
"Are you certain that's the reason?" Varys asked, frowning. Obviously he had
been expecting something else. Sansa just nodded simply, and the spider hummed.
"Interesting. I took him for a different man... at least in this particularly
vexing situation." Sansa pretended not to know what Varys meant.
She was about to make a polite comment about seeing him out just to urge
everyone out of the room, but her throat caught as she felt Petyr's hands on
her legs... she hesitated. What in seven hells was he doing? Trying to signal
her to say something? Luckily, Varys spoke up again, filling the silence. 
"I feel I've been most impolite, just barging in here and demanding answers of
you. How are you fairing in this climate?" Varys asked pleasantly, "I've heard
you're getting along quite well... aside from your... unspoken captivity, of
course." Sansa swallowed as she felt Petyr's hands move up her legs. He
couldn't be doing that... he wouldn't... Evidently, he would. His hands slid
higher and higher until they reached-
"Oh!" she said aloud, then covered her mouth as Petyr stalled momentarily. 
"Is something the matter, my dear?" Varys asked, looking genuinely concerned.
"No... your question just reminded me of my, ehm... my home, and it makes me
very s-sad to think of," she tried, feigning a little whimper as Petyr shimmied
down her smallclothes gently.
"I did not intend to upset you," Varys said, patting her hand, "It must be
terribly difficult, so far away from Winterfell."
"Very," Sansa gasped, feeling Petyr's breath on her upper thighs, "But I've
dealt with a lot worse... recently... oh, father, mother, warrior, croan.."
"Have you fallen ill?" Varys asked again, "Shall I get a Maester?"
"No!" Sansa yelped, burying a moan, "I'm just... a little hot from the weather,
in this dress."
"I'll get Shae to find you a new one and help you into it-"
"Wait, no!" Sansa said again, and sighed, breath stilling as Petyr's tongue
darted out to trace her folds, "AaahI apologize, my lord, I'm, t-terribly
indecisive today." Varys just smiled kindly.
"No need to apologize, Sansa. I've been rather intrusive, I'm afraid. I'll take
my leave now, and hope you'll enjoy this lovely day- it's rather chaotic in the
gardens today, so perhaps you'd avoid those." Sansa smiled as the Spider got
up.
"Thank you, Lord Varys. But I'm not scared of chaos. It's a sort of... ladder,
I've learned." Suddenly both Petyr and Varys stilled, and Sansa realised her
mistake of quoting Petyr. Varys narrowed his eyes, before they widened, but he
kept his mouth sealed in an indifferent smile- if he realized what was
happening or where Petyr was, he didn't let on as he nodded.
"Of course. Good day, Lady Sansa."
Oh gods... Oh, merciful seven, he knew... Her eyelids fluttered shut as Petyr's
tongue swirled around something that made her jolt. Thankfully, Varys had since
turned, so Sansa arched her back, grinding herself down. As the Spider left,
Shae returned.
"Are you alright?" she asked, and Sansa's eyes snapped open.
"Yes! Oh, I just have... the most terrible pains..."
"I'll draw you a bath, then perhaps we'll get you out of that horrible dress-"
"No! I... I like the... dress," Sansa lied through her teeth, hips gyrating
subtly as Petyr plunged his tongue into her, "Just... mmm... let me sit and
recover... alone?" The sounds his mouth was making were obscene, but thankfully
they were inaudible to anyone but Sansa.
"Alright... but at least let me finish your hair. You were brushing it before I
came in with Varys."
"Oh... v-very well," Sansa breathed, white knuckling the chair. If she refused,
Shae would suspect something- she was a suspicious person by nature. Petyr
licked his way up to her clit, inserting one finger into her pussy, and Sansa
almost groaned, but snapped her mouth shut in time, shifting ever so slightly
in her seat instead.
"Your hair is such a nice color," Shae commented, even though Sansa couldn't
help but notice the stretch in her voice. Shae just didn't notice these things,
and when she did, it meant she was either angry or hinting at something. "...I
wonder how many men in this city think so too," Shae continued, "Maybe... the
Master of Coin likes it?"
"What do you want to know about Littlefinger, Shae?" Sansa sighed heavily. 
"I want to know if you were telling the truth," she replied honestly, "Everyone
says that Littlefinger is a very dangerous man... he wants things from you,
Sansa. Things that you're not ready for."
"How do you know what I'm ready for?"
"I clean for you, I wash for you, I empty your chamberpot. I know basically
everything about you."
"Well... everyone's right about one thing," Sansa almost gasped, "Littlefinger
is a dangerous man. But..." she bit her lip, wanting nothing more than to grind
down into Petyr's face, "He was there for me when no one else was... he's
helped me more than you could ever understand."
"What does that mean?" Shae frowned indignantly, but Sansa was past caring if
that could be construed as an alliance with Petyr.
"Please..." Sansa whispered softly, bunching up her skirts and gripping them
tightly.
"Please what?" Shae asked, tilting her head now, "Are you playing games with
me?"
"No, I..." Sansa could barely surpress a squeal as Petyr's talented tongue and
even more talented fingers brought her to an amazing orgasm, sending Sansa
grasping for the table and covering her face with her hands. She was at the
mercy of his relentless motions, and she could feel the nuzzle of his facial
hair just above her clit as he sucked her through the pleasure, gradually
releasing her. At that moment, no one else existed in the world except for her
and Petyr as she imagined how hard he was under there. Gods, how she wanted to
see how large and hard Petyr's cock was-
"Hello! Sansa, answer me!" Shae's shrill words finally faded into Sansa's
consciousness, and her blue eyes blinked open blearily.
"Hmm? Ooh... I'm just... these... mmm, these awful pains are still here..." she
said drowsily. 
Shae sighed. "I'm sorry about my questions... I shouldn't demand an answer of a
Lady," she said stiffly, "I'll come and see you after. I should probably go
visit my li- uh, somebody." 
Getting up, she set the brush down, leaving the room. Sansa managed a slurred,
"Thank you, Shae," as she left, then when they were sure the door had closed
fully, Sansa lifted her skirts for Petyr to crawl out of. When he did, he rose
to his full height, his gaze lingering over hers as he waited hesitantly for
her reaction. 
"What was that?!" Sansa finally blurted, trying to ignore the fact that his
beard was slick with her arousal. Petyr blinked, looking down.
"My apologies, my lady. That was... beyond inappropriate, and for that I am
eternally-"
Cutting him off promptly, Sansa stood and kissed Petyr again, the taste of her
arousal thrilling her all the more. "I see," Petyr acknowledged. Then Sansa
covered her mouth.
"I feel so bad," she hissed, "We were so... so terribly naughty!"
Petyr smirked at the girl's wording. "We were. And we can continue to be, all
without breaking your maidenhead, you see?"
"But..." Sansa tried to protest.
"Ah- remember my words?"
"Yes, but-"
"Sansa." The thought of Petyr's thick manhood sliding in and out of her,
stretching her, making her scream for it, was enough to get her throbbing
again. But it was no use. "No argument," he whispered, "Not now. You must play
your role, as I must play mine, and we will be on our way. Home in no time."
"But you're coming with me... yes? To protect me?" 
"Of course, Sansa," Petyr grinned, "Now inform the rest of them inquiring about
me that I'm leaving alone for Winterfell... tonight."
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