Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/198494.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Joffrey_Baratheon/Robb_Stark/Cersei_Lannister, Robb_Stark/Sansa_Stark,
      Joffrey_Baratheron/Cersei_Lannister/Jaime_Lannister
  Character:
      Robb_Stark, Sansa_Stark, Cersei_Lannister, Joffrey_Baratheon, Jaime
      Lannister
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Sibling_Incest, Parent/Child_Incest, Humiliation, Forced_Orgasm,
      Bondage, Alternate_Universe_-_Dark
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-05-12 Words: 1836
****** What Lions Do to Wolves ******
by orphan_account
Summary
     Sansa had long forgotten what it was to not feel fear.
Notes
     Another fill for the asoiaf kinkmeme.
Sansa had long forgotten what it was to not feel fear. It was like being
trapped at the bottom of a deep, dark well with nothing blackness around her.
There was no hope left inside her, nor any joy.
She had once loved her golden prince and his beautiful, queenly mother. That
was until they cut her father’s head off. Sansa had thought she would never see
anything so horrible again, in all her life. She had been wrong about that, of
course, just like everything else.
Now Sansa is watching as Ser Jaime Lannister pulls the burlap sack off the head
of the bound man who kneels before the Iron Throne. When she sees that it is
her brother, Robb, Sansa feels as though the ground has fallen sharply away and
she is floating in dark, featureless air. Of course she knew he had been
captured in battle, his host pulverized, Winterfell sacked, but to see him
here, bloody and thin, a living confirmation to the horror she has only heard
about, it is almost more than she can bear.
She thinks they are going to call for Ser Illyn Payne to cut off his head with
their father’s sword and make her watch. But what they actually have planned is
far worse.
Jaime Lannister is holding her tightly on his lap, like a father might, but
Sansa had never feared her father like this. The Queen has her brother naked on
the bed, his hands bound, his wrists bloody from struggling. She is naked too,
touching him all over, stroking him like a lover would. Joffrey is there and
Sansa thinks inanely that his penis is smaller than she thought it would be
when he imagined their wedding night. That had been a thousand years ago, when
the world still made sense.
“Take his maidenhead, my sweet,” Queen Cersei is telling him. Joffrey looks
uncertain and his mother reaches over Robb’s prone body and grasps his penis
herself. She runs her hand up and down to make it hard and then draws it toward
Robb’s buttocks.
Sansa never imagined a person could be violated there and she is screaming on
the inside, howling in horror, but she learned long ago never to make to sound.
Ser Jaime is holding her arms so firmly she knows that it will bruise. She
thinks she knows what the hard thing poking her behind is and it fills her with
a sick terror that makes it difficult to see, like a blurry screen shielding
her eyes. She is grateful for that, in a way, because although the Queen has
demanded she watch everything they do she can’t really see it all that well.
She can hear it though, and the sounds Robb is making seem to pierce her like
daggers.
The Queen and Joffrey are making sounds too, like when she spied on Theon
Greyjoy and a kitchen maid back at Winterfell and it made her feel strange and
warm. But now they send sick jolts of terror into Sansa’s heart and she feels
she might vomit. Instead, she lets her eyes unfocus and she imagines she is
somewhere else, a place that isn’t real because all the real places she could
think about make her heart ache all over again.
Robb is grunting in pain as though his teeth are clenched. Joffrey pants like
he has been running. The Queen is sighing, sweetly, like she is testing a
particularly tasty confection. Sansa can no longer ignore what she is seeing
when Joffrey starts cursing, saying horrible things about beating Robb bloody
that turn Sansa’s insides to stone. She sees that Robb is lying between the
Queen’s legs. They must be coupling. Joffrey is standing at the foot of the
bed, red in the face with anger, his penis swinging limply like a dead fish.
“What would you like, my sweet?” the Queen asks, pulling Robb’s motionless body
off her. “Would you like to fuck his dear little sister?”
She means her. Sansa feels lightheaded, like she is going to faint.
“No, no, let’s see him fuck her instead,” Joffrey says.
“Ah, a lovely idea. How brilliantly your mind works, my love.”
Robb makes a sound from the bed, like a strangled scream. Sansa can’t move, she
can’t even think.
“Bring her here, Jaime,” says the Queen.
Ser Jaime carries Sansa to the bed, her body limp like an old ragdoll. He
deposits her before the naked Queen and she says, “You don’t want my brother to
cut your throat, do you, little girl?”
Sansa feels her chest tighten in panic and she quickly shakes her head.
“And you, wolf pup, do you want to bathe in your sister’s blood?”
Robb is lying on his back now, his chest heaving, covered in a mosaic of cuts
of burns. His blue eyes are wide and terrified as he shakes his head too.
“Take your dress off, bitch,” snarls Joffrey.
Sansa’s hands tremble as she works the ties and her fingers are curiously numb.
Ser Jaime has joined his sister on the bed and he is kissing her neck, stroking
her between her thighs as she moans. Sansa looks at her brother but his eyes
are shut tight, like he can’t stand to see anything. When she is in just her
smallclothes, Joffrey strides over and grabs her shift at the neck, tearing it
down to expose her breasts.
“Sweet,” he mutters, reaching out to pinch a nipple. Sansa jumps and can’t help
a squeak from escaping her lips. “Don’t you think she has fine teats, pup?”
He’s addressing Robb, but he’s turning away.
Cersei grabs him by the chin and jerks his head around.
“Your King asked you a question! Answer him!”
“Tell me how fine you think her teats are, go on.” Joffrey is grinning as he
makes Sansa turn around so she is fully facing her brother. He says nothing at
first but the Queen is pressing her thumb into his throat, making him gasp.
“Say it!”
“She- she has fine teats,” he chokes out.
Cersei slaps him.
“You are addressing your king.”
“Your grace. She has fine teats, your grace.” His jaw is tight when he says it
and it’s as though the words cause him pain.
Joffrey is pulling the torn shift over her head. Sansa is fully naked now and
she shivers, wanting to cover herself but knows it’s a bad idea. Cersei takes
her arm and gently guides her lie down beside her brother. Ser Jaime has
grabbed Robb by his hair and is cutting his bindings. Robb is so weak he can
barely support himself as he tries to sit up. Jaime grabs his penis, which has
gone soft.
“Better make this hard again or you’ll be swimming in wolf blood, and it won’t
be yours.”
Robb is shaking as he takes his manhood in his hand. Sansa can’t bear to look.
She tries to go away again, inside her mind, but Jaime has returned to the
other side of the bed and is holding the knife against her throat.
“Let me assist you,” the Queen says to Robb, grasping his penis and stroking it
like she did to her son. He shuts his eyes tightly and he begins to grow hard.
Sansa is trembling madly, her heart thumping like a blacksmith’s hammer. Soon,
Robb is crouching over her and Sansa looks into his face, seeing the same
terror and agony that she feels. Cersei lies beside her and runs a hand up her
leg. Sansa twitches in spite of herself as the Queen parts her thighs. She
wants to scream as she runs a finger over her maiden’s place but Sansa stays
silent, knowing if she opens her mouth she will never stop screaming.
The Queen’s touch is soft and gentle and she is stroking her folds, parting
them to delve between to a spot that sends a jolt of fire through Sansa’s
belly, making her squirm. Her touch is relentless, teasing and circling that
spot with her fingers, drawing a hot, insistent tingle from her secret region
that makes Sansa’s breath come in sharp gasps. The whole area down there is
warm and wet and Sansa feels a strange pressure building in her lower belly.
But then Cersei draws her hand away, making Sansa whine in spite of herself.
“Now she’s all ready for her big brother’s cock,” the Queen crooned, making
Sansa burn with shame. Robb, too, looked mortified, but Jaime was still
pressing the blade against Sansa’s throat, drawing out a bead of blood with a
sharp sting.
“Go on. Take her.”
Sansa can see Joffrey on the bed too, lying between his mother’s legs, like a
child would. His eyes are bright and hungry looking as he surveys the pair,
Robb still trembling, not touching Sansa at all.
“Now,” is the insistent growl from the Queen.
Robb’s eyes shut tight as he guides his hardness toward Sansa’s entrance. He
bumps the head of his penis against her wet opening and she gasps without
meaning to.
“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly, almost a whisper.
The intrusion is painful, burning, and Sansa can’t help but cry out. She
expects Jaime’s knife to bite into her throat at any moment, but it never
comes. Robb’s penis feels a hundred feet long as he pushes into her and it
feels like she is being split open. Tears spring unbidden to her eyes and she
feels someone brush them away, probably the Queen.
Robb is making sounds in his throat, low and guttural. He pulls out and then
pushes back in again. Sansa’s legs jerk, but the filling is less painful than
before. He moves slowly, carefully, and Sansa can feel that pleasant fire
return, mingled with the pain in a confused jumble of sensation. There is a
hand on her breast, tweaking her nipple and it sends a surge of pleasure to her
groin. Robb is gasping now, moving faster, Sansa’s thighs aching with the
movement. Then there is a strange wetness on her nipple and she realizes it
must be a mouth before her whole body is seized with an explosion of feeling,
centered on her maiden’s place and spreading all through her limbs, curling her
toes and causing her to cry out madly. Robb is jerking and convulsing above
her, groaning like a bellows, his whole body twitching.
When he collapses on top of her, he doesn’t stop shaking. He is still gasping
and Sansa realizes he is sobbing. He rolls over and Sansa stares down at her
sore thighs, streaked with blood and something else. It looks utterly surreal.
The bed shakes and there is another shout. Joffrey ruts between his mother’s
thighs as Jaime kneads her breasts. Sansa stares at the ceiling, watching the
firelight dance around in strange patterns.
They aren’t going to kill us, she realizes, not ever. There was nothing else to
do but close her eyes and wait for whatever happened next.
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