FIC: Show - 1/1, Game of Thrones, NC17, Sansa/Margaery
Title: Show
Author: Jo (jo@fadedink.com)
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Pairing: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Rating: NC17
Word count: 461
Summary: Sansa wants to know.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just borrowing them for a bit!
Author's Notes: The 26th Day of Christmas for giselleslash who gives great prompt. :)
Following their conversation, all Sansa can think about is what Margaery said. About men and women and pleasure. She's not sure she understands it all, but she wants to.
So over dinner, she watches Margaery. She tries to be subtle about it, stealing peeks every few minutes, because Margaery fascinates her. The way she is fearless and clever. The way she manipulates Joffrey with just a few words. The way she plays the Game of Thrones so effortlessly.
Sansa watches her, studies her mannerisms, the way she holds her knife or sips from her cup. Each hand gesture makes heat pool inside Sansa in an odd way that's both frightening and pleasurable. It's a sensation that Sansa wants to explore.
So she follows her instincts.
Those instincts lead her to Margaery's door in the dark hour just before midnight. And Margaery, it seems, has expected her and is waiting.
Sansa hovers there, in the door, and Margaery watches her.
I want to know, is all Sansa says.
Margaery smiles and sits up in the bed. The covers slip and pool in her lap, baring her breasts to Sansa's hungry gaze. They are small and pert, crowned with rosy nipples that are tight little nubs. Sansa takes a step into the room.
Let me show you, is Margaery's response, and she pushes the covers away and stands. Her legs are long, the curve of her waist and hip delicate, but Sansa's eyes are drawn to the thatch of red-gold curls at the juncture of Margaery's thighs.
Time then slips and slides, oozing around her like honey, and Sansa finds herself stretched out on Margaery's bed, the cool air kissing her bare skin as Margaery kneels between her parted thighs. Slender, graceful fingers slide over her, into her, and all Sansa can do is gasp.
Margaery smiles and bends her head. Her tongue is wicked and clever, dancing over Sansa until she is writhing in the sheets, soft pants and moans escaping her as her hips lift, seeking more. Margaery just laughs softly and kisses Sansa between her thighs and teases her until Sansa comes apart in her hands.
When Sansa comes back to herself, her muscles still languid, her body boneless, Margaery still kneels between her parted legs, her fingers gently moving in and out of Sansa's wet cunt. Sansa's eyes immediately drop because she wants to repay the favor, but the sight of the device strapped to Margaery's slender hips catches her breath in her throat.
Leather straps criss-cross her skin, holding a knobbed staff firmly at her groin. And Sansa's mouth goes dry as she watches Margaery slick oil along the length of that staff.
Then Margaery smiles.
And that smile makes Sansa quiver and spread her legs even further.
Author: Jo (jo@fadedink.com)
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Pairing: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Rating: NC17
Word count: 461
Summary: Sansa wants to know.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just borrowing them for a bit!
Author's Notes: The 26th Day of Christmas for giselleslash who gives great prompt. :)
Following their conversation, all Sansa can think about is what Margaery said. About men and women and pleasure. She's not sure she understands it all, but she wants to.
So over dinner, she watches Margaery. She tries to be subtle about it, stealing peeks every few minutes, because Margaery fascinates her. The way she is fearless and clever. The way she manipulates Joffrey with just a few words. The way she plays the Game of Thrones so effortlessly.
Sansa watches her, studies her mannerisms, the way she holds her knife or sips from her cup. Each hand gesture makes heat pool inside Sansa in an odd way that's both frightening and pleasurable. It's a sensation that Sansa wants to explore.
So she follows her instincts.
Those instincts lead her to Margaery's door in the dark hour just before midnight. And Margaery, it seems, has expected her and is waiting.
Sansa hovers there, in the door, and Margaery watches her.
I want to know, is all Sansa says.
Margaery smiles and sits up in the bed. The covers slip and pool in her lap, baring her breasts to Sansa's hungry gaze. They are small and pert, crowned with rosy nipples that are tight little nubs. Sansa takes a step into the room.
Let me show you, is Margaery's response, and she pushes the covers away and stands. Her legs are long, the curve of her waist and hip delicate, but Sansa's eyes are drawn to the thatch of red-gold curls at the juncture of Margaery's thighs.
Time then slips and slides, oozing around her like honey, and Sansa finds herself stretched out on Margaery's bed, the cool air kissing her bare skin as Margaery kneels between her parted thighs. Slender, graceful fingers slide over her, into her, and all Sansa can do is gasp.
Margaery smiles and bends her head. Her tongue is wicked and clever, dancing over Sansa until she is writhing in the sheets, soft pants and moans escaping her as her hips lift, seeking more. Margaery just laughs softly and kisses Sansa between her thighs and teases her until Sansa comes apart in her hands.
When Sansa comes back to herself, her muscles still languid, her body boneless, Margaery still kneels between her parted legs, her fingers gently moving in and out of Sansa's wet cunt. Sansa's eyes immediately drop because she wants to repay the favor, but the sight of the device strapped to Margaery's slender hips catches her breath in her throat.
Leather straps criss-cross her skin, holding a knobbed staff firmly at her groin. And Sansa's mouth goes dry as she watches Margaery slick oil along the length of that staff.
Then Margaery smiles.
And that smile makes Sansa quiver and spread her legs even further.