Ned was fuming. He didn't care how clever it was; hiding Catelyn in a whorehouse was more an insult and an insinuation than he could bear. How Baelish' throat had felt between his fingers…how this life-long nuisance of a man had gasped and wriggled. But then was not a time for vengeance. Not in front of his wife. But now.

He climbed up the steps inside the brothel, searching for the main room where he had seen Littlefinger last. Now was a perfect time to show him what happens to even the noblest men when you push them too long and too far. Ned rounded the last corner and saw him seated in the centre of the room, surrounded by documents and pens. Petyr's hazel eyes didn't even look up.

"Come back to make another bastard, Lord Stark?" he asked politely. "Give me the briefest moment to finish this last ledger and I'm sure I could find you—"

Ned had by now approached the desk and was done suffering Littlefinger's banalities. With one brush of the arm, Eddard swept every paper and quill off onto the floor. That seemed to get the smaller man's attention. His eyes widened only for an instant but that flash of fear was all Ned needed. The Lord of Winterfell put a hand on the desk, almost touching Petyr's own hand as it still clung to the pen he had been writing with. He leaned over Littlefinger, his eyes boring down into those sneering grey ones and showing him just who was going to be in charge of this meeting.

Littlefinger never broke the stare. He even broke a tiny smile. Truth be told, he enjoyed seeing Ned like this. He enjoyed the heat and fury radiating off him so hot he could feel it where their hands almost touched.

"Perhaps not then?" he raised a playful eyebrow.

"No," Eddard concurred. "It's you I'm more interested in at the present."

"My, Ned," Littlefinger fained a blush. "What shall we tell Catelyn?"

The blow was swift and left a crack that echoed dully through the room. Petyr put a hand involuntarily to the cheek that Stark had struck. He barely had time to register the sting when Ned put a hand around the back of his neck and yanked him upward out of his chair, their faces close.

"That is the last time you'll speak of my wife, do you understand?" he growled. The pain, the rough grip around his throat…Petyr felt dizzy. Ned's fingers clenched slightly, his nails digging into Littlefinger's soft, porcelain skin. "You'd do well to answer me when I ask you a question, Lord Baelish."

Their eyes were locked. Petyr's lips opened a moment in silence before he regained some composure. "Yes," he said. "Of course."

But Ned did not release him. Petyr found that his hands had gone up to Ned's wrist, only miming a struggle. Not having the upper hand was something he was unfamiliar with—except when it came to the Starks. They had been the only ones to ever best him. That was going to change, he decided. This time, he'd get what he wanted.

He moved his face closer to Eddard's and that old sneer had returned to his lips. "You know," he whispered. "It was never really Catelyn I wanted to impress at that tourniment."

What?

Littlefinger saw the thought process behind Ned's eyes and he ran with it. He delicately traced one of his fingers up and down Ned's wrist until the grip around the back of his neck loosened slightly. "It was you, you know. I mean please," he scoffed. "I own three whorehouses and have no wife. Do you think I'm interested, even intrigued by women anymore? No, Lord Stark," he said, his voice now husky and soft as he looked the larger man up and down. "It's always been you."

Ned could say nothing. If it was a lie, if it was true hardly mattered. He let go of Littlefinger and started to walk away. He was finished with the man's bullshit for now. But Petyr wasn't finished. Baelish thought a moment.

"Even if I wasn't infatuated with you, I'm done chasing that Tully around." Petyr waited for a reaction but Ned's stride did not break. "I mean, when you break their maidenhead, bedding becomes somewhat of a bore afterwards." Ned stopped dead and Petyr did his best to hide his smile. He saw Ned take a deep breath then continue for the door. "Truth be told, I'm not even sure it was me that did it. She seemed so experienced," Petyr continued. "So forceful when she sucked my cock, oh how she knew just what—"

Ned spun around and lunged at him. They crashed onto the desk and the slap Petyr had felt before was nothing compared to the full-fisted punch he received now. He did his best to ebb Eddard's blows but it seemed nothing was stopping him…except when Petyr fought the only way he knew how. In between punches, Littlefinger arched his neck so that he planted a kiss right on Ned's mouth.

TO BE CONTINUED.