A/N A oneshot based on a paragraph in the first book where Catelyn returns to Riverrun and she has a memory of her and Lysa taking turns kissing Petyr. I thought it'd be cute to write about. Anyway, hope you enjoy...
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Petyr loved her. He always had. He always would. She would be betrothed to someone soon, and he feared that it would not be him. He wasn't some noble lord, heir to lands and titles. He was a small boy who loved Catelyn Tully with all his heart. He had spent years trying to prove it to her, but she didn't want him. She was married already – to the Tully words. Family, Duty, Honour.
Catelyn saw him as family. A brother, to be precise. She would marry for the last two words – to form an alliance or cement some pact between high lords. Petyr was so far out of consideration that at that moment, Catelyn and her sister Lysa were practising kissing him in the woods outside Riverrun. They had sent the guards away so they could have some privacy. They doubted Lord Hoster would approve if they were caught.
None of them were well-practised at it, and none of the kisses were genuinely affectionate, but Catelyn desperately wanted to please her husband-to-be. Word around the castle was that she would wed the heir to Winterfell – a future Lord Stark. Dull, honourable men that did not deserve Catelyn's beauty.
Currently, his mouth was on hers, his lips tugging at her bottom one. Their bodies fitted together perfectly. Her lips were feminine and soft against his rough ones, untouched and unspoilt by men. Her lips quivered as he pressed into her, his hands clutching her back tightly. He could believe this was real. He could easily go too far. He moved closer to her, his hips in contact with hers. His tongue slipped from between his parted lips to meet her sweet rosy lips. His hand slipped lower, settling in the small of her back, leaving the other one to clutch her shoulder.
She pulled away the instant his tongue touched her lips. This was what she had wanted, but he had taken it too far. They should never have asked this of Petyr. It was stupid and childish. She was almost a woman grown – not a child any longer, and any more than a peck on the cheek would be an insult to her future husband and a stain on her honour. And it was just wrong to be doing this with him. He was like a brother.
His hands had roamed too far. He always went too far. He dared too much. He wanted too much. She pushed him away, and moved to the other side of the clearing. She needed to be away from him just now.
Lysa was desperate to get her hands on him. They had always had a different relationship to Catelyn and Petyr, and now, she was grateful for it. Lysa threw herself at him, her lips crushing his, arms wrapped around his neck.
Petyr didn't especially want to kiss Lysa, but he accepted it because it meant he also got to kiss Catelyn. Lysa's lips were the same sweet rose as Catelyn's, but tighter and thinner. As he relaxed into the kiss, he pictured Catelyn, the girl he loved. He pulled softly at her lower lip, her mouth parting readily for him. His tongue traced her lips as he convinced himself that it was still Catelyn he was kissing. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, exploring the sweet taste of lemon that lingered from lunch. He should stop. It wasn't her. It was Lysa. Lysa.
She pulled away from the kiss giggling. Her breathing was heavy, but she was grinning. He hated the way she cared for him. He liked Lysa well-enough, but she would always be the wrong sister.
"Again Petyr?" Lysa asked. He would have preferred not to. He wanted to kiss Cat again.
"I believe it's your sister's turn, my lady," he returned. "Cat?"
"Petyr, you don't have to call me my lady. It's Lysa."
"I don't think we should do this any more," Catelyn murmured. She turned to face Lysa and Petyr, but did not move towards them.
"Come on Cat – it's fun!" Lysa giggled. Her older sister bowed to the pressure of Lysa and Petyr's stares and moved back to join them.
Petyr lunged at her before she could change her mind again. His lips were on hers, the rough first whiskers of adolescence scraping against her soft skin. He pulled at her lips, but she refused to part them for him. His hands dug into her shoulders, pressing his fingers into the back of her neck. His lips tasted of mint, which was pleasant, at least, but he was too forceful. He wanted too much. He always did.
More slowly, she pulled away from him. He clutched her hands before she could walk away. He wanted this to be genuine. That was all he wanted. He had so many dreams and ambitions, but they all centred around her. Everything was about her.
A/N Hope you liked. I'd love you to tell me what you thought in a review.
