Prompt: "Quick! Pretend that we're dating."
I wandered around here looking for a few good fics to dive into while I try to get my writing mojo back, and found so much Jon Snow crap (not that there is anything wrong with the fics, just that I can't deal with Jon Snow) I felt compelled to toss in a one-shot and try to fire up the writing engines again.
Enjoy J
Sansa
Margaery: What do you mean you are IN BED WITH STANNIS BARATHEON?! I leave you alone for five minutes and you end up IN BED with STANNIS BARATHEON?!
Sansa: JUST HELP ME FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO NEXT I WILL EXPLAIN LATER
Margaery: No wonder you texted me if you don't know what to do next… ;)
Sansa: I WILL KILL YOU. COME ON! HE WILL BE BACK ANY MINUTE!
Margaery: STRIKE A POSE.
Margaery: TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES.
Margaery: SOMETHING "-OSE"
Sansa: You're ridiculous
Sansa: OMG, I hear him coming. GAHHHHHH wish me luck!
***Earlier in the evening***
Sansa steps out of the limousine behind Margaery with a sigh, noting that once again she finds herself at the Baratheon holiday party without a date. She follows along, watching Margaery twine her arm with Daario, this week's flavor, and can't help but smile at the pretty picture they make together.
It won't last more than tonight, tomorrow morning tops, but for now, they will be the "It" couple. Not that that is ever in question where Margaery Tyrell is concerned.
She, on the other hand, is always the second fiddle, slightly awkward, still pretty but in more of a unique sense friend. Her curls are artfully arranged just so to cascade down her back, and Margaery has done her make-up expertly, highlighting her in all the right ways. Her form fitting, off the shoulder, ice blue gown slides over her figure to drape prettily around her sky-high heels; and yet, once again, she is traipsing along behind her best friend, dateless and altogether unsure of why she subjects herself to these events and these people year after year.
It isn't that she doesn't have friends, or doesn't enjoy society functions. It is just that she doesn't enjoy them here, alone, and in the presence of –
"Sansa Stark! Don't you look gorgeous? What is a sweet little thing like you doing all alone this evening? Come, come, let me find my whelp of a son for you. Surely he can manage not to be a fuck-up for one evening," Robert Baratheon's voice booms down the steps, where he and Cersei welcome guest after guest.
Them. It is that she doesn't enjoy parties here, in the presence of th –
"My, my, what a beautiful little flower you've bloomed into," Cersei purrs coyly, a sly smile tugging her lips while her eyes shoot daggers.
Sansa sighs, pasting a false smile on her cherry red lips. In the presence of them.
She's ushered through the door and comes face to face with the rest of the entire clan, noting with dismay that Daario and Margaery have scooted off in the direction of the full bar.
Leaving her alone.
"My father tells me you're in need of a date? Couldn't even get my gay Uncle to accompany you out of pity this time, could you, Sansa?" Joffrey sneers, leering at her décolletage with his snide little weasel face.
She may have no plan for how she will spend this evening, but she most certainly will not be spending it with-
"Uncle Renly is here with Uncle Loras, you know that cousin. Sansa is actually here with Dad, isn't that right Uncle Davos?" She hears Shireen chirping from off to her right.
Sansa whips around, mouth dropping open in alarm as she raises her hands. Before she can correct the error, she watches with horror as Davos simply raises an eyebrow, shoots a smirk somewhere up and to the left over her shoulder, and nods solemnly. "Yes, Shireen, I do believe you're right."
"Well then why didn't they arrive together?" Joffrey sulks, lower lip folding out into a full-on pout.
"Well actually-" Sansa begins to correct in bewilderment, before once again being cut off as if she isn't even present.
"Why would they arrive together when we are already staying here, cousin? That would just be silly." Shireen laughs, wagging her eyebrows, and with a jolt Sansa feels a warm palm slide down her back to rest casually around her waist.
"Indeed, it would," a low voice rumbles next to her ear, causing a strange reaction of flip flops in her belly as she rotates into the chest of the man behind her.
Her heart swoops down to her shins as she slams directly into the narrowed, challenging gaze of Stannis Baratheon. "So we are dates," she says slowly, raising an elegant brow and trying to comprehend why in seven hells is palm is so hot on her hip, and why her heart is racing a mile a minute.
Good gods. She's at the hots for Stannis ever since they danced last year, and she is hoping the floorboards split to swallow her up before forcing her to spend an evening with him
"We are dates," he affirms, pausing to glare at Davos before turning to address his nephew. "If you will excuse us," he nods once, pressing his palm into her side as he guides her in the direction of what she now considers heaven on Westeros. The bar.
Joffrey gapes like a fish and watches them go.
As Stannis orders himself a whiskey neat she notices that he still hasn't removed his hand from her side, and his thumb is now casually tracing along the curve of her hip.
Oh my gods, she thinks. When did it get so hot in here? How doesn't he feel the electricity jolting between them? How in Westeros is she supposed to survive the evening as his date without climbing up his tall frame and permanently affixing her lips to his?
She feels the flush start from her chest and creep all the way up to her cheeks, before she realizes with alarm that he is staring at her as if she has two heads. "Are you daft, girl?" She hears him scoff. "What will you have?"
Swallowing thickly, and attempting to gain control of the tongue she's almost choking around, she nods a bit too quickly and squeaks "vodka sprite, with a bit of grenadine."
He rolls his eyes, nodding at the bartender. "You heard the lady. I'm supposing she'll be wanting a pretty little umbrella in it, too," he adds, sarcasm dripping off each syllable.
Sansa is at a complete and utter loss, and wants to moan, swoon, and die simultaneously. If he didn't want to participate in this farce, which, by his tone with her is the last place he wants to be, then why is his hand still burning a whole into her waist?!
And how does he not feel the sparks between them? She's practically dripping through her panties already, all thoughts of behaving rationally abandoning her.
Sansa huffs, cheeks flaming with annoyance. It is not as if it was her daughter who cooked this whole charade up. "As a matter of fact, I would," she affirms smugly, smirking nearly to the point of sneering as she watches him close his eyes and bring his thumb and forefinger up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
What should she care if she is annoying him? This is most certainly not her fault.
Oh, gods. Why can't she just bed him and be done with it? Why is she stuck in this farce? Why oh why?!
As the bartender slides them her drinks, he raises his to her in a mock toast, eyes irritatingly narrowed before he tosses back the entire three fingers in one go.
Her jaw drops, but she is not one to be outdone, so before he can blink she's done the same, raising her drink to his nose before tossing it back and slamming the empty glass down on the counter, little umbrella twirling happily in the emptiness.
His mouth clenches as a muscle in his jaw starts to tick, and just as she attempts to extricate herself from that damnably hot hand gripping her hip, he yanks her forward and bruises her mouth with a kiss.
His lips are hard and unyielding, and as hers fall open with a startled cry he seizes the opportunity to plunge in his tongue.
What in the seven hells is going on? She wonders, her last coherent thought before he's dragging her out of the ballroom and in the direction of a hallway off to the left.
Stannis
He watches her glide into the ballroom, listening as his oaf of a brother calls for his smarmy son to entertain her. She's a vision in pale blue silk, all long legs and breasts so full they nearly burst from their confinement, and he wants to unwrap her like the present she is for yuletide.
Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he glances sharply to his left when he hears Shireen. "Uncle Renly is here with Uncle Loras, you know that, cousin. Sansa is actually here with Dad, isn't that right Uncle Davos?"
He watches Sansa spin around, and if looks could kill he's certain he would light Davos on fire when he smirks at him while answering "Yes, Shireen, I do believe you're right."
Damn, he thinks. He's had an obsession with Sansa Stark for nigh over a year now, since around this time last year when she danced with him while being Renly's date at the last holiday gathering, and Davos damn well knows it. She's a craving he can't satisfy, an itch he can't scratch, and he's been over it a thousand times with Davos regarding why. She's too young, he's too old, he has Shireen to think of, she used to date his bloody nephew for gods sake.
His nephew. That little runt is mumbling now.
"Well then why didn't they arrive together?" Joffrey sulks, lower lip folding out into a full-on pout.
"Well actually-" he hears Sansa begin to correct, and with a rising panic he realizes that this might be his one and only chance to set aside his doubts and simply be, simply do, simply take what he has fantasized about night after night.
"Why would they arrive together when we are already staying here, cousin? That would just be silly." Shireen laughs, wagging her eyebrows.
Yes, this is his moment, and by the look Davos is giving him, if he doesn't seize it now, it will never come again.
So, for once in his life, Stannis thinks only of himself, and he acts, sliding his palm around her waist.
"Indeed, it would," he says bluntly, taking a firm hold of her side. She rotates into his chest, and good gods if he doesn't already feel himself hardening just by having her flush against him fully clothed.
He narrows his eyes at her, wondering how in seven bloody hells this siren has him so ensnared. "So we are dates," she says slowly, raising an elegant brow at him, cheeks flushed, eyes disbelieving.
He wants to growl. He wants to drag her off to his room immediately and do every dirty thing he's thought of since he first held her in his arms. He wants to wipe that look off her face and make her see him as a man, and not just her ex-boyfriend's Uncle.
"We are dates," he affirms, pausing to glare at Davos before turning to address his nephew. "If you will excuse us," he nods once, pressing his palm into her side as he guides her in the direction of the bar.
If he is going to do this, he needs a bloody drink.
As Stannis orders himself a whiskey neat he can't help but casually trace his thumb along the curve of her hip. Gods, but does she feel good in his arms. "What will you have?" He asks her, noting in disbelief that she is simply staring at him, her breath coming faster and a flush racing up from those tantalizing breasts clear to her cheeks. "Are you daft, girl?" he scoffs, "what will you have?"
Why in the bloody seven hells is she staring at him like that?
She nods and says breathily, "vodka sprite, with a bit of grenadine."
Bloody hell. The drink itself in his mind only highlights their difference in age, and he can't help rolling his eyes as he nods at the bartender. "You heard the lady. I'm supposing she'll be wanting a pretty little umbrella in it, too," he adds, sarcasm coloring his tone.
He is so disgusted with himself, but he just can't walk away. She's too young, too pretty, and far too good for the likes of him, and she's looking at him now like he's already fucked this whole thing up when it hasn't even begun. Yet, despite his better judgment, he just can't take his hand off her hip.
It is as if is very body refuses to acknowledge what he knows in his mind to be true- this is never going to happen, and he is a complete and utter fool.
Sansa huffs at him, and he can tell she is annoyed. "As a matter of fact, I would," she says saucily, smirking up at him. Gods, but she is sexy. He just wants to taste those cherry red lips. He closes his eyes and bring his thumb and forefinger up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Why oh why did he go along with this charade? She will never see him how he needs her to, and this entire thing is testing his restraint.
This is all his bloody fault, and he will never forgive Davos for ruining his fantasy. Sansa is far too good to be attainable in real life.
As the bartender slides them their drinks, he raises his to her in a mock toast, eyes narrowed before he tosses back the entire three fingers in one go. Perhaps a little liquid courage will help him remove his hand from her person once and for all.
Her jaw drops, and before he can blink she's done the same, raising her drink to his nose before tossing it back and slamming the empty glass down on the counter, little umbrella twirling happily in the emptiness.
His mouth clenches as a muscle in his jaw starts to tick, and he feels her starting to withdraw, but she is his damnit, where in the bloody hells does she think she is going? So before she can move, he does the only thing he can think of.
He yanks her forward and bruises her mouth with a kiss.
His lips are hard and unyielding, and as hers fall open with a startled cry he seizes the opportunity to plunge in his tongue.
He is a man starved, hard as a rock, taking every last inch she will give him before abruptly realizing the entirety of Westeros can see their display. So he pulls, tugging her along into the corridor to continue what they've started.
Sansa
She can feel the eyes burning into her back, but so help her, she just can't turn away.
He's so close, and she can still taste him, whiskey and spice and something uniquely Stannis, and she needs to taste more before the night is over.
He yanks her up the stairs, and she realizes with a racing heart that he is taking her in the direction of the bedrooms.
Oh my gods.
Her breaths are coming in short pants, she has a death grip on his fingers, and she needs more and she needs it now. Just as he opens the door to his bedroom, she hears Davos calling out down the hallway, pulling Stannis up short.
"I will meet you inside in a moment," he whispers in her ear, eyes burning into hers and causing a swooping sensation before heat spirals out of her core.
"Looking forward to it," she whispers back, cheeks aflame, body burning, before the door shuts behind her and panic takes hold.
What in the seven hells is she doing? Here? Now?
She is about to- have sex with Stannis Baratheon? Just like that? With barely a word spoken between them?
So she does the only thing she can think of. She whips out her phone and texts her best friend.
Sansa: Oh my gods. I am in Stannis' room. HELP MEEEEEEEEEE WHAT DO I DOOOOOOO?
Margaery: What do you mean you are IN A ROOM ALONE WITH STANNIS BARATHEON?! I leave you alone for five minutes and you end up UPSTAIRS with STANNIS BARATHEON?!
Sansa: JUST HELP ME FIGURE OUT WHAT TO DO NEXT I WILL EXPLAIN LATER
Margaery: No wonder you texted me if you don't know what to do next… ;)
Sansa: I WILL KILL YOU. COME ON! HE WILL BE BACK ANY MINUTE!
Margaery: STRIKE A POSE.
Margaery: TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES.
Margaery: SOMETHING "-OSE"
Sansa: You're ridiculous
Sansa: OMG, I hear him coming. GAHHHHHH wish me luck!
Margaery: WAIT. WAIT WAIT WAIT.
Sansa: …!?
Margaery: Is this really how you want to do this?
Margaery: Is this really how you want this story to end?
Margaery: I mean if it is, you go girl, get you the goods. But is this truly all you want from Stannis? A fling?
Sansa feels her heart slamming with alarm and a sinking feeling as she realizes that no, it most certainly is not.
Sansa: … so what do I do?
Margaery: Up the ante. Don't give in. Make him give you want you want, San.
Sansa: Are you just repeating your favorite motivational lines from movies?! I need real ADVICE, MARGAERY.
Margaery: :D you caught me. But seriously, you know what to do girl. Do what makes you happy! Don't let him walk all over you just because he's perhaps the love of your life and you haven't stopped thinking about him for a freaking YEAR.
Sansa: You're right. OK, I can do this. I can totally tell him this.
She hopes Margaery believes her, because she most certainly doesn't believe herself.
Stannis
He practically growls when Davos chases him down, sending Sansa into his room before turning with a snarl. Davos holds his hands up the way he would to a startled mare, and can't help but smile at his friend.
"Is this really what you want, Stannis?"
His jaw drops. Of course it is what he wants. She is all he's thought of for a year.
"No no no," Davos chuckles. "I mean, is one night truly what you want with Sansa Stark?"
Something shifts uncomfortably inside him, and with a grim feeling he gets what Davos is trying to tell him. "No, I suppose it isn't."
"I didn't think it would be," Davos says sadly. "Do you know what you need to do?" He nods, frowning, before turning to open the door to his room.
One night will never be enough with Sansa Stark.
Sansa:
The door swings open, and as he stalks towards her she can't help but blurt out-
"I can't do this," they both say in unison.
She blinks.
He swallows thickly.
"It isn't-"
She cuts off with a smile, "you first," she says softly.
His jaw snaps shut and he gently takes her hands and nods. "I would like to… court you, Sansa."
At that, she laughs, before taking in his crestfallen expression. As he tries to pull his hands away she tightens her grip, blushing profusely as she shakes her head and realizes her mistake.
"I wish the same, Stannis," she murmurs, "though perhaps that isn't the phrase I would use," she adds with a wink.
He can't help but smirk at her while she twinkles up at him. "Should we rejoin the party?" He suggests with a broad wave of his arm.
"As dates?" She can't help but ask, biting her lip and twining her arm through his.
"As dates," he affirms, leading her out of his room and back down the stairs.
Davos
Shireen and Davos can't help but share a smile when they see Stannis and Sansa rejoin the ballroom and stroll arm in arm to the bar. "A raging success, Uncle Davos!" Shireen claps proudly.
He smiles fondly, giving her a high five. "I never doubted us."
"Thank the gods!" He hears Margaery Tyrell concur, joining them as they watch the budding romance unfold. "It only took them a year."
"Imagine where we will all be this time next year," Shireen sighs wistfully.
"Hopefully at their wedding," Margaery whispers conspiratorially, smiling with delight and shooting Shireen a wink.
Good gods.
If Davos needs to now help Stannis get Sansa to the alter, he certainly has his work cut out for him, he thinks.