A/N: My first GoT fanfic. I wrote it after watching 4x07. I'm going down with this ship.
Excuse any grammatical mistakes, I'm Argentine so English isn't my mothertongue.
Sansa Stark had been kissed twice.
First time it was Joffrey, when he gave her a necklace with the promise of never mistreating her again, a promise that he would break a thousand times not much later. Now that Sansa thinks about it, she doesn't feel anything but hate and disgust, but in that moment she had felt happy. Since there wasn't any point of comparison, she hadn't noticed back then that the kiss was frivolous, superficial and manipulative.
Second time it was Tyrion on their wedding. It had been totally awkward, kissing a man she didn't love or desire. Who was an imp, much older than her, a Lannister, and didn't love her either. And in front of an audience. A simple short kiss, that made her feel nothing when Tyrion's closed lips met hers, also closed.
Therefore Sansa isn't prepared for this moment with Lord Baelish, who stares longingly at her as he's getting closer.
"You're more beautiful than she ever was." He whispers, barely touching with his fingertips the end of her auburn hair, adoringly.
And Sansa knows she shouldn't be feeling what she's feeling, because it's her mother he's talking about, the woman he had loved as he's just confessed moments ago; but she can't help feeling this heat that travels from her stomach to her cheeks despite being in the middle of the snow. No one has ever talked to her like this. No one has ever even looked at her like this.
"Lord Baelish…" she shies away.
"Call me Petyr. " It's not the first he asks her to, but now it's a plea as he touches her face and brings his mouth closer to hers.
Sansa doesn't back away, but almost instinctually closes her eyes and parts her lips. And right now, she realizes she's never been kissed. Not really until now.
Petyr's palms are soft against her face, and she doesn't know if the warmth she's feeling emanates from them or from her own cheeks, as she's pretty sure they've completely flushed. His fingers dig delicately into her hair, and Sansa can't do anything but stay still, frozen and melting into him at the same time.
And she wonders how Littlefinger, one of the most dangerous men from Westeros, can be this warm and gentle with her.
Some memories come to her. Lord Baelish in King's Landing telling her he would take her home… His arms holding her and getting her into the ship, promising she was safe… He even carried boxes of lemons to the Vale because he knew she liked lemon cakes.
It's not just his concern for her that makes her tremble, though. After all, her own husband had always been very protective, only that Tyrion saw her as a child to whom he was forced to marry. Lord Baelish looked at her the way a man looks at a woman. He would touch her shoulder, kiss her hand, caress her hair, whisper in her ear…
And now Petyr, almost shyly, traces Sansa's bottom lip with his tongue. And when the girl returns the gesture, he whimpers.
She doesn't recall hearing him making any noise that first night in the Vale… She struggled to sleep, trying to ignore her aunt Lysa screaming.
Petyr's tongue meets her own, and for a moment Sansa pictures herself being the one screaming instead of her aunt.
Her aunt.
Lord Baelish is pushed back, breaking the kiss. Torn apart all of the sudden from sweet and soft Sansa.
He finds her watching him with those bright blue eyes, confused, with flushed cheeks and swollen lips, and it takes him all his self-control to keep himself from kissing her again.
He knows he shouldn't have done it. Not there, where Lysa could find them. It wasn't rational, and he doesn't like that at all…
"Petyr…"
Or maybe he does. His name on Sansa's voice is too much for him to handle.
He reaches for her face, just when his wife's voice calling "Sansa?" is heard from the castle.
His hand freezes in the air for a second, and then rests at her cheek. Instead of turning away, she leans into his touch, almost imperceptibly. But he notices, and his heart clenches.
"My lady" Is the only thing he says, his voice hoarse, and drops his hand.
"My lord" She whispers back, giving him one last look.
Sansa turns around and gets back to the castle, leaving Petyr Baelish standing there and watching her fire coloured hair going away.