A/N & Warning: Rated M to be on the safe side. Mild use of foul language, some disturbing sexual content, and hints at Joffrey's sexual sadism. "Joffrey is in character" should be your strongest warning. Follows Season 1/Episode 6 (may make later events different, thus a bit A/U).

The Song of Her Screams

The courtyard was vibrant with colors: the emerald of the grass, the moon-white of the orchids, the sapphire of the sky, and the gorgeous crimson of Sansa Stark's long, braided tresses. Prince Joffrey took it all in with a self-assured smile that curled upon his lips like the bend in his bow. He had been responsible and kind. He had done as Mother had asked and he'd regained Lady Sansa's trust. All was well and he could see in her gaze that she'd regained her girlish, heart-thumping feelings of adoration for him. Better still, she had seen what would happen if she ever crossed his path. She knew he was to be feared and respected and to the prince, that was far more important than simply being romanticized for his charming manners and wholesome looks.

With her fear and beauty combined, his lady was perfect. Prince Joffrey's face gleamed in the warm, slight breeze as Sansa's hair ruffled slightly. She spied his face and self-consciously patted her plaits. "What is it, my prince? Has my hair been ruined?" Her tone was full of concern, and her cheeks pinked slightly as she pulled at the ends of her hair.

"No, no, my lady," Joffrey chortled, eyes half-closed and calm. "Your hair is beautiful. You are beautiful." He reached toward her slowly and softly tugged one of her braids, admiring the corn silk quality.

She shuddered at his touch but he was glad to see a small grin claim her mouth. Her face flushed deeper and she hid it in her hands, breathlessly laughing. "Thank you, my prince. If you don't mind me saying so, I was... surprised..." She stopped, seeming to struggle with her words. He released her hair and paused in walking, fixing her with a stare and waiting impatiently for her to finish her sentence. She stopped, too. "Surprised but pleased, your grace, at your gesture yesterday. In fact, I thought of it over and over. And when you requested my company to walk the garden, I was just beside myself." Sansa's eyes shimmered and she smiled at him, fingering the ribbon at the waist of her dress.

"My gesture?" he asked coolly, unable to mask an arrogant grin. "Oh, you mean when I kissed you? That gesture, my lady?"

Sansa laughed nervously and nodded. "Yes, that one. You know what I meant. I hope it is not inappropriate of me to speak of such things-"

"Inappropriate?" scoffed Joffrey, with a quick roll of his eyes. "I am to be king and you are to be my queen. If anyone takes issue with us discussing such matters they can meet with me personally and I can explain to them what is and is not appropriate." Sansa gave him a nervous look that ended with a giggle and Joffrey beamed at her. He liked that this was all he had to say for her to understand the implications. He would personally enjoy offering more details; he'd like to tell her how many arrows it might take, or how their bodies would surely twitch for a few moments when they no longer had their heads. But Mother had said to be nice. And as long as Sansa pleased him that was exactly what he would do.

Joffrey took her smooth hand in his and played lazily with her fingers, his bow smile arching at the joyous look upon her pretty face. "And if I may say so, my lady, I very much enjoyed feeling your lips upon mine."

"My prince!" she gasped, her hand stretching like a budding flower in his grasp. "I know not what response to make-"

"Then stay silent," he said with a snort, "and let me continue to make you blush. It gives your skin a very nice hue, Lady Sansa. Your lovely, lovely skin. I did also quite enjoy bestowing this upon you." He put a finger to her throat and grazed the golden necklace that hung there above her pert bosom. "You feel so wonderful beneath my fingers. I quite liked my hands around your neck."

Sansa's eyes darted upward and her face was suddenly uncertain. The prince instantly moved off her, his eyes widening. "Is something the matter?" he asked in a snap. "I am merely complimenting your smooth skin. Do you not desire to hear me speak kind words to you? Would you rather we discuss something else? Something a bit less humdrum? Am I boring you?" His pupils flickered in the pleasant sunshine.

"No! My prince, I meant nothing-I misunderstood," Sansa said instantly and curtsied, her bowed forehead slightly red.

"Misunderstood what?" he pressed irately, crossing his arms and his eyes were slits now. "Are you a simple girl? Can you not understand basic words?"

Sansa stayed in a bowed position and he noted that she was shaking slightly. This was good, very good. "I suppose I am simple, your grace. I did not mean to offend you." Sansa sounded solemn. She sounded like she was speaking the truth. "I am very sorry," she murmured.

"Stand," Joffrey commanded instantly, and her head snapped up. She straightened her back and held her head high once more. He nodded at her, pleased. "You are forgiven, my lady. Shall we continue?" he inquired amiably, and made a grand gesture toward the tree at the far end of the yard.

She nodded her head vigorously as though there was nothing she wanted more on the earth and she took his arm when he offered it to her, clutching him gingerly with her small hands. She was a bit too tall—that was a shame—but her delicate size made up for it just enough to not annoy him too greatly. Birds chirped in the treetops and Sansa made some obtuse comment in admiration of their melody. On the other hand, Joffery was wishing he had brought something with which to shoot them down, but he supposed this was forgivable. After all, his mother and father had not always gotten along. A few disagreements were to be expected in a marriage. He was proud of himself for not laughing in her face and instead drawing her nearer to his side with a well-placed hand on the small of her back. As they walked she nestled herself closer to him, and he could smell her essence—sweet and deep—floating in the fresh air.

A quick visual sweep told him that they were very much alone in the garden. The Hound was keeping watch at the front entrance but he had not strayed from his position. Even if he did, what could he say? Tell Mother that Joffrey was bonding nicely with his princess? What was the harm in a bit of hand-holding, a bit of nuzzling? Surely Mother would be ecstatic Sansa had come back to her senses.

"I want to show you something," said Joffrey grandly, "just behind this tree." He took her hand and dragged her around the old oak. Sansa's questioning gaze melted into absolute hero worship when he took her lightly by her waist and pushed his lips onto hers for what would be the second time. She dissolved into him, her breath ragged in his mouth and her hands that were once hanging idly at her sides now finding his shoulders. She held him tentatively there for a moment until he stepped closer and clasped her back in a tight embrace. Sansa let her smooth fingers dance in his light hair; she stroked his bangs with adulation and pressed her soft lips into his.

Joffrey gripped her waist and pulled them against the tree for support, sighing into her lips and pulling her hair playfully. The sun began to move behind the clouds and they were soon enshrouded in a cool shadow. He sucked her bottom lip and there, twisting his fingers in her locks, he began to blissfully lose himself. Teeth bared, he attached to her lip and pulled, hard. She made a squeak of protest and he felt it right then; his breeches suddenly began to get a bit taut in front. He gave a shuddering sigh and let go of her lip, his eyes surveying his lady's face. She looked forlorn. "Is something wrong?" he asked, and his heart jumped at the spot of blood on her bottom lip. "Oh my," he said and touched his finger to her, letting it kiss her mouth. "Did I hurt you?'

She hesitated and then shook her head. "I just was not expecting you to use your teeth."

When he drew his hand back and inspected his finger, there was a tiny blotch of blood in the center as though he'd been pinpricked. "I'll be careful," he said earnestly and when Sansa's face flushed and her eyes went tensely down to inspect the fauna, he very quickly licked the spot of blood off his finger. It tasted metallic, like a clean sword. He'd had several fantasies of tasting Sansa's blood and now he'd finally gotten to do it.

The taste electrified his senses and he grasped her hips, pushing his mouth to hers once more. Sansa giggled into him until he hardened his grip and slowly pushed his tongue into her mouth. If he tried hard enough to utilize his taste buds, he swore he could still taste the blood. The warm breeze rippled around them, and Sansa tentatively let her own tongue meet his. Joffrey pulled absent-mindedly on the waist of his breeches, his hardening erection at the forefront of his mind. It was not decent to be so close to his betrothed in this circumstance, but no one could see; no one knew but him. He wondered if Sansa even knew what one was and though he wished he could press her hand to it, (or better, her face) he refrained.

When it became too much for him to dwell so closely, he pulled away from her and touched her cheek gently with his left hand. Sansa looked at him with a radiant grin before he brought his fingers, wriggling, to her middle and she shrieked with laughter, pulling her hands around his neck.

They collapsed in a heap on the grass, all dizzy limbs, mussed hair, jostling about as young children do. It was almost as though they'd forgotten all of their troubles. They would be husband and wife. They had already had a row or two. But here, here was paradise. Joffrey pinned Sansa against the ground and smiled down at her, his jewel-green eyes wide and playful. She was his, and he reveled in how easy it was to hold her down, how delicate and precious she was in his grasp. He grasped her fingers and held her arms above her head. She giggled merrily and tried to rise up to kiss him but he held her fast, laughing down at her. He bent his head and brushed his lips across her face, feeling Sansa shudder beneath him.

Joffrey smiled, pushing his lips into hers. She moaned softly into his mouth. He could imagine them doing what married men and women did in the dark, what Uncle Tyrion did with his whores, what cows and sheep and pigs did in the stables.

Joffrey could see it clearly in his mind's eye: Sweet Sansa in a long dress, looking modest and lovely as ever, meeting him at his bedside where he would be lying comfortably and in complete control of her every move. He'd have her remove his clothing, piece by piece, and then she'd strip before him, bearing her breasts. He would lean back and invite her to lie by his side. Once she had reclined, it would be time for her to give over her virginity. He would hand her Hearteater and watch as she drove the handle into herself, watch as she took her own fruit and made a red flow come out. As soon as that was done, he knew he'd be ready, nearly bursting from thrill. He'd claim her as his own and mount her, surrounded by her red emissions. Her shrieks would be a lullaby and he'd rock her to the song of her screams until he spilled his seed inside. It would be the perfect first time.

"Your grace. You look so happy," Sansa said joyfully, stroking his cheek with her nimble forefinger. "What, if I may ask, are you thinking about?"

"How beautiful you will look on our wedding night," he answered instantly. "And how well I plan to treat you."

Sansa's pale face flushed a deep pink. "Thank you, my prince. I can hardly wait."

"You have no idea," he sneered, removing his hand to play with her hair. In a quick move, Sansa used the opportunity to grab his shoulders. Laughing playfully, she flipped him over so that she was on top of him instead and she held his cool palms down to the warm blades of grass. "No," Joffrey declared instantly, his expression going sour. "NO! I said, NO."

The lady's look became a dark one and she released her hands from his, pulling up from his legs. "Does that hurt, or-"

"No! It absolutely does not hurt," Joffrey spat, glaring. "Off of me now, you stupid cunt, before I remove you by force!"

Sansa instantly slid off the prince, her expression as cloudy as the darkening sky. "Are you alright?" she asked quickly, her voice high and confused. He noted a whimper in her tone.

"Are you alright?" he copied meanly and sat up, fixing her with a cold stare. "Obviously, I'm alright! I'm fine! But you don't get to-" he struggled with his words-" you don't get to hold me down! I am your prince! I am in control of YOU!"

"I was playing!" Sansa said, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, your grace, I meant no harm-"

"I SAID, I WAS NOT HARMED," Joffrey yowled, and he felt tears in his own eyes but these were tears of rage for the injustice he had just suffered. No good lady should be able to hold down her man! This was an offence! This was not right! "You just... You just should know what is offensive by now, that is all! Especially if you are to be my queen! It's not proper!" he prattled, his voice growing louder.

Sansa gave a shuddering cry, the tears dropping out of her pretty eyes like a soft spring mist. "My prince, my prince, I meant nothing by it, I was having a bit of fun-" she swiped a hand through his hair and he caught her wrist in his hand.

"Fun?" he snarled. "I'll show you a bit of fun." He gripped her arm and twisted it in a grip of nails and spidery fingers. The birds chirped above them cheerily.

"Please!" she cried out, "please stop! I didn't mean it!"

"Apologize to your prince!" he demanded. "Apologize, and, and-" he paused, searching for a punishment, one that could be fulfilled without anyone knowing. "Lick my boots!"

Sansa's gaze widened. "I am so sorry, my prince- please, please-" she dipped her head. Her hand twitched in his grip and she sobbed.

He released her hand and pointed to his feet. "My boots, idiot girl!" he said sharply, annoyed and eager. "My boots."

"Yes, my prince," Sansa muttered and rolled to her knees, her skirts billowing out as a harsh breeze rippled through the courtyard. She bowed over his spread legs and stuck her tongue briefly to the top of his left black boot, then his right.

Joffrey chuckled, and she looked up hopefully, mistaking his laugh for kindness. "No," he said curtly, raising his eyebrows. "The bottom of my boots. And don't do a sloppy job either. I've been meaning to get them polished and this is just the time."

Sansa swallowed, looking a bit peaked. "My prince-"

"Do it," he said loudly, "or I'll tell my mother what a little whore you are, venturing out to the garden alone with me! Seducing me!" At this stroke of brilliance, he grinned.

"Your grace!" Sansa choked, a sob bubbling out of her throat again. But she leaned down and was about to follow his command when he cleared his throat. She paused.

"You were going to obey me. That is good. That is very good." The bow of his smile was arching even further. "But I wouldn't have my lady's lovely mouth tainted by dirt. Not the mouth I still wish to kiss. Raise your head and look at me, Sansa."

Sansa wiped the tears out of her eyes, her breathing becoming normal. "Thank you- thank you...I'm so sorry, my prince," she said, but he did not like the distrustful look she gave him. It was all judgment and no worship. He wished he could slap that look right off her face, but Mother said he couldn't play like that. Not now.

"Remember your place," he said in a smooth whisper, and he rose. Sansa noted his movements and drifted back a bit. Joffrey got on his knees, clasping her hands in his own. This time, she did not avoid his watchful eye. She looked back at him, though with a bit of hesitation. Joffrey went on, stroking her smooth fingers. "That way, we can have a nice life. It pains me when you make me punish you, Sansa."

She nodded, giving a heaving gasp for air. "I'm sorry—" she managed to get out, and he put his hand to her mouth once more. He could feel her shaking slightly. The excitement was almost too much to bear.

"Shh. Don't cry. You're learning new lessons all the time," he said in a pleasant tone. He took her hand and helped her to her feet, and when she gave him those frightened wide eyes he liked, he pushed his lips to hers. They walked arm-in-arm back down the garden path, Sansa still shaking oh so slightly. He paused and took her face in his hands, looking her straight in the eyes. "Sansa," he muttered sweetly, "I think I really could love you."

Her red hair glistened in the sun, which was budding from behind the clouds. A slight blush appeared on her cheeks. "Thank you," she said, and lowered her head. "I could—I could love you, too," she whispered, and a faint smile pulled at her lips, brightening her features.

"Very nice, my lady. I like you better when you're smiling," Joffrey declared, touching her lip lightly. Or screaming, he thought and his mouth watered imagining it. He really was having a difficult time waiting. But there were other ways he could get pleasure; he just had to be creative until Sansa belonged to him. They walked back toward the castle in the shining sun, both hearts beating at intense rates in the delicious want for care and closeness.

All in all, Joffrey decided, it was the perfect afternoon.

fin