The torches flickered along the wall as Petyr ascended the great stone staircase toward the young Queen's bedchambers. He couldn't help noticing the dense utilitarianism of the brick, a wartime fortress built for siege. Its true design was only thinly veiled behind silk tapestries and wrought lions, a ruse of elegant finery to steal the eye of the casual observer away from the Keep's bloody past and severe intent. It reminded him rather of himself.
Reaching the archway to her door, he paused to collect himself. Having been caught so off-guard with their last discussion, he'd taken the time to plan, to rehearse, this one. The next installment of friendly advice would be of his design, under his control, and see his desires met. Readied, he knocked softly.
The door opened slowly, just a crack, and timid flushed cheeks appeared in the gap. Her wide eyes visibly relaxed when she saw it was him, and her features fell from alarm to comfort.
"Pet- Lord Baelish, please, come in."
"It's all right, Sansa. You may call me Petyr. I prefer it, in fact." He flashed a short smile as he passed her, standing center in the room and letting her close the door behind him. "Lord Baelish is for servants, employees and distant acquaintences. Petyr is for friends."
"And what about enemies?" There was a lilt, a slight tease in her voice. It was refreshing; he'd not heard her use the luxury of humor in several weeks.
"Ah! That's Littlefinger." This time, his grin was returned by her.
"Right. Petyr." Then she paused, as if reflecting, as she crossed the room herself and sat daintily on the bed. The mirth faded from her face, and the anxiety she'd momentarily forgotten returned. In the short silence, he knew his chance to begin his direction.
"So, how has it been since last we spoke? Did you employ my advice?" She looked rather tense.
"Not well. I did try it, but… he didn't really seem to like it."
"How so? A kiss from a lovely girl such as yourself-"
"I tried, I came up to him as soon as I was in his chambers," she stared blankly ahead, remembering, ghosting the motions as she did, "And I touched his arms, so he would look at me. I leant forward to kiss him, and he stayed still for just a moment, so I did, but then he seemed to tire of it, or maybe he just didn't care for it…"
"Show me how you did it."
"Pardon?"
"Use the back of your hand. Show me how you kissed Joffrey." She paused for a moment, stunned, not sure how to proceed.
"Here-" Petyr approached her, sitting on the bed close beside her. he reached around her shoulders, grasping her far hand in his, and lifted it to her lips. He spoke very softly now, being so close to her. "Pretend this is Joffrey. Show me how you kissed him." She hesitated only a moment, then moved forward, lips pursed, and planted a chaste kiss on the back of her hand, as if kissing a nurse's cheek. He chuckled slightly.
"What?" She sounded indignant.
"That will never do. That's the way you kiss your mother, or a friend. I'll teach you how to kiss like a lover. Now, try again, and this time, soften your lips. Don't make them protrude out like a stiff flower; let them open. Press them gently." She tried, on the back of her hand again. "Better. This time, close your eyes. And when your lips meet his, let them move a bit. Part them for him, and grasp just a little. It should feel like passion, like movement- as if you can't quite have enough." His voice had taken on that husky quality again, the one it'd had yesterday for just a moment. It gave her a deep chill, and she had to cover a small shake as it took her for a second. When she recovered, she tried his advice against the back of her hand. She was unsure and awkward, moving mechanically and aimlessly. Just as he'd expected her to be.
"I'm not sure how to-"
"I know, I know, my lady. You know, I might…" he trailed off, letting her attention fall on him. "I might suggest something, and it may be a bit unorthodox, but I believe it would help. Would you hear it?"
"Oh, please, yes." His eyes shifted smoothly to her.
"If you so desired, I could show you."
"Yes, that would be wonderful-" She put up the back of her hand for him. He smiled, and moved it back down to her lap.
"No, no, not with your hand. I don't think that's going to help much. I mean, I will show you what a kiss ought to feel like." This stunned her for a moment, but she seemed agreeable.
"Oh- all… alright."
"You're sure?" She found her resolve.
"Yes. Please."
"Good. Now, remember, close your eyes. And if it helps, think of something lovely. Something delightful and comforting." She did. Behind closed eyelids, Sansa conjured the familiar images of home: her mother (she was aways careful not to remember her father, as she could not afford to lose her composure, now that she was Joffrey's queen) her favorite places by the stream in the wood at Winterfell, that young, handsome knight who'd so sweetly given her a rose at the last-
His mouth. There was nothing but warmth, soft lips, the scratch of his beard. Petyr's hand held her jaw, fingers splayed from her cheek to her neck. Every image vanished, every fantasy left her, every thought disappeared. There was only his mouth on hers, prodding, pulling, somehow gentle but rough at the same time. At first she tensed, but then found herself involuntarily moving her lips along with him. She breathed his breath- sweet, bitter, full of mint and spice. His other hand found her waist, and a small sound escaped the back of her throat. Somewhere between a whimper, a sigh and a moan- she had not intended to make it, but did anyway. It seemed to spur him, and his lips forced hers further apart, diving between them more ravenously. Her mouth open, he moved his tongue to action- at first along the inner edges of her lips, then inside her mouth, coaxing her own tongue to play. She did, just a little, unsure of where to go, but he took it and caressed it with his own. He stilled her just a touch, and delivered two deep, slow movements with his lips, pulling his tongue out but using just as much passion. After the last one, his lips closed outside of hers, and held her there for two beats- stilled, eyes closed, breath shallow, their faces not an inch apart. Then, silently, he moved away, eyes easing open. He was pleased to see he was first- she opened hers, wide and blue, a half-second later. She could do nothing but breathe, heavily.
"Is that clearer, my dear?"
