A/N: Thank you to my dear reviewer! You are adorable.

oOo

Cersei wasn't entirely sure what made her less angry and more amused about the corset ordeal. The fact that her favourite lingerie product wasn't nestled in her still warm dry-cleaning meant she had to phone the Drycleaners and get them to confirm that yes, they had sent it off with her assistant.

So that meant that Sansa had either misplaced or, and this is where Cersei got confused, stolen the garment. Initially this had made her angry, then confused, and finally, aroused. Was she wearing it? Was she thinking about Cersei wearing it?

The very idea made warmth flood her abdomen, the thought of that perfect white skin contrasted against the silky black material. The deep auburn of her hair splayed down her back to where the little gold ties would meet. The bow before the apex of her thighs, the cups that held everything in so lewdly and barely that it seemed there was no purpose to the garment other than aesthetic.

She mulled over the idea as she played half heartedly, the notes bubbling out of the violin in a thoughtful way. The very object of her desire was in the same room, transcribing the voicemail that had accumulated over night on Cersei's home phone.

The rhythmic talking of someone on the machine, punctuated by the obnoxious beeeeeeep was some kind of undertone to her playing, and she found herself keeping tempo with the beat that Sansa was tapping out against the machine with one hand idly as the other wrote notes on a small notepad. She knew if it had been anyone else she would have snapped, asked them to take it to another room or to be quieter while Cersei was rehearsing, but she found herself unwilling to part with her newest toy, the newest object of her fantasy. In the past week she had kept Sansa desperately close to her, forcing her to the most mundane of tasks so she could keep both eyes firmly on her new assistant. She had become a slight obsession, a code that couldn't be cracked.

They had known each other a week, but Cersei had already picked up little things about Sansa. The way she would take in a breath and a few seconds later decide to talk. The flick of her hair and the biting of her lip, the way sometimes her eyes seemed to betray the same lust Cersei felt for her.

And that's all it was – lust. Cersei couldn't pretend she loved this girl she had only known for a week, although sometimes she wanted to. She wanted to fall into that blissful oblivion and consume herself with only Sansa, but that could only end badly. Her father was pushy enough without discovering his daughter was also – god forbid – into same sex relationships. Publically wanting Sansa would be bad, so she kept those longing looks for when they were alone.

Such as now, and Cersei almost started when she realised that Sansa was staring back at her. They were holding each other's gaze, each undetermined to look away as the other.

Beeeeeeep.

Sansa's eyes went obediently back to her note pad and Cersei resisted the urge to let out a commanding 'Look at me'.

Instead she placed the violin gently on her shoulder and begun playing a soft tune, it was playful and wanting. She imagined it developing into 'You Can Leave Your Hat on'. It didn't go beyond whatever it was though, and she thanked her fingers for that. They were moving carefully along the long neck of the violin, and she had often seen Sansa's eyes glaze over as they followed the movement of Cersei's hands. She scowled, wishing that tonight at the performance all of the audience could be Sansa. She was the most receptive audience she had ever had.

Sansa would sit awestruck, she would gasp at plunging notes, her eyes would bug when rapid movements occurred. Cersei would wrap herself in those reactions if not for the fact she had to continue playing the violin in order to extract them.

Sexually frustrated, she reminded herself. Now, concentrate.

oOo

Sansa was drunk. Though whether on the high of seeing Cersei's successful performance, or the champagne that was flowing freely in celebration, she wouldn't know.

She was attempting to mingle, smiling at anyone who passed and eventually spotting Cersei. She was stunning in a long black evening gown, all blacks and whites and the vibrant green of her eyes. Sansa moved to stand behind her, a flash of red colour over her shoulder, simply being there rather than being obtrusive.

Cersei, as always, noticed.

"You were fantastic," Sansa commented when Cersei turned her attention to her. "Absolutely stunning."

"Thank you," Cersei replied, an almost genuine smile tinging her lips. Sansa got the bizarre urge to bite them, but put the feeling down to being drunk and instead handed a champagne glass to Cersei.

"I think you deserve this." She commented, making Cersei laugh a warm and tinkling laugh.

"No, I think I might have to drive you home, dear." Cersei said, her cheeks flushed. Sansa beamed at the endearment and nodded seriously.

"I'll give you money for fuel,"

"Not necessary, I'll be driving your car. You bought me here, remember?"

"Right." Sansa felt a little wobbly on her feet. "Home."

"Cersei, my dear!" The voice was sudden, making way for a short man with a pointed beard.

"Petyr Baelish, journalist, critic." Cersei said this lowly to Sansa, "Hello Baelish!"

"That performance was astounding, although I have to say you and Jaime aren't working as in tandem as you used to." He commented, and Sansa suddenly felt herself bristle as though she were on edge. Cersei seemed to notice the change.

"You rushed the middle part, but the ending was pretty well done, I mean considering." Petyr said

"Considering what?" Cersei asked coldly

"Well, my dear. Considering you're getting on in your career. What goes up must come down, and all that." He said, possibly about to add on some more metaphors or clichés, but Cersei would never find out because his jaw was suddenly occupied. Namely, by Sansa's open palm.

"It is perfectly ungentlemanly to insult a lady thus!" Sansa proclaimed

"That's enough Sansa," Cersei said, but her eyes were wild and her mouth was hiding a smirk.

"Not until he apologises!" Sansa said

"Sansa." Cersei's voice was everything she had imagined. It was hard and ordering, almost proud and purring. She felt the word shoot straight to her panties and she suppressed a groan as she turned to look at her employer, vaguely aware of how inappropriate she was being. But then Cersei had taken her by the elbow and was leading her out the door.

The cold night air was a slap to Sansa's face, and she felt a moment of sympathy for that Baelish man.

"You were entirely too aggressive in there, Sansa. I shan't have you drinking again if you're going to act like this."

"You aren't going to fire me?" Sansa asked, somehow confused

"Would you like me to fire you?" Cersei countered

"No." Sansa thought she answered perhaps a moment too quickly. However, it earned her a brief smirk from Cersei, so she supposed it was worth it.

"I'm taking you home; you can sleep on the couch." Cersei said, and Sansa could tell she was trying to use her serious voice. The valet was there, holding Sansa's car keys and nodding as Cersei helped the girl into the passenger's seat and then walked around to place her violin in the boot.

When she got in the driver's side, Sansa couldn't help but notice the self satisfied smirk on her features or the slightly set look about her shoulders.

"Thank you," Sansa said warmly, placing one hand over hers. Cersei tensed at the gesture and nodded curtly.

"Thank you for slapping Baelish, I don't think anyone else could have got away with it." Cersei said, suppressing another smile. Sansa scowled at that, she would have preferred Cersei to never suppress another smile again. Unless her mouth was occupied, by say, Sansa's mouth, or a gag, or … other parts of her body.

Sansa squirmed in her seat and told herself to think of non sexy things, made somewhat difficult when Cersei pulled onto the main road and accelerated up to the speed limit, giving a little smile of appreciation when the car climbed through the kilometres rapidly and winding down the window slightly so the wind tousled her hair and made her lower her eyes.

Sansa could almost swear she was doing it on purpose.