Loras

She's soft and silky under his fingers, like the very wedding gown that only moments ago has been ripped from her bare, scarred shoulders. She's all curves and soft flesh and Loras doesn't quite know quite where to touch as she lies beside him under the sheets.

He starts with her mouth. That's easy enough. Her lips part as Renly's used to, and Loras runs his hand through her hair as he kisses her. The tresses tangle easily in his fingers, the silky strands fanning out behind her on the pillow.

She's beautiful. He cannot deny her that. There's fear in her eyes though and he doesn't know what to do about it. It's normal he knows for young girls to be fearful this first time; Garlan and Willas warned him it would be so. He thinks perhaps then to get it over with, to not draw it out any longer than he has to, and yet that fear in her eyes only increases when he reaches out to touch the soft curve of her breasts. She's a child really Loras thinks as she draws back from him, a child with the budding body of a woman.

He takes a deep breath as he reaches again to touch her breasts, wondering if he himself ever seemed this young to Renly. Sansa Stark may appear as a child to him, but really she is no younger than he was when Renly first took him into his bed in such a way. The gap in age is no different either and yet the four years that seemed paltry between him and Renly seems somehow like a chasm between him and his young bride.

He bites back a sigh, moving his hands down to in between her legs. He doesn't know his way over a woman's body and thus his fingers are clumsy as he parts her legs and slips a finger in between her soft folds. He's trying to be gentle, more so than he ever has been before, and yet she is tense underneath him, nervousness evident in her wide eyes and her shy smile.

He turns away from her slightly then, slipping his hand down to ready himself instead. He wonders briefly whether Sansa wants to touch. She makes no move to do so however and Loras thinks it is perhaps for the best. He imagines her gentle touch and innocent dainty hands would do little for him.

He has tried to wean himself off fantasising about Renly when he touches himself like this, has tried to slowly reduce his reliance on whispering Renly's name in the dark when he takes such pleasures alone, and yet he finds he needs such comforts tonight. Even with Sansa Stark in plain view beside him, it's easier than it ought to be to imagine that his own hand is Renly's and he wonders miserably whether he's undoing all the little progress that he's made in trying to accustom himself to life without Renly as he repeats his name desperately in his head, chanting it over and over as if it might make the memory come alive.

He's as aroused as seems likely soon enough and he moves his hand back to her parted legs. She's not as wet as he'd been anticipating, but then again he has no idea quite how wet she ought to be.

He wants to put her on her front, to roll her over and shut his eyes and imagine she's Renly, but he supposes that would be cruel, cowardly even. Instead he parts her legs further, moving to lie in between them and reaching up to knot his hands in her hair.

Her eyes grow wide and frightened as she feels him hard against her leg and he grits his teeth grimly. He'd aimed to make her relax, to make her comfortable with him and yet she's nervous and tense still underneath him, wound tightly like a coiled spring. He bites back a sigh. He's failed in what he set out to do and failure is not something he's well acquainted with.

He doesn't know whether to roll off her and try again, to try to soothe the nerves and take the fear out of her eyes. He doesn't think he can sustain his own already flagging arousal much longer though and so he leans down to kiss her instead, a touch of lips that is brief, chaste even.

"Is this what you want Lady Sansa?" he breathes softly against her cheek.

"Yes" she whispers back. "It's all I ever wanted."

There's truth in her eyes now as well as fear and Loras can't help but cringe away from her slightly. She deserves better than this perhaps, and yet he thinks he does too. All the same though, his father expects him to consummate this union and so he grits his teeth and pushes into her without further ceremony.

It's easier than he expects. Even her young unopened body proves less of a challenge than he's used to and the sensation is not unpleasant. She cries out though, whether from pain or pleasure Loras isn't sure. Probably pain he thinks grimly as he rocks up into her and feels shudders course through her body beneath him. She's warm and tight around him though and he finds that if he shuts his eyes he can lean down and kiss her neck and think of Renly.

His movements jar against her though and still she lies rather stiffly underneath him as he tries to kiss the tension out of her shoulders. He's sorely tempted to reach over for the vial of oil that he knows lies still under his bedside, unused for over a year now and most likely collecting dust under his bed. It would make it less painful for her he thinks, make everything smoother, easier for both of them.

It would be a mark of his failure to arouse her however and besides he doesn't know whether such things are even done with women. As such, she will have to suffer through the pain. It will be over soon enough he thinks, and he has been led to believe that it is only this first time that should hurt so with women, a small mercy for them both.

It takes him a long time to finish though and by the end he is panting with exhaustion rather than arousal, his eyes screwed shut and his legs aching from the effort. He doesn't cry out when his seed spills and neither does she. It is oddly quiet in fact, a tense silence echoing around the room and pressing down heavily on him.

She sighs softly though when he slips out of her, and she lets him put his arms around her and draw her into the crook of his neck. Perhaps it's only because he's been lonely for so long but he finds there's some comfort in her awkward embrace and whilst the silky skin and soft long hair is foreign to him, the warmth and weight against him is not. They're quite familiar he thinks, familiar enough in fact to bring back memories he has long tried to forget and yet still can't help but cling to.

She's entirely out of place next to him he thinks but the bed is somehow less empty with her there, less cold, less overwhelmingly lonely. The feel of bare skin against his own after so long is reassuring too and he even finds himself tugging her closer as if her very presence might help keep the shadows at bay.

He doesn't sleep that night, and is not sure she does either. He's far away, back inside the walls of Storm's End with the arms of someone else entirely around him.

Notes: