This chapter is the result of a request! Sadly, this is the last installment until the week of Sept. 11th. I'll be on vacation! :) I hope you enjoy!
They're halfway through their milkshakes, legs swinging from where they perch on the ledge of the garden bed, all giggles and laughter and sun-kissed skin while they anxiously await the results of Professor Bolton's final. Margaery didn't study a wink, but she knows Sansa probably did, and she wonders how upset Sansa will be when she realizes they each scored a passing grade simply because she's the S.G.'s new lady.
Based on the story Sansa has been spinning of a weekend playing Pretty Woman with Tywin Lannister, she thinks Sansa likely won't even notice.
It is a warm Tuesday afternoon, she's got her white aviator shades on, short shorts and flip flops, and Margaery is sure that she will dream of days like this until she dies. Sansa is busy recalling in detail the pleasures one can cause with just a cube of ice, and Margaery is wondering what her S.G. would think of giving that a go, when they both receive the ping of an incoming email notifying them the results have been posted online.
They are silent except for the slurp of straws in shakes as they log in on their phones to check their scores. "B! Your man gave me a B! I studied all night for that test and I only got a B?!" Sansa is bemused outrage, innocent annoyance, while Margaery's temper is flaring so hot she's fairly certain she could burn up the sun.
She hops off the ledge, rage in her eyes, her pulse in her throat, and chucks her still half-full shake into the trash bin as she takes off at a saunter, hips swinging, flip flops clapping, down the lane towards Professor Bolton's office.
"Oh, Marg," Sansa calls, but Margaery doesn't want her pity right now, she wants answers, so she just calls over her shoulder as her eyes continue to pierce the office window she can see blinking in the distance.
"You know its bad when I can't even finish my milkshake! He is a dead man!"
She hears Sansa giggling behind her and cheering her on, and she allows the faintest smile to light up her face before she spots a flutter in the blinds as she closes in.
He is a dead man.
Sansa flips to Tywin's cell and dials as she sashays towards her dorm to start packing. He answers on the first ring.
"How did it go?"
Her heart squeezes at the actual interest in his tone, at the way he can care about her results on a simple exam, when she knows he's in the middle of the work day she skipped, and it makes her want to kiss him then and there. "Better for me than Margaery. I got a B, but her grade was so bad she was making a beeline for his office when I left her. She may actually give Professor Flay and Slay a run for his money, Tywin."
He snorts at the moniker, and she can just feel him shaking his head. "And what will you be up to with the rest of the day off?"
She sighs, panting a bit as she finishes climbing to the third floor where her room is, and wonders if maybe she's skipped one too many spin classes with Marg if three flights of stairs has her embarrassingly winded. "I'm thinking of lining up a few apartments to tour this weekend. I have to be moved out by next Wednesday if I don't want to stay in the dorms this fall, and now that I have a real job I have no desire to stay on campus."
There is a long, somewhat befuddling pause, as she jangles her key in the lock and bursts into the blissfully cool room. "Tywin?"
"Very sensible of you," he replies slowly, an odd note in his usually formal tone. "I may have a few ideas for you as well."
She smiles brightly, flopping down onto her bed and slurping the last few sips of her milkshake. "Okay! Would you want to see them together, maybe Saturday?" She realizes what she's just asked of him and immediately begins to backtrack, her cheeks flushed pink and her heart thudding sickeningly in her throat, but he readily agrees and it soothes her nerves and makes her question how deeply she actually has begun to care for the old lion of Lannister.
"It would be my pleasure. Now, I must attend the meeting with Oberyn and Robert you so strategically seem to be missing this afternoon. I will see you tomorrow morning?"
She's grinning so wide she's sure her flash of teeth could direct a plane to land. "I can't wait," she says happily into the phone.
She giggles when she hears his reply before the click of the call disconnecting. "Neither can I, my dear."
Margaery doesn't even bother to knock.
She flings the door open wide, unconcerned with the look of shock on Professor Bolton's face (which she narrowly missed), and marches right in, poking a finger to his chest. "You gave me a D!"
His eyes are narrowed, and he looks far less than amused, as he gently reaches around her to push the door shut. "You earned a D. It was a computerized examination, there was no room for bias one way or the other on my part, Ms. Tyrell."
He is far too calm, that arrogant ass. "Don't you Ms. Tyrell me, mister!" She punctuated each word with a jab of the tip of her finger, trying to ignore the pain from his hard chest. That man has the most delicious musculature.
He sighs, staring at her as if she were the most wearisome creature in the world. "What do you propose I do about your lack of preparation, Margaery?"
A small victory! He's used her first name!
Hmmm. Well, the solution is obvious. "I propose you adjust my grade. Give me some extra credit or something! I didn't miss a single class!"
"Yes," he drawls, all arrogant swagger and dubious eyes. "That served you so well, apparently." He's eyeing her shrewdly now, his head tilted in thought, before a gleam lights up the corner of those eyes she dreams about each night. "Perhaps you'd care to take an oral examination?"
Her grin is catlike, her shorts are dampening, and she nods excitedly in agreement. "Yes, yes. That would be perfect! Let's get started! You have a seat in your chair, darling." She sweeps around to hop up and perch on the edge of his desk.
She should have known better from the glint in his eyes and the dangerous smirk tugging the corner of his mouth.
He follows her around the desk, tugging her up before slowly unbuttoning her shorts. She reaches for his waist but he bats her hands away, shaking his head and continuing until he's shoved them down and had her step out. He shakes his head with a tsk and a smirk. "No panties? My my, what a naughty girl." As she opens her mouth to respond he shoves her back down to sit on his desk, spreading her legs wide. He trails his fingertips up and down her inner thighs, and she shoots him a sultry smile when he settles at his chair and hikes up so his nose is between the juncture of her thighs.
"Each correct question you get a bump of half a letter grade. The highest you will go is a B. Now, let's begin." Her mouth is hanging open in shock when he licks the first swipe between her folds, his tongue circling around her tingling clit.
"Describe the knife you should use to flay the skin off a man." And then he's back between her thighs, licking her clit, and her head is swimming and she fights back moans as her mind races and comes up dreadfully short.
"I- what?" He gives a light little tug of her clit between his teeth, making her cry out with alarm and a thrill of excitement.
"Five seconds, Margaery. Describe the knife that you should use to flay the skin off a man."
She stares down at him, equal parts lust and exasperation, and hates him a bit for the smirk she can see pulling the corners of his eyes. "H-honed and th-thin," she gets out, between pants and whines and sighs.
He nods as he hums into her core, making her clench and quiver with excitement, as his tongue traces and teases and her legs begin to shake. "D+. Would you like another question?"
She swallows back a glare and nods as she knows he likes, all wide innocent eyes and breathless whispers. "Oh yes, please, Professor Bolton."
His answering growl makes her shiver as her toes curl.
"What is the type of metal exalted for weaponry in Medieval Westeros?" He slips one finger inside her, curling it at the tip as he laps at her clit, and she whines and slams back onto the desktop as her body quakes and her mind once again takes off.
She knows this one! "Val- ohhh, Valyrian steel," she moans, sighing as she feels another thrum of approval, this time hummed around her engorged clit.
"A C now. Hmmm, let's see. What was the ancient throne in King's Landing built out of?" She pales, mind totally blank, as he rolls her clit between his tongue and teeth and adds a second finger to tease along with the first, pumping into her with a lazy rhythm as he brings her closer and closer towards her pleasure.
"I- oh, Roose, I'm not-"
"Professor Bolton, Ms. Tyrell. The throne?"
Her mind is spinning, her body is thrumming, and it hits her as he pierces her with yet a third finger. "Swords! Melted down swords!"
This hum comes with a flick of his tongue, and she nearly falls apart right there. Her hips are bucking wildly, her limbs shaking violently, and she's so close she can feel her throat start to clench with the scream. "Very good. Last question, which would give you a B." A fourth finger pushes in, and she's strung out so far she barely hears him as he growls the question against her clit. "What sound did the people make when the Bolton's relieved them of their skins?" His lips closed down around her clit, his fingers curled just right, and as he sucks and fucks she rides him with abandon, screaming and arching as she comes with a gush of liquid all over his hand.
Her eyes are shut, her chest is heaving, and she feels him stand and lean over her to whisper in her ear. "That is correct. Congratulations, you've passed my class with a B."
Sansa is the first one in the office this morning, and as she scans the texts Margaery sent her she can't help but flush with anger. She understands special treatment, lord knows Margaery probably earned it, but a B?! They walked out with the same grade when Sansa studied for it and Margaery just… Well, fucked for it?!
Her glare is mutinous as she turns back towards the report she received from Robert with the social media briefing, and her fingers click furiously as she pounds out a response, jarring the keyboard with the ferocity of it.
"My, aren't we in a temper this morning," Tywin says languidly from the adjoining door, wry amusement lifting his brow.
Her nostrils flare as she sighs and slumps back in her chair, giving him a welcoming smile. "The world is against me today Tywin. Whatever will I do," she sighs dramatically, tossing her arm over her brow for further affect.
She can feel him rolling his eyes as she hears him pad across the floor in her direction.
"You can enjoy this disgustingly sweet breakfast I've brought you. Lemon pastry with a lemon crème latte, from the bakery down the street from my apartment." He plunks both items down on her desk with a flourish, and she is giddy with excitement as she beams up at him.
"Oh, thank you! These look delicious! You're the best, do you know that?" She dives right in, moaning with delight, and the look in his eye from where he turns near the door makes her heart thrum noisily in her chest.
"Funny. I happen to feel the same about you."
When he quietly shuts the door behind him, she thinks she just might swoon.