i. He is used to this kind of life. The unknown woman sleeping at his side stirs, unintentionally moving the length of her body – which is not very much, he must admit – against him. He can feel her breasts pushing into him and he reacts accordingly. But he won't be too hard on himself; still hazy with sleep and in bed with an undoubtedly beautiful woman, his reaction is only natural. Arthur caresses her side and is pleased to find her quick to respond. The woman – he cannot remember her name – presses closer into him. It seems that his body will be more than happy to accommodate her.
Now she is fully awake, looking up at him with brown eyes. She seems ready to talk, so Arthur bends his head down and steals her lips in a passionate kiss. She is somewhat shy. It is easy to tell her experience is scant, but he doesn't really mind. While he prefers women of some experience, he is not opposed to the occasional ingénue. He slides lower to her neck, laving the skin with kisses and nips. She whispers and shudders. Yes, he hardly minds. Lower and lower he goes, encouraged by her pleasure, which is so artlessly expressed. Arthur is flattered.
Eager fingers twine in his hair as he finds her breasts with some wonder. They are indeed rather modest, but warm and pleasant enough to bury his face in, so Arthur goes on and even further. Grinding against her at a languid pace, he has the pleasure of hearing her release a deep moan. "You like that, don't you?" he asks, looking up from his current position.
She startles and her face blushes harder. Nonetheless she braves a reply, "Yes."
ii. Tyta barely resists the urge to beat herself up over her foolish decision. The elevator moves at the pace of a snail, or so it seems to her, trapped as she is with the stranger who has intimately known her barely half an hour ago. She doesn't even know how to act.
She curses her luck, and her friends for convincing her to try this – just once, for curiosity's sake. Cersei Lannister might get away with something like this and enjoy it, Elia Martell too. Lyanna would probably never find herself in such a situation, as for Catelyn, she wasn't even at the bar with them. So what is her excuse for going out and sleeping with complete strangers? Tyta blames it entirely on her good-for-nothing, idiotic fiancé. Or rather her ex-fiancé.
Tyta just doesn't understand how she got here. Good God, she'll never listen to Cersei again. Now she is sure she should've stayed home with a carton of ice-cream and some old movies. The man is smirking at her. Tyta blanches; she doesn't even know his name, damn it all! And she has slept with him – twice.
"Excuse me," she speaks softly, brushing past him and walking as fast as her heeled shoes allow her.
iii. "It's not like you to be late," Lyanna comments, but hands her a plastic cup of coffee anyway, because they've been friends forever. She regards Tyta for the longest time in silence. Lyanna is one of those women who was lucky enough to meet the perfect man when still in high school and stick with him through thick and thin. Eventually that got a ring on her finger and in about six months she'll have a baby to show for it too.
"I did something stupid," Tyta confesses. She buries her face in her hands, not because she wants to cry, but because she is exasperated at her own folly. "I thought this only happened in romantic comedies." Apparently her life is one big romantic comedy – expect it lacks humour.
"Do you want to talk about it?" her friend asks, looking at her watch. "I still have half an hour before my doctor's appointment."
"Is Rhaegar picking you up again?" It's surprisingly cute to see how in love those two are. "Or are you going alone this time?"
"No chance. I told him he doesn't have to, but apparently it's much too important for him not to." They share a smile. "But we're off topic."
iv. "Well I didn't tell you to sleep with the man!" Cersei laughs, attracting the attention of other customers. Tyta has a hard time shushing her. "Oh, poor little Frey girl, afraid people will find out you've done something naughty?"
"Sometimes I think you take delight in vexing me," Tyta answers. "But anyway, I've done nothing wrong."
"Then act like it," the blonde demands. "Besides, it was about time, if you ask me. And even if you don't ask me." As if Cersei has ever needed any encouragement to speak. Tyta levels a glare her way. "At least you've managed to get that moron off your back for good," she comments, blowing gently on her coffee. "I was starting to think I should lend you Jaime."
"You can't do that, Cersei. He's your cousin!" Tyta protests, rather appalled at her friend's habit of treating people as if they were inanimate objects.
The blonde looks confused. "I'm sorry, I'm not following."
Tyta groans. "He is your cousin. Family. Understand?" The concept shouldn't pose such a great problem.
"And?" Cersei looks at her expectantly and a tad dubious. "I'm still not sure what you're trying to say, little Frey."
"Never mind, I give up."
v. Tyta lies awake in bed and wonders what are the chances of Cregan Hill taking her back now. She could accept his terms – after all, he only asked that she move in with him, give up her job and started a nursery, post-haste – it's not that big a sacrifice and she is no longer in danger of embarrassing herself on their wedding night – or even tomorrow night – as she has gained experience.
Her hand reaches for her phone. Tyta bites her lower lip in indecision. Should she message? Should she not message? Her eyes dart to the roses on the table. A pity they are too beautiful to assist her in making a decision. Her fingers ghost over the screen. She sucks in a breath.
The beeping of her phone cuts through her trance and takes off at least ten years of her life. On the lit screen a message flashes. Don't even think about it! – Cersei Lannister "Seven hells! Does she know everything?" Another message enters her inbox. Oh please, you're so predictable. – Cersei Lannister
The phone finds its way somewhere under the bed, from where hopefully Tyta won't hear it if Cersei writes anything else. "I hate that woman."
vi. While Arthur pays little attention to the face of a woman who he has slept with, given their recent encounter and the pleasure derived from said encounter, he is not the least bit surprised that he can recognize her. The woman eyes him with apprehension and puzzlement of her own. Somehow the whole corridor is deserted – perhaps it's the lateness of the hour.
"Don't tell me you actually work here," she says. "Oh, God!" She makes to get past him, but for whatever reason, Arthur blocks her way, his hand touching her shoulder softly as his body becomes a wall before her. The faint scent of her perfume reaches hin nose and he cannot help leaning in.
"How about I give you a lift, Miss Frey?" He pulls back, on account of making her uncomfortable. Her body just radiates that particular feeling. Arthur feels rather like a predator. The coyness only makes her more appealing. He shakes away the desire to act upon his baser impulses. "So?"
"Ah, a lift. I see. Yes, why not." But she is a darling creature. "I would like that." And with that he is reminded about other things she likes.
"You would, wouldn't you? Come on then."
vii. He accidentally brushes against her and doesn't quite know which of them is the more wretched for it. Right now, Arthur simply wants to stop the elevator and have her right here – cameras notwithstanding, he cannot bring himself to deliberately touch her unless it is to rid her of her clothes and that he would never do in such a public place on account of being a gentleman and not some beast without a shred of control. This is not like him.
For the rest of the way he is distracted from the woman's charms – or at least he tries to let himself be so. She rattles off her address, which is surprisingly enough somewhat close to the residence of one of his friends. The drive is short and all too soon they've reached their destination.
"Would you like to come up?" she shyly invites. She babbles on something about coffee, tea and other drinks. All that Arthur can think about is the inviting shape of her mouth. He wants to kiss her. He should definitely kiss her.
It takes a few moments to process what she's saying. But the implications are obvious enough to him. He smiles at her. "I would like that."
viii. Drinks forgotten sometime in the interim, Arthur has the woman sit astride him, busily unclasping the buttons of her shirt. The skirt rides up her thighs, leaving her now unclothed legs to his perusal. She kisses him back hungrily, hands clinging to his shoulders. Arthur would be lying if he said he did not like her eagerness. She has little finesse and more impatience than those better skilled, but she rubs against him in a manner that leaves no doubt in his mind that if they don't cease and desist, he will end up once more in bed with her. He pulls back from her lips, "We should probably stop, Miss Frey."
"My name is Tyta, Mr Dayne," she corrects him, "and it's late already. You should stay the night."
It's Friday. Thank God it's Friday. Arthur needs no more encouragement to find the zipper at the back of her skirt and pull it down. She is the sort of lover that makes it difficult to be careful. For him she is all sweet pants and moans. They click together. Arthur's teeth scrape at her pulse point.
It is also worth noting that they do not make it to the bed – at least not for a good many hours.
ix. Why does she do this to herself? Tyta has no idea. Absolutely none. Nevertheless, here she is, straddling a man she barely knows – he's practically a stranger. There's no going back to Cregan after this. She can't ever go back to him now. Those stale kisses of his are sure to murder her. She cannot even conceive making love to the man, let alone accepting his ridiculous marriage proposal.
Her fingers find purchase in his hair as he feeds his lust on her bosom. He lets out a groan when her dry lips make contact with his jaw and somehow he pulls her even closer, though Tyta didn't think it possible. She moans something incoherent as his fingers pull at taut strings. It might even be a confession of the effect he has on her. Tyta tries to hold back, she really does, but how can anyone be expected to keep their wits about them when their skin melts right off their bones.
When he enters her she hisses at the feeling. Although she was ready for the intrusion, he is somewhat large and she still somewhat new to it all.
"Relax, darling," he soothes, keeping her still by the hips. His grip holds her down firmly. "Easy now."
x. Sex, she finds, is not always the pleasurable activity described in those ridiculous romancer novels every woman has read at least once. But Tyta comes to understand that she much prefers to let her partner take the lead, and she files that piece of information. Arthur is good at reading the signs. He manoeuvres them into a new position and Tyta feels that much better for it.
The wet slide of his skin on hers increases her pleasure. She locks her legs more securely around him, trying to draw him in deeper. His appreciation is made clear by a particular deep thrust. She rewards him with an encouraging moan.
This time she cannot use the excuse of bad advice and alcohol, she realises dimly. Not that she is searching for any such excuse. The woman acquiesces to the demanding lips that cover her own. Then there is something. A knot threatens to come loose. "Arthur," she calls out instinctively, nails biting into his skin. He keeps his insistent pace, whispering encouragement and praise in her ear. She cannot hold on much longer.
"Let go, sweetheart." And she does. Tyta doesn't exactly know if she managed to alert the whole neighbourhood of exactly what sort of entertaining she is having, and she likely doesn't want to know.
xi. Arthur wakes up in the middle of the night – or rather very early, ungodly so. As to why, he had no idea whatsoever. But he finds that he's quite unwilling to move. He should get up and dress himself. He should walk right out the door. It is rare for him to spend the night with any of his paramours and he certainly avoids visiting their homes. There is something rather personal about this private space. Yet here he is, wrapped in the arms of a woman he knows nothing about, except her name and the fact that she is very satisfying in bed.
His eyes narrow into slits. By the looks of this place she is an eminently practical being. She currently lives alone, or she would not have invited him up. She must not be in an emotionally engaging relationship at the moment. She is obviously not very experienced. He wonders why she doesn't find someone after her own mind.
Something gleams in the dim light coming from outside. Arthur's eyes focus on the item. It clearly is a ring. A woman's engagement ring, if he is not mistaken. He looks down at his sleeping partner. His arm stretches over her, fingers gripping the round object.
xii. He wakes her with a rough pull, sliding a knee between her legs, knocking them apart. She complies with a small groan. There is something feral in his kisses and the bite of his teeth on her shoulder. There are no cuts on her skin, but she whimpers and shivers, pulling on his hair as the marks redden angrily. Tyta doesn't understand, but she can feel the anger. Whatever bothers him, she tries to smooth it over. Alas he is not easily appeased.
Not until he is sheathed all the way inside of her does he slow himself any. It must be a nightmare, she concludes, wrapping her arms around his neck. Tyta tries to kiss his lips but he avoids contact, opting to hide his face in her shoulder. She feels rejected. And it stings. A moment later she feels his angry rhythm give way to sporadic thrusts and she knows it's over. Tyta drops her legs from around his waist and he pulls back as if he'd been burned.
Stupid. Foolish. Idiotic. He rolls over and evacuates her bed in search of his clothing. "I'll see you around," he tells her after he is fully dressed.
They both know it's a lie.
Tyta nods absently and hides beneath the covers.
xiii. The hot water does nothing to help. Tyta grimaces at her reflection in the mirror. She absolutely hates the way she feels. Helpless and distraught and hurt, damn it all. What had she been thinking? In her heart she knows she has been expecting this. Not because she has some flaw, or because of a notion of inferiority. But for the simple fact that usually one night stands tended to remain just that. Tyta is not an idealist. But she is not a pessimist either, though it seems that life is out to prove her wrong.
She spends too much time in her wallowing and as a result she is late for work. She hopes with all her heart that she won't see his face at all today. She doesn't have the stomach for it.
The rest of her day is blessedly uneventful. Also she has her hands full. It all conspires to leave her with too little time to think about her emotional tangle, which Tyta is grateful for. She will make sure to thank whatever deity is listening for it.
Sleep comes with great difficulty when she finally gets home, but Tyta studiously ignores the feeling of misplacement and stubbornly closes her eyes.
xiv. He had tried everything and at this moment he is desperate. Arthur helps the woman in the cab and ignores her inviting smile. Gods, he does want to go and lose himself in her. But he can't. The last time he did, he ended up with the complete wrong name on his lips. His cheek remembers the sting.
"Are you sure you can't come with me?" the woman asks, just to be certain. "I'll feel bad for leaving you here all alone.
"You don't have to." He gives her a smile and closes the door.
The cab drives away and he returns inside the bar, not even thinking about the night of good fun he's just lost. He met her in this bar. Arthur orders another drink and looks around. Maybe, just maybe she's lurking in one of the dark corners. But no, she isn't.
Fuck it all. He downs the drink. And asks for another. And another, And then another. He'll conquer this somehow. One way or another, Tyta Frey is going to be thrown in a small back at the back of his mind. Dam her and damn all these feelings that threaten to burst through his chest.
xv. "Could you fill in for her? Just today," Maedge promises, handing Tyta a stack of papers. "You really just need to see these stamped and arrange them in chronological order. She'd be really grateful."
When they call her in on her off day, Tyta is pretty annoyed. But then she finds out the colleague who is missing has an important even in the family so she lets go of the negative feelings and agrees to help. It's just for today, after all. She tell herself that all will be fine.
Tyta makes her way to the office she'll work in today. She places the papers on the desk and turns the computer on.
However, before she can do much of anything a knock on the door interrupts her. She lifts her head and regrets it instantly.
"Arthur." And that's it. That's all that she can say. Tyta stares at him dumbfounded. And he returns the stare. She can't say anything else or she'll end up telling him that she misses him and wants his back, which is ridiculous as she's never really had him in any capacity. She doesn't want him to know any of this.
The door is closed with a sharp sound.
xvi. Hows and whys are really not important when his lips are on hers and he presses her against him. Tyta melts, voluntarily, in his arms. She doesn't mind the papers that fall off the table when he lifts her up. She doesn't mind it because she had to rearrange them anyway. The only thing she can think about is the fact that Arthur is here, in her arms, kissing her. Kissing her. He's a good kisser. She likes the way he holds her and the way he kisses her. She likes him, full stop. And that's that apparently; logic flies out the window.
But then he pulls back and starts apologising and Tyta becomes really confused because he's not really making sense. She just wants to return to the kissing part. She tries to get a word in, but he's not listening. Or rather he's not listening to her. Arthur just shakes his head when she opens her mouth and, not literally, runs away.
Tyta blinks away the confusion. Maybe it is just her. Maybe she'd been suffering alone all along. That is a painful and disconcerting thought. But the pain is a good thing; it helps clear up things.
xvii. He waits for her to get off work. In the meantime Arthur berates himself for having behaved like an idiot. What has he done? He'll be lucky if she even looks at him now. He takes a sip of his coffee, hoping that somehow it'll knock sense back in his mind.
And then Tyta walks out the doors. Arthur stands up to follow, or maybe to call out to her and catch up, but the strangest sight appears before him.
A man accosts her. He places a hand on her arm, a splay of fingers, curling around her elbow. She looks familiar with that touch. And the image of her ring comes back. Arthur tries to remember if she had the ring today. Did she? His mind draws a blank.
But that does not really matter at the moment, because Tyta is shaking her head empathically and pulling away. Arthur is already on his feet and walking towards the couple that has retreated closer to the building's wall. From their faces it is clear that they are arguing, and Arthur thinks he can finally understand the whole situation better.
So his heart is just a little lighter at this point.
xviii. Predictably enough, there are no grand declarations. Tyta has just returned a circular object into the man's waiting hands. She stress after him for a few moments, a fog descending over her. A light tap on the shoulder brings her back though. She looks over her shoulder and finds it impossible to smile foolishly.
She should hit him with her purse. Instead she allows him to take her hand, long fingers hooking through hers. Tyta hisses at the coolness of his skin and her hand jerks back instinctively. Arthur simply hold onto her tighter.
"I really think we need to start over properly," she says as he leads her to his vehicle of choice. There is no reason for her words other than the fact she wants to glue herself to him in this moment. It is the same strange feeling often found in new couples – that constant craving for togetherness.
And he doesn't seem to mind by the way he smiles back at her. His answer is unexpected in some ways and in others not. "That would require that I at least pretend not to possess some knowledge I am in fact aware of. And I'm really not in the mood for that."
Well, she can't argue with that. Tyta tilts her head back and laughs lightly. "Far be it from me then to force your hand." As if she could.
xix. "I just want you to know that you owe me," Cersei tells her, handing Tyta her drink. "And I expect to be paid for it too."
Tyta rolls her eyes. "I owe you nothing," she murmurs under her breath, taking a sip of the cool beverage. "Stop insisting that you had anything to do with it, because you didn't. Not even a bit. Do you understand?"
"Everything except that lie about me not being vital to your current happiness," the blonde drawls. She is certainly stubborn, Tyta will give her that. A grin makes its way to her lips. "If I hadn't convinced you to go out, you would have wasted a perfectly good opportunity to get with that." She gestures vaguely in Arthur's direction. "Admit it, you owe me."
"If I admit to owing you – and I am not saying that I will, but I do – will you stop and leave me in peace?" Tyta's question is equal parts frustration and equal parts amusement. Cersei does have that effect of people.
"Peace is for the dead," Cersei quips. "But I promise not to call at all the weekend. I suspect you'll be busy anyway."
"You're horrid!"
xx. She thinks that she really shouldn't be surprised when Cersei does call her, bright and early, on a Sunday morning. Muffling a curse against her pillow, Tyta feels around for her phone and a second string of invectives follows when the device crashes to the ground. How does she know it's Cersei, well, Tyta really can't think of anyone evil enough to do something like this but Cersei.
Half bending over the edge of the bed, Tyta looks for the phone but she is swiftly stopped by a hand pulling her back into a warm front. "Just ignore it," Arthur sagely advises, peering over her shoulder. "She'll stop if you ignore it."
It's on the tip of her tongue to tell him that this is Cersei and it would take more than her ignoring these small disruptions. Arthur doesn't give her the chance though. And soon enough she forgets everything but the warmth and pleasantness.
Some mistakes are only mistakes for a little while and then they bloom into something else entirely. This is one of those situations and Tyta thinks that despite all the tribulations – which admittedly weren't all that spectacular – it fits.
"Yes, I think you might be right."