Réveillon (CerseixJaimexSansa)
The Fairmont Hotel’s brought them the finest treats; local raw milk cheeses and charcuterie, frites dusted with sea salt and truffle oil, bites of lobster in sweet cream butter, round globes of red grapes, olives stuffed with almonds, angels on horseback, sizzling dates wrapped in bacon--and of course they spoil Sansa, a plate of macarons in pink, pistachio, gold, lavender, ice blue, petit fours with perfect red and gold flowers, rich with lemon and sugar. Then there’s the champagne, which Ser Jaime’s opened with a pop, pouring three glasses and so they toast and drink.
Sansa giggles in pleasure as she and her loves eat on the huge bed wiping their sticky fingers on linen napkins. Cersei nibbles a bit of crisp-bread with pate, watching Ser Jaime feed Sansa a macaron bite by crumbling golden bite and thinks that a luxury suite is really the best place to spend a holiday, jingling bells and snow be damned.
She glances over at her loves, eyes the delicious lavender ruffles and cobalt blue hip bows on Sansa’s extravagant panties, Ser Jaime’s gilded skin from fighting outside.
Luscious. Far better than ironic ugly sweaters.
Cersei picks up a warm frite, motions to Sansa. Sansa nuzzles her Lady’s neck then slips down to take tiny bites, savor the heat and salt on her tongue. The way her pink tongue laps at her Queen’s fingers makes Cersei have to grit her teeth, be patient and not pull open the vivid blue bow on her girl’s hip. Patience.
While Cersei doesn’t care for patience, she adores the way Sansa smiles up at her, guileless pleasure, pure beauty and joy. Ser Jaime winks, reaches under the pillow. Cersei feeds Sansa another frite, enjoying her girl’s pleasure at the richness of the oil, the salty slickness, the taste of her Lady’s fingers after she has a treat. Her Queen’s made sure that Sansa’s eaten meats, cheeses fruit for strength. Cersei thinks that if left to it Jaime would let Sansa eat every macaron at once, for he’s as bountiful at spoiling as he is at devising wicked ways to ensure his girl behaves. Sansa wriggles seductively as she eats an olive. Cersei admires the fading cane marks on the back of Sansa’s thighs and has to grit her teeth, think of other things so as not to ravish her right there. She’s always had an affinity for thinking as a man, smirks and sighs inwardly at sharing the agony of lust while being denied a luscious girl.
Sansa curls up, her head in Cersei’s lap, her ruby hair spilled over Cersei’s milk-white thigh. Ser Jaime spoons behind Sansa, nuzzling her neck, rubbing against her as she cuddles like a kitten, eyes closed so she can feel every second of delight.
Cersei strokes Sansa’s hair as Sansa purrs with pleasure, Sansa’s toes curling and uncurling, the way she does when something feels so good she can hardly bear it. Cersei’s smile softens gently, then she grins, whispers:
“You do get to open one gift tonight, because you’ve been such a good girl.”
“And you’ve only been naughty in the best ways.” Ser Jaime nips at Sansa’s ear, kissing the same spot in a flash as he and Cersei hand her the gold-wrapped box that rested under the pillow.
Sansa’s smile is soft and warm; Cersei and Jaime could bask in it forever, like sunlight. “Thank you Ser. Thank you, my Lady.” Sansa slowly unties the gold silk ribbon, rolling it into a shimmering oval, her fingertips working slowly on the wrapping paper, so as not to tear it.
Ser Jaime curls behind Cersei, kissing her white shoulders, breathing in the scent of her golden hair, feeling her tiny motions. He knows his sister wishes Sansa would hurry. Cersei always shreds her wrapping paper.
Sansa opens the box, struck silent with wonder, smiling in utter delight. It’s rose gold, spun and woven into a perfect ribbon, delicate enough to tie. Smiling, she dips her head in submission, shakes back her garnet hair, proffering the necklace to her Ser and her Lady. Cersei notices the bit of watering in Ser Jaime’s eyes, feels a tiny sting at the corner of her own, but smooths it over for now.
Cersei takes one end, Jaime the other. Working as one they tie the necklace around Sansa’s neck, so she’s like a wrapped gift herself. Ser Jaime holds a mirror for Sansa to admire which she does, then Ser Jaime and Cersei can’t do much else but be kissed and cuddled and snuggled and thanked breathlessly.
She can get away with it tonight. It’s almost a holiday.
The kisses continue as they all move lower to the rich white sheets, down pillows of the bed. Cersei can finally pull at the bow on Sansa’s hip and watch it untie, reveal. The pleasure is exquisite. Then all is warm bodies and kisses and joy.
Sansa lies in Ser Jaime and Cersei’s arms, Cersei toying with a nipple to make her sigh, Ser Jaime moving his fingers low along her belly, caressing. When Sansa thinks her body can’t take anymore, she rocks back and forth again with joy, reduced to mumbling and cooing words of love to her darling twins.
Cersei gently tugs at the necklace. “It’s delicate and so strong. Beautiful. Just like you. Our very own sweetest girl. “ “Forever?” murmurs Sansa, eyes blinking sleepily, wanting to stay awake, but curling up, skin on skin to sleep. Cersei nods. “Sounds good.” murmurs Ser Jaime, giving Sansa a tiny kiss on the lips. Like that, she’s asleep, safe, secure, joyful--because Sansa knows the sunlit golden ribbon ties her to them for always too.
Ser Jaime leans over to kiss Cersei, her sliding closer, kissing and kissing till they’re breathless again. For now, they’re going to spoil their girl by sleeping on either side of her. For tomorrow, the pretty red silks decorating the tree in the suite’s main room will fit perfectly round her wrists and ankles, so she can only watch and sigh as Cersei and Jaime devour each other, fuck like each moment is a gift itself--and then they’ll let her cuddle and perhaps see how eager her pretty pink tongue is to explore.
But before that there will be more gifts for naughty girls and boys and even they need to sleep. Cuddled together, their tiny pride sleeps on snowy mounds of sheets and blankets, safe, secure and joyous. Outside, the lights of San Francisco blaze like a million stars.