Everybody Knows I'm Her Man
The DJ in the window fills the restaurant with thumping beats, makes everyone’s hips shimmy just a bit; Sansa notices as their waitress sets down their order, shaking her hips.
Her Lady raises an eyebrow, lifts her glass as if to toast, then turns to their feast; crisp, hot, potato frites in their metal and paper cones, rose and ivory sauces gleaming in their white china cups, a perfect dry aged steak seared on the outside,rich with blood, black and blue they call it, just as Cersei likes it. She is a lioness after all.
Sansa and Ser Jaime greedily reach for the frites, playfully trying to see who can eat the hottest sauce; wasabi mayonaise, chipotle remoulade, habanero ketchup. Sansa’s mouth burns from the spices and she notices her Ser’s turning a bit pink in the cheeks. He stretches out on the black leather banquette, takes a large sip of his own wine. Sansa watches Cersei delicately dip a single frite into the artichoke and white truffle mayonaise, savoring it slowly. Sansa shivers, feeling Cersei’s eyes on her. Sansa peeks back from under lowered lashes, taking in every detail of her Lady’s form-fitting black satin gown, the elbow length black leather gloves she’s put aside to eat: Sansa savors the curves of the silk, the delicacy, just as her Queen bites into her steak, chewing slowly, swallowing.
Sansa’s mouth waters.
Cersei motions for Sansa to come closer and she does.
Cersei cuts a bite of steak, proffers it . “Eat.” Sansa chews slowly, lets the flavor blossom on her tongue, rich protein, tarragon from the butter. Involuntarily, she parts her lips for more, eats the meat from her Lady’s silver fork. “Good girl.” Cersei murmurs. “You need to keep up your strength. And you can’t just eat frites. Otherwise you won’t get dessert.” Sansa’s eyes twinkle. “I read the menu, sweetling. It seems that they have banana and Nutella crepes which I think a certain girl would like.” Sansa smiles, laughs. Her laughter rings like tiny silver bells over the heavy percussion from the DJ. Cersei thinks the DJ's showing off and does not care for his lumpy blonde dreadlocks; however she does appreciate the hip-shaking that comes with it. Her little red cub is already twisting in her seat, sliding on her raspberry satin dress, flushed pink from spices and sparkling wine.
Now Cersei’s mouth waters.
She winks at Ser Jaime. He smiles.
Cersei takes Sansa’s hand, lifts her to her feet, lets Sansa offer her arm--and she loves how the bearded, plaid-wrapped men and the girls in vintage tees stare at them as they walk slowly; the black satin femme fatale with her girl in a raspberry pink dress with a skirt that would make anyone want to twirl and twirl. Both of them flash the red of their soles as they walk. Cersei is pleased; they are magnificent. They walk past the boxes of produce and bags of potatoes at the edge of the kitchen, stopping before the patio.
Sansa’s startled; the toilets are simple, wooden doors and sides, not inside, open to the air. Then with a tug Cersei pulls her into one stall. It’s small enough that they are pressed close enough to kiss and they do, Sansa leaning to her Lady, Cersei kissing deep, drinking her in. Sansa’s kissing back pressed close to the warmth of her Lady, arms wrapped around her waist. They break, flushed and pleased, smiling at each other in the half light.
There’s a roll of toilet paper pressing into Sansa’s back. She doesn’t care. Cersei’s kissing her neck, nibbling at her ear till Sansa’s ready to melt, softly gasping as her Lady, lifts the folds of her rosy skirt to touch, enjoy what’s hers. Cersei leans in, inhales the soft bouquet of Sansa’s skin. Sansa sighs in pleasure, runs her fingers through her Lady’s hair as Cersei’s pointed tongue traces spirals on her mound then agonizingly slowly to her clit. Cersei looks up and Sansa reads the message in her emerald eyes--silence. Sometimes, they don’t even need to talk, just a hip thrust, a wink, a sigh, a long look. Sansa writhes against the partition of the stall, her Lady’s head framed by raspberry satin touching and touching, then her fingers inside pressing, Sansa gasps, bites her lip
and comes, spilling fluid down her legs, dampening her stockings, sweat starring her brow, dampening her garnet hair to curl softly, “ThankyoumyLadythankyou.” gasps Sansa as Cersei arises, golden hair perfect, lipstick only slightly smeared. Cersei puts her finger to her lips, looks into Sansa’s sapphire eyes, starts pressing her head down, Sansa slides to her knees, then Sansa’s lips to the patent leather of Cersei’s pump. Sansa kisses furiously, shamelessly, all joy. Cersei feels the warm, silky pressure of Sansa’s tongue through the leather on the inside of her foot--and she grips Sansa’s red hair a bit tighter. Then the licks and kisses grow faster, Cersei groans softly at the pleasure of making Sansa dance with the press of her fingers, then crouches to lift up Sansa’s chin. Sansa’s face is smeared, her mascara dripping in black curves, her eyes blazing with desire.
Cersei’s never been one for gods, but she is quietly grateful for whatever sent this beautiful girl colliding into her path.
(Better yet, beautiful and loving her.)
Cersei looks down for a minute at her girl’s smile, there in the dim light of the stall, the bass still thumphing through the walls, fixing it in her memory.
Sansa looks back, sweetly, with a question in her eyes.
“Just admiring. My sweetest little dove. “ Cersei's well manicured hand caresses Sansa’s face, moves to Sansa’s lips for kissing. Cersei feels the fire within her build from those tiny kisses, rocks her hips and starts to slide up her dress, elegant thigh-high stockings, soft down of golden hair. Cersei looks at Sansa and nods yes. Sansa’s on her in the space of a thought, licking, caressing, then her fingers sliding in and out swiftly, just as her Queen likes. Cersei trembles from pleasure, hears a rattle from the partition, thrusts her hips forward to her little cub’s ready tongue.
Cersei has to bite her hand to not make noise as she comes, rolling her hips, rubbing against Sansa’s face, giving the partition a final shake, then pulling Sansa up to rock her in her arms, tangle her in a kiss. “Good girl.” she whispers. “My good girl. Always.”
Sansa nuzzles into her Lady’s shoulder, happy tears in her eyes.
***
They dab their faces with the cheap toilet paper, Cersei doctoring her lipstick as gently as she can, teasingly nodding “no” when Sansa tries to tidy her face. Sansa grins.
They step out of the stall and start to walk back, Sansa’s eyes gleaming as she points out a sign:
Only one (1) person in each stall.
“Oh, well.” Sansa says airily, waving her hand and this time it’s Cersei who can’t hold back a giggle, can’t resist kissing Sansa again.
Back at the table they slide into the booth where Ser Jaime sits, idly contemplating an empty paper frites cone, his eyes flashing wickedly as Sansa curls up against him, keeping one hand on her Lady’s knee. “ He grins at Sansa. “Had to finish them. Didn’t want them to get cold.” Sansa pouts, biting her lip at her Ser, just as the waitress comes by, leaving a hot cone of the potatoes on their table. “You’re not the only one who can tease, sweetling.”, he grins, tapping Sansa on the nose with a frite, then dropping it into her mouth.
Cersei smiles, squeezes Sansa’s hand.
They finish eating, Cersei ensuring that Sansa eats plenty of steak and salad between her frites, Ser Jaime feeding her bites of his pancetta-sauced gnocchi till Sansa feels warm, well-fed, loved.
Cersei whispers “For our good girl.” as the waitress slips a plate garbed white with whipped cream , starred with banana onto their table. Sansa takes the first bite, rich with Nutella, banana and delicate crepe, savoring it, closing her eyes with pleasure. Then she gestures her pretty hand so they can all attack it, Ser Jaime and Cersei having had their dessert forks at the ready.
“They say that Nutella does double duty.” Ser Jaime grins, his eyes twinkling. “Did you know it’s a sex toy as well?”
Sansa laughs, her bright silver tones ringing through the restaurant, Cersei smiling into her napkin. “Only scientific fact.” Ser Jaime smiles, the candles painting his hair with gold shimmer.
He notices Sansa finishes every tiny bite, smiles up at him. “We’ll have to test it later, little cub. But we will, you naughty thing.” He kisses Sansa lightly on the lips, leans over to kiss Cersei, his tongue slipping openly into her mouth, brazen and delicious, sweeter than their dessert.
Cersei relaxes, lets the beats from the DJ run into her veins, like another heartbeat, one that’s theirs, one that’s welcome in this city. When the kiss breaks she sighs sweetly as a maiden.
“More to come, my love.” whispers Ser Jaime, twining his sisters hair in a gold spiral round his fingers. “So much more.”
The whole pride snuggles in the leather booth, replete, not quite ready to leave, basking in the warmth, the music, not giving a damn about anyone’s looks. The staff doesn’t mind, especially with their generous tip.
Cersei allows Ser Jaime to walk out with Sansa on one arm, her on the other. She’s wrapped up and warm taking just the tiniest bit of pleasure at the stares of faux horror and real jealousy at her vintage silver fox wrap.
Let them stare .
She’s never been one to care what others think, especially ones who’ve paid hundreds for a t-shirt with a band they’ll never hear on it.
***
The taxi’s warm, Sansa squeezed happily into the middle, drowsing. As they roll on in the darkness, Cersei whispers in Sansa’s ear. “We’re both expecting a lot of you this week. But our brave girl can do anything.” Sansa smiles softly, a little nervous, but still safe. Ser Jaime takes Sansa’s rose-gloved hand in his. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Wicked Grounds and we’ll talk about it. You’ll make me proud. I promise. Good, good girl.”
Satisfied, they briefly dream of clean white sheets, masses of pillows, the jets in the whirlpool--but most of all, falling asleep together, all the pride close and safe, not a one missing or lost.
The city lights sparkle like wild eyes in the darkness; bright as burning hearts.