Morning
Sansa’s eyes pop open. Suddenly, brightly awake in the dark hotel bedroom, the tiny slivers of dawn slipping between the curtains, silvering a chair, a bed, what she knows is Ser Jaime’s black leather bag of toys and she shivers. Curiosity, excitement, a spice of fear and a spike of worry. Sansa wonders if she can do well tonight after all, what’s going to happen, worries that she’ll look too much like a girl or not enough and what if she falls or can’t take enough--
(and mixed with that, a honeyed wave of heat at what could happen. Ser had said there were clamps and cuffs on a pool table. Crosses. Benches. And with a fierce green wink Ser mentioned slings. “Crisco, too, of course. Need something nice and thick. Just like you always need something nice and thick, right sweetling?”
When she’d had to hand him the rosy lace triangle of her underwear it was soaked. Ser Jaime had grinned, rubbed it softly before slipping it in his pocket. In front of her, he’d slowly licked one finger, his eyes burning into hers as he savored. Sansa had flushed and squirmed until he held out his other fingers and gratefully, she took them into her mouth, tonguing her Ser clean as he finished his coffee.
“Good boy.” he’d whispered, leaning into kiss her, his lips coffee, sweet, salt, his golden hair like rough silk under her fingers, the crown to their morning. Then Sansa knew things would be all right.)
Now she’s nervous again, twisting in the sheets, Ser Jaime mumbling in his sleep, holding her close like she’s his best soft toy, rolling his hips to make sure Cersei’s spooned up behind him, her arm over his shoulder.
Sansa wriggles again, her stomach in knots. Ser Jaime grips harder, awake now, his breath burning at her cheek.
“If the hotel isn’t under attack, Daddy’s going to be very upset.”
His low snarl makes Sansa suddenly want to giggle. Keeping it in makes her chest shake and him hold her tighter, to stop her writhing.
“Serious. I know you wouldn’t actually be waking me, could you, sweetling?”
“No.” whispers Sansa, rubbing her head against him, breathing in the spices, honey musk of his body, dark and rich in the warmth of their bed. Like a wave, motion ripples through them and Sansa knows Cersei’s gripping her brother, her love tightly too.
Cersei likes being woken even less.
“Sleep.” her Ser whispers in Sansa’s ear, one hand stroking her breasts to belly, slowly, just as she likes. “Busy day. Lots to do for tonight.”
Sansa quickly stiffens, then quivers at tonight. Then she feels Ser Jaime nuzzle at her neck in the darkness and she’d know his touch anywhere, anytime. His hand moves between her legs, Sansa lightly parting them so he can caress, enjoy what’s his. She feels sweet and drifting. his large but deft fingers soothing her, relaxing her body and mind.
“I’ll be proud of you always. No matter what happens. And you’ll be wonderful. We know that.”
His hand moves back, his arm returned under her breasts. Both of them feel Cersei shift, fling her arm around her brother’s waist, her hand now touching the edge of Sansa’s hip. Sansa feels Ser Jaime’s chest shake with its own silent chuckle.
“Sleep now. It’s a good thing your fidgeting didn’t wake me up, isn’t it?”
A kiss to her ear, more warm breath and Sansa can tell he’s taking in the scent of her hair, comforting himself as he snuggles back to sleep, another kiss to Sansa, a squeeze to Cersei’s fingertips.
Calmed, in their safe, dark den, Sansa drifts back to sleep, rocked by her Ser’s arms, the beat of his heart, the soft song of her Lady’s breath.
It’s going to be a beautiful day. Sansa knows it in heart, body, the pulse of her blood.
But first, sleep.