Warnings: They’re criminals, guys, they do bad things.
Note: This idea has been kicking around my head for a while. I’m not sure if it’s a story exactly, or just a love letter to an iconic couple.
She stretched languidly in his arms before untangling herself from him to walk to the bathroom. He watched her naked frame in the fireplace light as she floated like a spirit across the floor.
“I can feel your eyes, Aberama,” she chastised as she went through the doorway.
Petyr sitting with Sansa after successfully killing a king, pinning the blame on her husband, stealing a shit tonne of money causing the crowns financial collapse, and escaping to the safest region of westeros with the biggest untouched army and food supplies with no blame whatsoever
“Now really, YN, my dear,” Petyr hummed from between your thighs, where he had been for the best part of an hour. While your clothes were chucked haphazardly about his chamber, his were still perfectly intact, the high collar held in place by his silver mockingbird pin, the only indication of his arousal at your needy state was the flush across his cheeks. “Is there any need for this fuss?”
“You’ve been doing that for- Ah!- ages, Petyr,” you whined, arching your back and trying in vain to wriggle away from his lips.
“Oh, you sweet, impatient little thing,” he cooed, and you could feel his moustache twitching up into a smirk.
“If you would just fuck me!” You cried, heels digging into his back, tugging onto his hair as he brought you to another thigh-shaking orgasm.
“That’s no way to ask nicely, is it?” He said lightly, as though he didn’t have you practically sobbing with need beneath him. His eyes glimmered darkly up at you, hot with the desire for you to beg. And when you cried and moaned and pleaded for his cock, for him to completely ruin you.
And when he was finally content with your plea, he crawled up your body, slowly undoing his coat, the mockingbird pin clinking metallically against the floor as he tossed his clothes aside. Pressing his lips to yours, kissing you until you could taste yourself on his tongue, he murmured “believe me, sweetheart, I am going to ruin you,”
***
True to his word, Petyr had you moaning and crying beneath him as his hips snapped roughly against your own, the room filled with the sound of skin slapping and your needy cries.
His prior ministrations with his talented lips and tongue had you completely wet and ready for his cock, legs spread wide to bring him deeper as you rolled your hips up to meet his thrusts.
But soon his movements became too quick, too hard, too rough for you to keep up with, leaving you a whimpering mess beneath him as he held your thighs up and apart, pistoning into your heat mercilessly. What had been mostly coherent cries of his name soon devolved into a garble of throaty moans and sobs as your eyes rolled back and your back arched, tits bouncing with the force of his thrusts.
“Are you going to cum, sweetheart?” Petyr groaned, his short nails digging into your thighs as he spoke through gritted teeth. “You are, aren’t you? I can feel you pulsing around my cock,”
“Please!” For the umpteenth time that night, you begged your lover, this time for release. “Please, Petyr, let me come on your cock, please!”
Your desperate begging drew him near to his own end, and as he felt himself begin to reach his climax, he hoisted your hips up a little more, pressing his thumb to your clit. You screamed, the new angle and the sensation of your over-worked clit being stimulated launching you over the edge, making you jolt and writhe and claw your nails down his back as he stilled, looking between you in awe as he felt warm wetness bloom between you both.
Panting, you stared down between your legs, seeing droplets of your release glisten on his belly and cling to his pubic hair and happy trail, your face heating with shame.
“Gods above, I’m so sorry,” you said, trying to wriggle away, but Petyr kept himself in place, holding your thighs, and you let out a small groan as you felt his softening cock shift inside of you.
“For what?” He asked you, his eyes still dark with lust. “My dear… you think you’ve pissed on me?” When he asked the crude question, you grimaced and nodded, trying to hide your face as he laughed. “No… that’s not piss, darling,” he told you.
“Then what is it?” You mumbled. “And stop laughing at me,” you added with a bit of a whine.
“Don’t whine at me,” he scolded, although you knew he didn’t really mean it. “It’s… what happens when a woman’s release is as intense as yours just was,” when he saw your frown, he leaned down and kissed your forehead. “It is nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart, so long as you felt good when it happened,” when you nodded, Petyr smiled, pulling out of you before coming to your side. “Sleep,” he told you, squeezing your hip and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “When you wake I will have a hot bath drawn up for you, alright?”
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
amandla
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