After a night of celebrations and drinking, the trooper passes out or falls asleep against Aric or he has to carry her to her bunk. It’s the first time he realizes he’s in love with her. *test prompt*
For a writing prompt: A female Darth Nox/Wrath corners grandmaster Satele Shan on a republic cruiser. After killing all her guards, Nox/Wrath begins her task of turning Satele to the Dark Side and moulding her into their perfect apprentice.
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“Sansa, we have to go.” The urgency on his face was atypical and real, just as real as the guns being fired in their direction. Still far off, but their adversaries had a general idea of their location. Maybe not the exact floor they were on, but they’d at least found the hotel they’d been staying in. The nearness of the shots fired gave that much away.
It wasn’t the worst situation they’d been in so far, but it was close. Dozens of cars and even more men were lined up in the front parking lot when they had been startled awake, shooting and shooting and demanding they come down and give themselves up.
Her guardian (is that was he was?) peered down either side of the hallway, foot holding the door open for her. “Fuck, come on!”
She was crouched, ducking potential bullets by the hotel room desk, grabbing her bag, the only one she took with her, and zipping it up hastily as he stood in the doorway. “Okay, okay, I’m ready.” She waited a moment, for a temporary reprieve of fire. When the noises ceased for a second she bolted, hugging the grimy and peeling yellow hotel wall, rushing toward the waiting man in the threshold.
They ran down the long room-lined hall, something she was more used to that she would have liked to admit. Petyr led the way, hopping over a food tray or two left on the floor, knocking one to the side with a clang. Sansa trailed just behind with her bag slung over a shoulder, the distance between them beginning to lengthen. Impatiently, he turned back to her, seeing her falling farther away. He reached a hand to her as they turned the corner at the end of the hall, beckoning her to take it.
“Hurry up!” He puffed out as he ran, careful not to yell, although the gunfire had certainly woken up the hotel patrons already.
She grabbed the offered appendage, feeling the tug as he quickened his pace again, pulling her after him like a child. And that was the game, right? She played the daughter, stepdaughter, the niece, the kid. No one would have suspected they were anything but family. And maybe they had been family, almost, once, when her aunt was alive and engaged to the man tugging at her arm. He had visited for a few holidays, hushed arguments with her father in the spare room when they thought no one was listening…
But she’d been listening.
And then, death everywhere as she hid in her room, in the closet, waiting for hers to come. But it didn’t, because Petyr Baelish came and snuck her out then, a hand clasped over her mouth to quiet the sobs and panic.
His hands had never strayed far since. She hadn’t wanted them to.
He slowed, nearing the large “emergency exit” sign at the end of the path, pushing the bar on the door down and leading them out into the back parking lot. They always parked the car away from the front entrance; they’d learned that after the first night.
A boxy, family-type blue vehicle waited for them, each taking their regular seat as they piled in, Petyr grabbing the wheel and Sansa throwing the bag into the backseat, plugging her seatbelt in place as they drove off. They were lucky, or the assailants were stupid; no one had migrated to the side entrances to keep guard, otherwise they might not have made it. That grim reality wasn’t lost on her.
“Watch the rear.” One of her jobs, keeping watch, although the quieting ricochet noises indicated they were still shooting up the hotel, now a mile or two in the distance. “Are you hurt, kid?” He asked as they turned onto the highway, joining the few cars on the road so early in the morning.
“I’m okay.” She almost laughed at name. Kid. No, in this game she was never the accomplice, never the lover, although they’d come dangerously close to that already. She was the kid.
Petyr must be confused, she had decided one night. By day, he acted as if he were her father at best. Buying her meals, teaching her how to shoot a gun, how to spot someone out of place, a tail. All in a detached, matter-of-fact manner. And she responded in kind, with an obedient nod. They went with the motions, barely speaking to each other besides conversations out of necessity. There wasn’t much room for casual chatter in their lives anymore.
But when they settled in for the night, be it a hotel, campsite or the back of the cobalt car, it was different. He treated her as an equal, as someone worth his time and efforts beyond a paternal obligation. He told her the next steps in the plan, clearly pleased when she was able to figure it out on her own. And he would look at her with lust-filled eyes when he took her by the hand and pulled her nearer.
No, she wasn’t a kid during those times.
She couldn’t be sure which version of him she liked better, or if she liked either of them at all.
+
They drove for twelve hours that day, the longest stretch yet. She thought he might stop after eight; they’d passed through a larger city, somewhere it would have been easy to hide, but he kept going until they’d almost reached the east coast of the country.
They stopped at a tall, older-looking hotel, a forest as its backdrop, the burnt orange and brown trees an autumn chill provided. She hopped out of the car, relieved to be able to stretch her stiff legs, taking in the smell of fall. They were dressed for their roles; Petyr in a casual blue shirt and jeans and Sansa in an olive dress and cardigan. A father and daughter, vacationing to see the leaves change.
He followed behind her, her backpack and his own small luggage in hand, inspecting the hotel with a faint smile. “Your grandfather used to bring us here, when we were younger. Me, your mom, her siblings.”
“He brought you here?” Sansa couldn’t imagine it; the building looked ready to fall over. The white paint chipped, only a few cars in the parking lot. She was sure the inside would be musty, decades-old furniture with a film of dust.
“It was nicer then.” A hint of a smile, a memory.
+
A memory.
“We have to lay low for a while.” Petyr said as he rummaged through the desk in the office of his house. Her eyes with still red and swollen, dried salt on her cheeks. He’d brought her there straight after he’d extracted her from her home, from the bloodbath.
“Why?” A childish question, one she didn’t expect an answer to. She knew why. Her father had always done dangerous work; she’d been taught what to say and what not to say to others about her family since birth. Everyone would be looking for her, and anyone else left alive. There would be a reward for her head, intact or not.
He shoved some papers into his luggage, taking her by the forearm and directing her through the house. “It’s going to be a battle for control, for the next few months at least. We’ll wait until they’ve destroyed themselves and come back then.” He spoke so casually it almost seemed as if he were pleased with the events.
Or wasn’t surprised by them, at least.
She paused, flinging her arm out and away from his hold, stopping in the foyer of his house. He turned, watching her expectantly. “Are you coming?” An offer.
“Where?” Again, she knew the answer, and he didn’t give her one anyway.
“I can keep you safe.” He raised an eyebrow, paired with a slight tilt of the mouth.
“Can you?”
Will you?
+
The room was an improvement from the exterior of the building. It had a clean, bleach-type of smell, something she’d become familiar with. The walls were decorated with floral wallpaper, the beds (two doubles, of course) were covered in fresh white linen. She’d taken a walk around the yard while Petyr did some work on his computer, returning now that the air had become chilled.
“Come here.” He patted the side of the bed, setting his laptop down and resting in a side-lying position. She joined him there, accepting the arm he fit around her waist, hand settling on her stomach. She knew this game well; he would begin to place dry kisses to the back of her neck, pulling her hair away as he moved from her collarbone toward her lips. One hand would travel downward, hitching up the green dress and moving to touch just where she felt the throbbing begin.
He would move on top of her, helping her shed clothing piece by piece, lifting the dress from her and feeling his way down, taking a hardened nipple into his mouth and tugging until she moaned, all the while continuing to stroke and quicken and slow the pace his fingers had set. He would coax her with words and digits until she felt the building and building and bursting.
She would reach down then, after pleasure and uneven breathing subsided, feeling for the bulge in his underwear, watching his still-hungry eyes with her stated ones. Sometimes he would let her take him in hand, coercing stifled moans and grunts until he felt the release she did. Other times he would steer her away, moving next to her and telling her to rest.
This time, afterward, she faced him on the bed, her arm tucked under her head, pressed close enough to him that he would have to strain to see her nude form. She was still unused to it, nervous when it came to what they did.
“Why did you take me?” She asked. Where had the question come from? She supposed she’d been thinking about it for weeks. Was it her exposure that made her expect him to return the favor?
He brought a hand to the pale dip in her waist, pulling her an inch closer. No answer, just a caressing motion on her flank as he moved to kiss her again, his tongue begging entry to intertwine with hers. And she would let him, tonight, leave the question unanswered. But she would ask again tomorrow. And the next day, until she had her response.
