6Chapter 3
Daenerys was already in the bath when Sansa entered her bedchamber. Grey Worm had opened the door for her from his post in the corridor. Sansa was surprised not to see Missandei.
"I didn't require her this evening," said Daenerys.
She always seems to know what I'm thinking.
Sansa watched Daenerys for a few moments, noting that her hair was pinned up again. There would not be a need to wash it tonight, however. Walking over to the tub and kneeling down beside it, Sansa looked at the small cut on Daenerys's bottom lip and reached a hand out before she could stop herself.
"Does it hurt?" Sansa asked, gently grazing it with her index finger. The cut was much smaller than she thought it would be but the lip was slightly swollen, which made her already full lips even more luscious looking. Sansa let her finger linger a little too long and imagined what it would be like to pull that lip into her mouth and swipe her tongue along it, tasting the tiny ridge of that cut.
Then Sansa remembered that Daenerys hadn't answered her question and when she took in her whole face she noticed that Daenerys's breathing was uneven. Daenerys turned her face away.
"Not at all, Lady Sansa," Daenerys answered. "The soreness in my arms is worse."
Sansa lowered her arm and said, "Arya should've been more careful."
"Your sister is only putting me through my paces, which is something I appreciate. I don't want to be coddled."
Sansa furrowed her brow, trying to shake off this tenderness she felt for the queen. Coddling Daenerys was indeed not on her agenda tonight. She rolled up her sleeves, grabbed the washcloth, and got to work. Now that Sansa knew what to do, it went more efficiently and without any awkward pauses, though those soft sighs still brought a flutter to her chest. She was careful of Daenerys's sore arms but otherwise the bath was short. The part she was most looking forward to was the body oil, having planned last night in bed what she wanted to do to Daenerys, going over in her mind which touches would likely inspire the greatest response.
After Sansa dried her off, Daenerys stood next to the stand but there were only two bottles this time. Sansa recognized the almond and the lemon mint ones. The rose oil was gone.
"I noticed how it made you sad," said Daenerys softly.
It was a strange situation, a naked Daenerys reaching out to her in sympathy and Sansa didn't know what to say.
"What was her name?"
Sansa looked sharply at her. She wanted to scold Daenerys for the forwardness of her question. And yet, given what they had shared thus far, along with this tenderness she still couldn't quite push away, Sansa softened in remembrance.
"Margaery Tyrell. She befriended me while I was in King's Landing."
Sansa didn't want to say more and Daenerys didn't look as if she expected her to; of course Daenerys knew who Margaery was and what had happened to her. She stood patiently, waiting for Sansa to shake off memories and old feelings. When Sansa was ready to continue, she nearly picked up the almond oil but at the last second picked up the lemon mint oil and proceeded to rub Daenerys's body down.
It started off the same way, legs, stomach, going more softly with her arms, and then her back, but instead of standing in front of Daenerys to do her chest, Sansa reached around from behind. She enjoyed Daenerys's surprised gasp and Sansa smiled into her hair.
"I thought this might be better, your Grace," Sansa whispered. "Do you approve?"
Daenerys took a few shaky breaths and then breathed out, "Yes."
Her fingers were tentative at first, the position somehow conveying a deeper affection between them. And to Sansa's surprise, Daenerys unraveled much more quickly this time, her hands rising up to grip Sansa's wrists to brace herself. Soon she was leaning back into Sansa's chest and Sansa wanted nothing more than to bite down on her shoulder. Instead she pressed her lips to the edge of her ear, letting her hot, panting breath tell Daenerys exactly what this was doing to her.
Sansa dragged her hands away from her breasts, letting her long arms wrap around her body, hands splayed across Daenerys's chest and stomach, one hand moving up to her throat, the other grazing below her navel. She felt the pull on her wrists towards Daenerys's breasts and Sansa obliged, squeezing and pinching gently. Daenerys raised her left hand behind her to grip Sansa by the back of the neck, leaving her right hand still on her right wrist. It felt like she was holding onto fire, Daenerys a living, breathing flame and Sansa had never wanted to burn more. If this were real… oh gods, if this were real… She felt herself rubbing slightly against Daenerys, trying to relieve that pressure building up within her. Every time Sansa's hands grazed over hardened nipples, she imagined her hand grazing over a different nub, or her tongue doing the same. She wondered if she could peak without Daenerys noticing. Not likely, she thought with frustration, knowing her breathing was getting increasingly ragged, trying to swallow her sighs. Sansa was so close to pulling that ear into her mouth but she had to hold on. Daenerys hadn't begged her yet. With even more pressure than she'd previously used, Sansa rolled Daenerys's nipples between her fingers and heard what she'd been waiting for.
"Sansa…"
Daenerys moaned her name, a plea for more, a plea to keep going. Sansa sighed and reluctantly stopped, one hand pulling Daenerys's left hand down and her other hand lacing fingers in with Daenerys's right. For several moments she just breathed into the back of Daenerys's head and held Daenerys's hands clasped to her abdomen as if in a lovers embrace, making sure she was all right, making sure Daenerys regained her composure before Sansa pulled away. It wasn't necessary, and Sansa wasn't sure why she cared, but in the moment it seemed too cruel and jarring to just step back entirely. But she did have to stop. Hearing her name had hit her straight between her thighs and she would not have been able to hold back for much longer and it was still about winning the game, wasn't it?
They broke apart, trying to steady their breaths. Daenerys turned around with a question in her eyes but looked away before she could voice it. Sansa went to retrieve Daenerys's robe and helped her into it, tying the rope herself, looking down and waiting for Daenerys to look up at her. When she did, it was Sansa's turn to struggle with a question, the desire within her that wanted to know if she could stay.
Daenerys stepped away from her and walked to the table with the food, lifting her goblet to take a sip of wine. She stood there silently with the goblet resting against her chin for a long time and Sansa wondered if she should leave. Lowering her goblet, Daenerys said, "I wonder if these evenings have been punishment enough."
Sansa walked over to the table and looked at the small plates of food. Daenerys's words could be taken in several ways, the obvious one being that she'd achieved her goal of punishing Sansa, which was nowhere near the truth. This was not the lesson in humiliation Daenerys had originally meant to teach her. Another would be that Daenerys didn't enjoy how Sansa had punished her by withdrawing after eliciting a moan; her name said with such lust that Sansa knew she'd be hearing it in her mind all night long. But Sansa knew what Daenerys really meant; whatever was happening had approached a level of intimacy that perhaps should be ended. She was indirectly asking Sansa if that's what she wanted.
It would be a victory if Sansa accepted Daenerys's offer to stop. And if she was that desperate for a bedmate, it might be better to find an amenable, trustworthy handmaiden and be done with it. But that wasn't what she wanted. Sansa had discovered something about herself in the last few days; how she really enjoyed what was happening with Daenerys. No one else could compare. The physical pleasure was incredible but so was how they both resisted it, how they tried to deny themselves. It made the surrendering that much sweeter. She didn't want that to end.
"As a matter of fact, I find them to be particularly tortuous, especially the part where we stop. Wouldn't you agree?" replied Sansa in a low voice. They looked at each other meaningfully. Sansa reached a hand for Daenerys's goblet and was pleased when Daenerys didn't hesitate to give it to her. Sansa took a small sip from where Daenerys's lips had been. Daenerys's lips curved into a smile.
"Do you still dislike me, Lady Sansa?"
There was a long pause where Sansa wondered if she should deflect. But then Sansa pointed out to herself that she'd just had her hands all over Daenerys's body; she couldn't hide how she felt if she tried. However, that didn't mean she felt safe enough to answer that question without caution.
"Isn't it often the case that certain opinions are actually a mask for others?"
Daenerys smirked and Sansa returned the goblet, their fingers briefly touching. The unspoken question returned to Daenerys's eyes as she took a quick glance to her bed. Sansa was tempted. But this situation, their roles… Sansa felt too much under Daenerys's thumb to think herself on equal footing. And she would not take Daenerys, or be taken by her, under any other circumstances.
Daenerys seemed to understand and took another sip of her wine.
"Goodnight, Lady Sansa. Until tomorrow," said Daenerys, her phrase at the end almost like a question. Did Sansa want to do this again? Would she come?
"Until tomorrow," replied Sansa, turning around and exiting the room.
*::::*
The next night went similarly, only this time, even after she'd spent a significant amount of time rubbing oil all over Daenerys's front side and earning a fair amount of sighs and trembling, there had been no clear sign that Daenerys had lost control as she had done the previous night. Sansa spun her around and pulled Daenerys against her.
Sansa whispered, "I wanted to do your back again. I don't think I did a thorough job."
"Of course. We must always be thorough," breathed Daenerys in reply, staring up into her eyes as Sansa gently caressed Daenerys's back. Daenerys placed her hands up behind Sansa's neck and pressed tightly against her, lowering her head and pressing forward, Sansa's lips lightly touching Daenerys's forehead, before Daenerys lifted up her chin to look at her again. She was so soft, Sansa wanted to feel that skin against her body, and wished Daenerys would tell her to undress.
They stayed in that position for a while, breathing against each other, moving their faces close to each other, lips only just barely staying apart, and a whisper of a thought caught in Sansa's throat. Mine.
Sansa suddenly stepped away. She had seen a hint of surrender in Daenerys's eyes and she became afraid. What would it mean to give in? Did Daenerys care for her at all? Would she just be another of Daenerys's conquests? At these questions, Sansa knew she had to stop. She was close to breaking, close to losing herself. While Sansa wouldn't say she'd lost this round, she knew she'd not gotten Daenerys to lose either. And they had both come to the point tonight where continuing meant they no longer had the charade of body oil to cover their desires. She took her leave and left the room, hurrying to her chambers where she promptly stripped herself and plunged a hand beneath her smallclothes.
*::::*
Daenerys wasn't able to concentrate during the next afternoon's training session. She was working with Ser Brienne and after being knocked down and failing to block even the simplest of sword attacks, Brienne had said it was time to stop. Daenerys ignored the disapproving glare from Arya, who'd been watching and calling out all of her errors, and headed straight to her rooms.
Her thoughts had been filled with Sansa. The previous night's encounter had been frustrating and she found herself wondering what she could do to break the pattern. It was obvious now what Sansa's goal was – to get Daenerys to beg for her openly. Sansa's touch was like silk, and she wanted to be draped in Sansa's finery, so much so her longing became constant. Daenerys had never felt such desire for a potential lover before. She had never been denied for this long either and that by itself was oddly arousing. She was sure Sansa had no idea how her eyes gazed at Daenerys, the hunger in them, the possessiveness. Part of her knew that if she really wanted Sansa in her bed, she needed to stop this whole game and just ask her. But the other part of her was unsure. What if Sansa rejected her? What if this was part of Sansa's plan? The game kept the risks of humiliation to a minimum. She had to think of a way to break the stalemate, though; to get Sansa to lose herself, to become as consumed by desire as she had been. Then she would know it was truly what Sansa wanted.
*::::*
That night, while Sansa oiled Daenerys's body, she carefully avoided Daenerys's breasts. Sansa drew immense satisfaction from Daenerys's irritation in being denied. She didn't really know why she refused this time. Perhaps she felt they'd gotten too carried away and was trying to convey the need for caution. Curiously, when Sansa slowly pulled away, Daenerys did not point out her omission, letting her get away with not touching her, and Sansa became the one that was frustrated. Sansa almost opened her mouth to ask, to beg, but pride prevented her. Daenerys was the one that had to beg.
Daenerys put on her robe without Sansa's help, turned around and tied the rope, and stared hard into Sansa's eyes. Then, in a pleasant voice, as if she were taking tea, Daenerys threw down the gauntlet.
"Kiss me, Sansa. One kiss, one place on my person, wherever you want."
The Dragon Queen had been giving her curt orders every night and Sansa had gotten used to it but this was different. Sansa was on high alert for it being a trick but almost immediately recognized Daenerys was serious. She couldn't stop her heavy breathing, her pounding heart, and the sound of blood rushing in her ears. Sansa was angry and flushed. The command crossed a line but it also gave her a choice. Sansa could easily place a chaste kiss on her hand or her cheek. Or she could draw out a demure sigh by placing a kiss on her shoulder or neck. The humor in Daenerys's eyes showed disbelief that she would take her kiss lower but Sansa tried to dispel that disbelief by taking a long look at the curls between her legs. Seeing Daenerys try to hide how her legs tensed together in response to Sansa's heated stare set her desire ablaze.
Stepping closer to Daenerys, searching her face, Sansa became breathless at the realization that Daenerys had given her more of a choice in this than she'd initially thought. There wouldn't be a punishment if she said no and walked away, she could see it in her eyes. She also saw desire and confusion and an effort to hide both. A tenderness and respect was there, too, and Sansa's heart leapt. Daenerys does care. Most of all, she saw it for what this was… a pretext, an excuse to come together without verbally revealing how much they both wanted it. Daenerys had done this for Sansa, taking on the blame, and it was why Sansa wouldn't say no. But she wouldn't give in without voicing some of her anger first. Because she was angry. She wanted honesty, not an excuse, not a way for them to hide their true desires. And Sansa wanted Daenerys to be the first one to admit it.
"Has this been your plan all along? Not just to humiliate me but to demean me?"
Sansa walked closer to Daenerys until she towered over her, feeling her breath against her chin. Daenerys's expression was full of defiance but also need. She didn't speak but they both knew Sansa's questions were more about giving the pretext bite than about truth.
"I am not your servant that you can take advantage of and I am not a bedslave," said Sansa with even more barely restrained fury, wrapping her left arm around Daenerys's waist and pulling her against her body. She called it fury but she knew her shaking had more to do with how warm and soft Daenerys felt against her. Daenerys brought her hands to her shoulders and Sansa had to exercise every bit of willpower she had not to kiss her on the mouth. She could tell that's what Daenerys wanted and she would not give her that. Sansa closed her eyes and brought her right hand to the opening of Daenerys's robe, clutching one side of the opening.
"I am the Lady of Winterfell. You will not command me to do this again, do you hear me? Do you understand, my Queen?" Sansa asked hoarsely.
There. She'd thrown her a bone and by the way Daenerys's hands pulled at her shoulders, she could tell that Daenerys had liked how Sansa had referred to her as her queen. She had given the pretext sharper teeth with that question, both knowing her anger was actually lust, her use of titles making this struggle between them more exciting, more dangerous. And Sansa would reward Daenerys for this ruse by not squeezing as hard as she could, by not biting as hard as Sansa wanted to. But she still had to be clear that she wouldn't let Daenerys get away with an order like this again. Sansa opened her eyes.
"Do you understand?" Sansa was urgent now; she couldn't restrain herself any longer.
"Yes," Daenerys whispered, trembling in anticipation. And it made Sansa want her even more.
Sansa roughly yanked open one side of the robe over her shoulder, exposing Daenerys's left breast, the one that was most sensitive to her touch. She cupped it immediately with her right hand, using her thumb to feel her stiff nipple.
Daenerys's eyes widened at her movements and Sansa hid a smirk.
"Anywhere I want?"
Daenerys nodded, knowing what was about to happen and closing her eyes. Sansa immediately bent down and pulled Daenerys's breast into her mouth. Sansa heard Daenerys's gasp and felt one of her hands grip the back of her head.
Sansa had never done this before, had never touched any woman the way she had touched Daenerys these last few days. Secret kisses and furtive touches with Margaery had never gone anywhere close to this. And it was one of the great regrets of her life, that she hadn't been brave enough with Margaery, that she didn't know what her skin felt like beneath those beautiful, revealing dresses. She had thought there would be more time to be brave. It didn't matter how this came about or why but she knew she desired Daenerys and she would not be a coward now.
She sucked hard, feeling Daenerys writhe against her, trading off harsh sighs with mewling whimpers. Squeezing the flesh with her right hand, she put the nipple between her teeth and bit roughly but used her tongue to swirl around the tip, letting Daenerys know that she intended no real harm. Sansa could suddenly feel Daenerys go weak against her and she pushed her back against the bed, never breaking contact with her breast. She bit and sucked and licked and she had to remind herself not to move her mouth anywhere else, no matter how much she wanted to. Even though she knew Daenerys wouldn't mind, Sansa would only give her this. It felt amazing, her skin, hot and wet from her tongue, the way even a soft kiss would make Daenerys shudder against her. Sansa wanted more.
Both of Daenerys's hands were in her hair now, pulling her tightly against her, her moans and need getting stronger. Sansa was laying over her and was vaguely aware she was between Daenerys's legs but it wasn't until Daenerys's moaning reached an urgency she hadn't heard before that she realized her left hand was gripping Daenerys's thigh against her, Daenerys's knee at her hip, and she was rubbing herself slowly against Daenerys's sex. Sansa halted her movements, her mouth open over Daenerys's now raw nipple, breathing hard against it. She closed her mouth and suckled one more time and gave a rough thrust, earning a sharp cry of pleasure from Daenerys, before pushing herself away, staggering back and almost falling onto the floor. Sansa was the one that had gotten lost in it this time.
Daenerys raised herself onto her elbows, trying to catch her breath, her lust-filled eyes displaying a victorious smile at how Sansa had taken it farther than she'd intended. And the sight made Sansa gasp in heat and want. Her left breast was flushed red and had several marks that Sansa knew would last for days. Glancing down, she saw the evidence of Daenerys's arousal on the front of her skirts. She wanted to rip her dress off and finish Daenerys right then but held herself back. Sansa closed her eyes, straightening herself and taking deep breaths. She rolled her sleeves down and tried to come back to herself, though her heart was still racing.
"Is that all, your Grace?" Sansa asked in a shaky voice. Daenerys stood up and pulled the robe back over her shoulder, retying the rope. There was no unspoken question in her eyes this time asking Sansa to stay. Daenerys understood that Sansa would not let it happen like this.
"Yes, that will be all for tonight," Daenerys said softly.
Sansa nodded, taking another deep breath, and then turned towards the door. She was about to pull the latch when she heard Daenerys speak again.
"Would you like to come to my rooms again tomorrow evening, Sansa?"
She felt the smile spread on her face before she could stop herself, before she could slip on her mask of caution. Sansa turned around and looked into Daenerys's eyes and could see her discomfort, but her look was also soft and inviting. There was a vulnerable hope in her eyes that made Sansa's breath catch in her throat.
"I would like that very much, Daenerys," replied Sansa.
And Daenerys's small smile at her response lit a different kind of fire within Sansa. Sansa glanced down with a smirk and then asked, "Will you need me to bathe you again?"
Daenerys let out a light laugh that warmed Sansa from head to foot. "Only if you wish to do so, my lady."
On the way back to her rooms Sansa felt both content and exhilarated. Things wouldn't be the same between them now. Daenerys wanted her. Wanted her enough to give her that childish dare, wanted her enough to let Sansa's kiss go as far as it did, and Sansa felt the same for her. She'd told Daenerys not to command her to do anything like that again but she knew the queen had picked up on her cue; Daenerys would ask the next time they saw each other, ensuring that all pretext and excuses would be thrown away and they could devour each other freely.
Tomorrow she would go to Daenerys wearing her proper attire. She would come as the Lady of Winterfell and watch her queen hungrily gaze at her, telling her how much she wanted her. Sansa would hear those words before letting Daenerys touch her. It would be torture for Daenerys to do so but Sansa would make it up to her afterwards. She would kiss and touch her everywhere, and explore more fully those places which stoked Daenerys's arousal. And Daenerys would have a chance to explore Sansa's body in return.
Sansa smirked to herself, now fully appreciative of this week's so-called punishment. They had a couple of days left. She would make the most of it.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews. And for the patience. I realize it's another kind of open-ending (sorry! lol) but I think a brief interlude of lust and hints at deeper feelings works best here.
