Little Wolf (Sansa/Petyr)

Silence

Sansa sat opposite Baelish at dinner and it was now he staring at her. His mind had been set aflame by their interaction that afternoon and he saw a side of Sansa now that he had never seen before. However, without the encouragement of the Queen, Sansa reverted back to her usual self, stealing glances at Petyr every now and then, only to look away once she had his attention. The way he looked at her that evening stirred something within her. His eyes were dark and intense and his hands were tensed around his goblet. However, Sansa's mind was not so far into the gutter. All that she could think of was Petyr holding her and comforting her. The departure of her sister was still fresh in her mind and she worried about her brother every day.

They walked together after dinner, towards Sansa's room. Petyr brushed his fingertips against the back of her hand, before catching her fingers in his. He could sense that she wanted something. However, what that thing was, he was not quite sure. Once they arrived at her room, Petyr gently pressed her up against the stone wall beside her door and took her chin in his hand, until she was looking up at him, wide eyes wild with an emotion he could not detect.
"You have no idea what those eyes do to me, Sansa." He whispered to her, watching the blood rush into her cheeks. However, he did not expect the tears that began to well in those eyes.
"Sansa, my dear. What is the matter?" He asked. She shook her head silently, attempting to hold back the tears. He gripped her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye.
"Sansa, tell me what is wrong." He demanded. Sansa sighed and looked down at her feet.
"I am alone." She managed to sniffle. Petyr understood then. Night was a difficult time when one was alone. No doubt Sansa dwelled on the departure of her Sister and the situation with her Brother. He took her hand and began leading her silently.

Sansa became very aware of their whereabouts when they arrived at Petyr's quarters. Sansa wondered if it was moral to be alone with him in such a place, but his skin was warm and his company calmed her. His room smelt of peppermint and vanilla and was cooler than Sansa had expected, despite the fire that raged in the fireplace. Petyr ignored her for a short while, unbuttoning his tunic and laying it upon the back of his chair. Sansa gasped when she saw that his torso was naked under the garment. His back was toned and Sansa could see the muscles ripple underneath the skin, making her feel hot, as if she were running a temperature. When he turned to face her, Sansa could not help staring at the scar that she had heard about. It was not as ugly as people had said. It was pink and slightly puffy, and it ran from his chest down to his naval. But it did not make him unnatractive. If anything, Sansa thought the scar was rather heroic and handsome looking. She outreached a hand; however, her fingers were caught by Petyr's hand. He pulled her close, both of her hands in his now and he placed them down by her sides as he circled her like a hawk with his prey. He stopped behind her and ran a hand across her fully clothed stomach, sending shivers down her spine.
"Please, Sansa. Let me help you." He begged and all she could think to do was nod and surrender herself.

Petyr knew that he could take advantage if he pleased. But it was not in his nature to exploit his love. He wanted to support her and nurture her in this lonely time. He heard her breath become ragged as he began to unlace her dress. He placed a soft kiss to the nape of her neck, to ensure that she knew that he would not hurt or injure her. Once the jade garment hit the floor, Sansa was relieved of her corset, to which she was very grateful. Petyr left her in her underclothes, having to fight every instinct and urge in his body to rip off the gossamer fabric.

Sansa felt his fingertips run across her thighs. Part of her wished that he had removed her underclothes, but she knew that this would not be proper. She remembered what Daenerys had said, Petyr did not want a whore and Sansa had no intention to play one. He relished in touching her. Out in the gardens, and at dinner, he could never touch her in the way he would like. Now, he could caress every inch of her body. He started at her temples and ran his fingers across her cheeks, then smoothed his hands over her shoulders, ghosting his palms over the swell of her breast, always checking for any hitch or catch in her breath. His fingers explored her waist, pulling her close to him, feeling her soft behind press against his britches. He wished in this moment that they were married, that he could take her. But this was for her, for her enjoyment and pleasure. And Sansa did enjoy, her head fell back against his naked shoulder and her mouth fell agape. She could feel the hardness through Petyr's clothing and felt complimented by the gesture. Just as his fingers descended to where she now knew she needed to be touched, he stopped.

Sansa's eyes flew open as Petyr's body left her, his warmth left her. He chuckled, removing his boots. Sansa stood in the middle of the room, kicking off her shoes also. She was glad after a few moments, that he had stopped, fearing that she might have lost herself entirely if he had continued. She made the conscious decision to stay with him that night, climbing into the bed and pulling the blanket she made over herself. A smile graced her face as she felt his weight dip the bed. No words were said, and the moment was almost painfully quiet. But Sansa enjoyed the lack of speech. She was always picking her words so carefully and it felt so liberating to be able to communicate without speech. He pressed his body against hers and she felt as if they were two halves of the same being, fitting together perfectly. He held her all night, not sleeping a minute. He laid and listened to her breath, slow and steady and decided that she would never be alone again.