
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12012048.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Cersei_Lannister/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Cersei_Lannister, Sansa_Stark
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Future_Fic
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-06 Words: 1874
****** An Old Solution ******
by alamorn
Summary
     The day before Sansa marries Joffrey, Cersei gives her some advice on
     how to survive her marriage.
     The night after, she takes Sansa to bed and demonstrates exactly what
     she meant by "Take your pleasure where you can."
Notes
     Major differences: the Red Wedding has not yet happened, Robb still
     has Jaime, Catelyn did not make the trade, but she was able to
     convince Stannis and Renly to work together, but much of the forces
     had to be sent North to man the Wall, and Sansa has survived four
     years of betrothal to Joffrey.
     Which is a lot of words to say: Sansa's sixteen and King's Landing is
     in a different precarious situation than in the books.
The day before the wedding, Cersei called Sansa up to her rooms and sent out
the guard. Bruises peeked around her throat where a mailed hand had grasped her
by the nape.
“Some advice,” Cersei said, pretending indifference and skimming over the
letter in front of her. Robb Stark’s forces were still causing trouble in the
North, though at this point it was a war of attrition and their resources
simply couldn’t hold out. One of his advisors would tell him that soon, and
they’d have to deal with a resurgence of attacks. Robb and his family would
never be allowed to simply surrender, after all, not after what they did to
Jamie.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Sansa said, staring at some point above Cersei’s head.
“Get him in his cups. Use your hands and mouth and you may not have to use your
cunt. Make sure there are pretty girls around that may distract him. And
Sansa?”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
Now Cersei looked at her, frank eye contact that Sansa seemed to find herself
drawn to. She had the loveliest blue eyes. Cersei dreamed of them, sometimes.
In her dreams, they stared out of a pale dead face, accusing as all dead things
are. “Take your pleasure where you can.”
“Like you have, Your Grace?”
Oh, it was a joy to know that Joffrey hadn’t yet beaten all the spirit from
her. Cersei leaned forward, letter forgotten. Her gown was low cut, and her
breasts swelled against it. Sansa’s eyes dropped for a moment, less than a
moment, then rose back, and Cersei smiled. This would be fun. “Come here,
Sansa.”
Sansa hesitated only the slightest moment before approaching. She didn’t stop
until Cersei told her to, when they were bare inches apart. Cersei grasped her
by the chin and turned her this way and that. No bruises on her face, not even
fading ones. Joffrey wanted her pretty for the wedding.
“Yes, Sansa,” she purred. “Exactly like me.”
 
The night of wedding, Sansa was attentive to Joffrey’s wine and Cersei was
attentive to her. When Joffrey slumped in his seat, snoring and dribbling down
his chin, Cersei was hit with a wave of emotion she didn’t want to pick apart.
Disgust, an ugly, possessive joy.
She swept from her seat and caught Sansa by the wrist. Sansa stared up at her
with wide blue eyes and Cersei favored her with a grim little smile. “Since my
son is incapable of fulfilling his bedding, I will take his place.”
Sansa nodded at her, and allowed herself to be led to the room she would share
with Joffrey, once he awoke. Heat curled in her belly and throbbed between her
legs as they got closer.
When they arrived, Sansa headed for her vanity. Cersei barred the door. It
wouldn’t do to be interrupted, after all.
“Well?” she said, moving towards the bed. “Strip.”
Sansa’s look of surprise was gratifying. “Your Grace?”
“I told you I would take Joffrey’s place. There was a wedding, and there must
be a bedding.”
Sansa swallowed, and Cersei watched her throat bob. What a slender little neck.
How good it would look, with Cersei’s hand locked around it. “I don’t…”
“You can say no, of course,” Cersei said. “Joffrey will not give you that
choice. Nor will he make it good for you.”
“And you will?” There was steel in her voice. It made Cersei smile.
“Oh yes.”
Sansa licked her lips. Then she raised her hands to her bodice and started to
pull loose her laces. Cersei sat on the edge of the bed and watched her. The
wedding gown was high-necked silver and gold silk that covered her almost
entirely. Cersei had chosen the cut, to make sure any inopportune bruises were
concealed. As Sansa started to bare her skin, that proved a wise choice.
Purple bloomed in fists and fingers on her stomach and shoulders. Her thighs
were covered in green and yellow, where the flat of a sword had struck her.
Cersei felt something twisting inside her. Satisfaction, dismay, she couldn’t
tell.
“Get on the bed,” she said, rather than think about it.
Naked, Sansa complied, scooting back so she was pressed against the pillows. 
Cersei looked her over, considering. Then she sat next to her and held her by
the chin, tilted her head back, and kissed her deeply.
Heat roared through her as Sansa opened her mouth for her, half at how prettily
the girl acquiesced, half at the thrill of taking something that should have
been Joffrey’s, as Joffrey had taken the throne that should have been hers.
A sharp pain. She pulled back, and Sansa looked almost afraid but mostly proud.
Cersei touched her lip, where Sansa had sunk her teeth in. No blood, just a
sharp, sweet ache. She licked her lips and felt a smile drag at her face. “Very
good, little dove,” she said, and swooped back down, licking into her mouth.
Sansa responded so eagerly that Cersei spared a thought to what she was getting
out of it. The joy of cuckolding her beloved Joffrey? Living out some fantasy
of choice? She didn’t care, really, and the moment Sansa’s hands crept up
towards her hair, she stopped wondering, grabbing her wrists and pinning them
to the mattress.
“Keep them there,” she said and slid down the length of Sansa’s body, taking a
moment to tweak her nipples, and then spreading her legs and admiring the
thatch of curls between them. No one else had ever been between these thighs,
she marveled, and used her fingers to part Sansa’s curls before she dipped down
to lick the length of her slit.
All of Sansa’s muscles jumped at once, and Cersei pulled away until she
forcefully relaxed. Her dress was pressing into her uncomfortably, and her
small clothes were damp but she made no move to strip, just licked back into
Sansa until the girl was trembling. When wet was rushing over her tongue and
filling her mouth, she slid an abrupt finger into Sansa’s tight little cunt.
No one else had ever been here before. The thought pleased her. Suddenly, she
understood men’s obsession with virginity, even in peasant girls. She would
always be Sansa’s first now. There would be no forgetting Cersei, even as she
lay passive and still under Joffrey’s thrusting.
Sansa was not passive and still now. Her hips canted wildly, the muscles of her
thighs and belly jumping and shivering. Her head tossed back and forth, and a
stream of small noises escaped her mouth. It had been years since she’d seen
Sansa so undone, so discomposed. She’d make her beg, Cersei decided. It had
been too long since Sansa had really begged, with her heart in her throat, and
tears in her eyes.
She worked her thumb in circles around Sansa’s nub, stroking the hot walls of
her cunt with her finger until Sansa mewled. “Your Grace,” she said, her
pleasantries still intact. That wouldn’t do. “Please kiss me.”
Well, how could she say no? Cersei kissed her deeply, and when she flinched
away from the taste of her own cunt, Cersei chased her and gave no quarter.
She’d make Sansa lick her own slick from Cersei’s fingers later, when they were
done.
Sansa was too well-mannered to shove at her shoulders like the men she’d
fucked, and Cersei enjoyed the novelty of that for a while, licking and biting
her way down Sansa’s throat to her breasts. She sucked a bruise onto the curve
of one breast. It wouldn’t stand out among all the others.
When she finally took a nipple into her mouth, Sansa let out a soft sigh. She
pulled back, catching the nipple with her teeth and tugging hard enough that
Sansa yelped. Then she soothed it with her tongue. If she had her druthers,
that's how Sansa would be managed. The whip and then the carrot. Joffrey
depended on whip alone.
When she bored with Sansa's pert breasts, she continued down once more, running
her hands over bruised ribs. Her touch was light and careful until she felt
cruel. Then she pushed down, sudden and sharp. The surprise of it made Sansa
yelp more than the pain -- she really was incredibly good at holding her tongue
when she expected the pain. She hardly ever whimpered for Joffrey anymore. It
was one more thing Cersei could pull from her that no one else could. Smugness
was sweet on her tongue, so she licked along Sansa's sharp hipbones, and then
back into her sweet cunt. She was wetter now, tangy and sharp against Cersei's
tongue.
"You're enjoying this," she had to murmur into Sansa's inner thigh.
"You told me, Your Grace," Sansa said, hands clenching on empty air above her
head, where Cersei had told her to keep them so long before, "that I should
take my pleasure where I can."
"So I did." She wasn't sure what had made her suddenly uneasy -- Sansa's tone?
No, it was as simpering and guileless as always. And it couldn't have been her
eyes -- they were glazed with pleasure, hardly a threat. But there was
something there that Cersei did not trust.
She hadn't trusted most of the men she took to bed, either. That hardly stopped
her from taking her pleasure where she could. She worked her fingers back into
Sansa's cunt, determined to drive any trace of composure from her features.
It didn't take so long, once she set herself to the task. But Sansa refused to
beg, even when she was split open on three of Cersei's fingers, writhing and
sweating and panting. And then she miscalculated, thumbed Sansa’s clit too
firmly, and Sansa was pulsing around her fingers, waves of tightness so sharp
and tight they were almost painful.
Cersei pulled her fingers free to let Sansa clench on nothingness and shoved
her fingers into Sansa’s mouth, so abrupt she gagged a little before dutifully
starting to suck. There was a smugness there she hated but could not seem to
drive away. Sansa had gotten what she wanted, and Cersei couldn’t take it back
now.
Furious, and wetter than she’d ever been without Jaime, Cersei rose from the
bed. “Enjoy your husband, little dove.” She strode to the door and unbarred it,
ready to sweep out and leave it gaping open so anyone could see their new
little queen, debauched.
“I would enjoy you, Your Grace,” Sansa said behind her. Cersei glanced back
without meaning to, and found that Sansa had sat up, curled her legs beneath
her.
Cersei’s tongue was thick in her mouth and her clit throbbed between her legs.
She swallowed. “Because I have not struck you?” She took a step towards the
bed. “I can, little dove.”
“Because you have taught me so much, Your Grace.”
There was something in the way she said it that made Cersei think of Robert,
and what he had taught her. And what she had given him. Fear seized her by the
throat. She would get a new food taster for herself tomorrow, she decided. She
licked her lips, tasted the traces of Sansa on them. “Let me teach you
something else,” she said, tone even. “Never show your hand.”
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