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Sansa feels like her heart is going to explode out of her chest when Margaery shows up at Arianne’s New Year’s party with her brother Loras and Loras’s boyfriend Renly in tow, looking like she stepped out of the pages of Vogue. She’s wearing this body hugging strapless dress and impossibly high heels despite the snow, her brown hair falling in a tumble of curls down her back, and she’s wearing a shade of red lipstick so bright, Sansa cannot help but have her eyes drawn to her mouth.
Margaery sees her, smiles. No, not smiles. Smirks. And Sansa blushes brightly, taking a large swig from her Solo cup of jungle juice.
It’s been a week since she’s last seen Margaery, since Margaery went down on her during Sansa’s parents’ Christmas party and Sansa fingered her to orgasm. If she tries, she can still feel Margaery tightening around her fingers, feel her warm breath misting against her face as she gasped out encouragement and praise. They’d went back to the party after that, Sansa agreeing to hang out again while they were both home from college, but she’d panicked after Margaery left. Texts, calls, even Facebook messages, Sansa has avoided them all while she tried to figure out what exactly it means that she had sex with Margaery Tyrell and liked it.
And now she’s here, smiling, laughing, pressing a kiss to Arianne’s cheek. Whatever struggle Sansa is feeling, it is obvious Margaery isn’t feeling it at all.
She hasn’t told anyone what happened Christmas Eve. She’d considered telling Val; of all of her friends, her college roommate would be the most understanding, the least likely to make a big deal out of it. There was no way she could tell her sorority sisters or even Jeyne Poole. So Sansa kept everything she was feeling to herself and now all she can think is she is so not equipped for this.
When Sansa sees Margaery approaching, she considers fleeing. She can see Robb and Jeyne across the room; maybe if she hurries and feigns some sort of illness, she can get back to the house and just avoid Margaery until spring semester starts.
But she doesn’t because while Sansa is not sure of many things right now, she is definitely sure she is not the sort of girl who fucks and runs, so she stands and waits for Margaery’s anger.
When all Margaery does is sidle up beside her and drawls, “Hey, stranger,” Sansa isn’t entirely certain what to do.
“Hey. I’m sorry – “
“Don’t worry about it,” Margaery cuts in with a smile. Taking Sansa’s cup from her hands and taking a drink, she shrugs. “I get it. The first time is scary, especially when you aren’t expecting it. And I suppose I went a little hard. I should have eased you in with a little making out instead of going straight to the big stuff.”
Sansa knows she’s as red as her hair right now and wishes she didn’t show her embarrassment so easily. “I just - I don’t know. I’m not – I don’t know if I am.”
“And I told you it doesn’t matter what you call yourself. You don’t need to be able to completely define your sexuality to hang out with me.”
“Is that we’re doing, hanging out?”
Margaery’s smile fades as she says, “I like you, Sansa. I’ve liked you for a very long time, and we didn’t do anything wrong. Did it feel wrong to you?”
Sansa minutely shakes her head. “No, not wrong.”
“You liked it, what we did together?” Moving closer, dropping her voice to a husky whisper just barely audible above the music, she presses, “Because when you were coming and pulling my hair so hard I thought I’d have a bald spot, it certainly seemed like you did.”
“Margaery,” she murmurs, a shock of desire shooting through her as she remembers the feel of Margaery’s mouth between her legs.
“I like you, Sansa,” Margaery repeats, subtly moving them towards the corner where they are less likely to be noticed. “I think you’re smart and funny and beautiful. I like talking to you. I like fucking you. I’m not asking you to decide the rest of your life tonight. I just want to have fun.”
“Fun,” Sansa echoed, glancing over Margaery’s shoulders at the crowds of people milling about, some pairing off for drunken hook-ups. When she realizes no one is looking at them, she leans forward and brushes her hand against Margaery’s. Margaery catches her fingers, tangling them together.
“C’mon,” Margaery urges, tugging her towards the stairs. Sansa quickly looks over her shoulder before following, letting Margaery lead her through the labyrinth of halls. When she pushes open a door and pulls Sansa inside, locking it behind them, Sansa realizes this is Quentyn’s room. She isn’t certain how Arianne’s brother would feel about them using his bedroom while he’s away at basic training, but when Margaery cups her face and begins to kiss her, Sansa forgets to care.
Her mouth tastes like jungle juice and expensive lipstick, and Sansa imagines Margaery leaving bright red lip marks on her skin. It is different from kissing a man; Margaery is soft and warm, and the press of her breasts against Sansa’s makes Sansa shiver. She is slightly taller than Margaery, and it is the first time she’s ever had to bend to kiss someone; it gives her a strange thrill.
Margaery’s mouth slides to her throat, and Sansa moans, letting Margaery press her back against the door. The older girl’s hands move with the kind of assurance Sansa isn’t sure she’ll ever possess, but she trembles at the way Margaery slowly slides them up from her hips, tracing the shape of her before cupping Sansa’s breasts. The touch is muted through her dress and strapless bra, and Sansa cannot catch the whine that slips free.
“Greedy girl,” Margaery teases, slipping one hand up Sansa’s back to find the knot holding her halter dress in place. “I’m getting there.”
“Marg,” she whimpers, and Sansa surprises herself by tugging down her dress to her waist, leaving her in nothing but her strapless white lace bra.
“I didn’t say it last time, but you have amazing tits.” Margaery kisses the swell of her breasts, fingers skimming up and down Sansa’s sides to set her skin alight. “I used to be so jealous since mine are so small.”
“I like yours,” Sansa blurts out, blushing so hard her chest turns pink. Trying to be brave, she continues, “I think you’re beautiful. I always have.”
Margaery smiles, standing on her toes to brush a soft kiss against her mouth. “And you like my tits.”
Sansa laughs. “And I like your tits.”
Margaery’s smile widens as she pulls back some, reaching behind her to tug the zipper of her mini dress. It drops to the ground and Margaery steps out of it, clad only in a thong of such insubstantial lace, it is more dream than reality. She takes Sansa’s hands and leads them to her small, firm breasts. Margaery’s dark nipples are already pebbled, pressing hard against Sansa’s palms, and it’s odd to Sansa that she has had her fingers inside Margaery but never touched her breasts.
“You can be a little rough with them,” Margaery informs her before taking her mouth again, moaning prettily as Sansa reflexively squeezes her breasts.
Sansa isn’t sure if she’s gay, but she is certain nothing has ever felt quit so good as Margaery Tyrell’s tits in her hands, Margaery’s tongue in her mouth as her bra is adeptly unfastened by the older girl. She feels overwhelmed in the best way, her skin hot and crackling with sensation, wetter than any simple make-out has ever made her in the past. Impulsively Sansa pinches Margaery’s nipple, swallowing her sharp gasp, and Margaery cuffs a hand around Sansa’s neck, bringing her even closer.
“If you want me to fuck you this time, you’re going to need to ask.”
It’s a challenge and a contract, Margaery making certain she is an active participant in what is happening, and Sansa thinks of what would happen if someone walked in, if Robb was to discover she’s spending her second party in a row having sex with Margaery Tyrell, if her friends found out guys might not be for her after all.
But she still shakily declares, “Please fuck me,” because it is true. She does want Margaery to do this, whether she knows what it means or not.
Margaery kisses her as she slips a hand inside Sansa’s underwear, sliding along the wetness and finding her clit easily. Sansa pitches her hips for more friction, and Margaery presses her more firmly against the door, barely enough room between their bodies for Margaery’s hand and Sansa’s grip on her breasts.
As Margaery strokes inside her, finding an angle that makes Sansa moan loudly, Sansa releases one of her breasts, grabbing blindly for something to brace herself. Her hand lands on the locked doorknob, and it only reasserts the insanity of the night. She’s never even had sex in a car; it was always beds with the boys, never wanting to be one of those girls that got whispered about in the hallways. Sansa didn’t even know what those girls meant, but she had known she didn’t want to be one. So the fact that she is getting fucked against a door when there is a perfectly good bed not even five feet away is just not something Sansa Stark does.
Of course, until a week ago, Sansa also didn’t fuck girls, so this whole winter break is becoming a series of things she would not otherwise do.
“Oh, fuck!” Sansa cries as her orgasm washes over her, Margaery’s fingers rubbing speedily against her clit, her lips sealed around Sansa’s nipple. Her legs tremble as she struggles to keep herself upright, and Margaery keeps touching her, whispering encouragements so filthy, Sansa hopes she never stops.
Sansa surprises herself when she pushes Margaery’s underwear down her hips, spinning her so she is leaning against the door as Sansa touches her cunt. Margaery has none of Sansa’s hesitation, spreading her legs and palming her own breasts as she works herself against Sansa’s hand.
“Harder,” Margaery pants, twisting her nipples, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “Fuck me like you mean it, San.”
Using two fingers and then three, Sansa watches the play of pleasure on Margaery’s face as she fucks her, her other hand on Margaery’s hip. She’s beautiful like this, Sansa thinks, her own breathing speeding up to match Margaery’s as she builds towards her peak, and Sansa moves her other hand to Margaery’s clit, rolling the pads of her fingers over it in quick circles.
Margaery shouts as she comes, the sort of loud, uninhibited cry Sansa always tried to control. She leans forward, suckling Margaery’s collarbones as she her hands keep pace between Margaery’s thighs, and when she tips over into her second orgasm, Sansa feels such a sense of pride, she can’t even find the words to describe it.
Margaery grabs her chin, tugging her in for a kiss, and standing between her splayed legs, Sansa finds herself pushing against Margaery wanting more. Greedy girl indeed.
The pounding on the door startles them both, Sansa jumping back and immediately grabbing for her clothes. The voice on the other side is telling them to get out, this room isn’t supposed to be used, and as they quickly dress, Sansa knows anyone with common sense will be able to tell what they have been doing in here. Margaery stops her as she fidgets, gently cupping her cheeks and brushing a kiss against her lips.
“Don’t panic, okay? Just follow my lead.”
Sansa nods, sick to her stomach at what might happen. As they unlock the door, Sansa’s heart drops to the ground as she sees it is Tyene, Arianne’s cousin who is studying to be a nun. Tyene looks at them for a moment before saying, “No one’s supposed to be in there.”
Margaery is as calm as ever, nods and wishes Tyene a happy new year. Grabbing Sansa’s hand and leading her down the hallway, they are nearly to the staircase when Sansa whispers, “What if she tells someone?”
“She won’t,” Margaery states with certainty.
“How do you know?”
“Because Tyene likes it when I make her come almost as much as you do.” Margaery smiles at the look of shock on Sansa’s face. “What, you think you’re the only bicurious girl in town?”
“Tyene is going to be a nun!”
“And I give her plenty to say in confession.” Margaery looks down at the people milling around below. “I should find Loras and Renly. Will you actually answer me if I text now?”
Sansa nods. “Yeah, I will.”
“Good.” Brushing a kiss against Sansa’s cheek, she whispers before pulling back, “Because I am still dying to see what you look like when you eat me out.”