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Cersei dips the strips of fabric into the herbed water and carefully places them one at a time over the soft white skin, viciously slashed with crimson and violet.
Sansa releases a little chirp of pain, and the Queen Regent strokes a hand over her russet locks, her voice gentler than it has ever been since Tommen was weaned- “All will be well, sweetling. Just breathe.”
She’s heard the screams from the throne room, and she always wills herself to walk past without a single glance within- Gods, I don’t want to know. But for some indiscernible reason, she opened the doors today and gasped at the sight- gold armor and white cloaks surrounding a trembling, bleeding, half-naked girl- a flash of red hair, a glimpse of glistening blue eyes and tear-stained cheeks- Cersei took Sansa by the arm and helped her up, whisked her away, completely deaf to Joffrey’s petulant protests.
And now she eases the Stark girl into a seated position and takes her delicate face between both palms. “He will never hurt you again. Do you understand? You’ll stay with me, and he’ll not touch you.”
Sansa nods, again and again and again. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she sniffs, and Cersei uses the sleeve of her silken nightdress to wipe away the moisture on the girl’s cheeks. She looks deep into the sapphire-blue eyes, into the storm of emotions swirling in the pupils; fear and gratitude and confusion and naked, hungry need...
She sweeps Sansa’s thick, ruddy hair behind her ears and brings her face closer. “You’re safe now, my sweet girl,” she whispers, and before Sansa can reply, Cersei presses a kiss to her swollen pink lips.
She’s pure as freshly-fallen snow- it’s obvious that she knows not what to do with her mouth, but Cersei gently coaxes her along until she kisses back, until she parts her lips and strokes the tip of Cersei’s tongue with her own. The Queen eases the girl back onto the cushions- she shrieks, just a little- the wounds are still open beneath the bandages. But Cersei only continues to pet the red, red hair- “You’ll never hurt again...never again...”
Soft kisses trail their way down Sansa’s slim white throat, a tongue tracing the curve of her collarbone. She continues to mewl and squeak, but they are not sounds of pain- drunk with possessiveness- mine, mine, mine- Cersei strokes beneath the girl’s smallclothes, smiling when Sansa tilts her hips up to brush herself against the smoothness of the Queen’s long, deliberate fingers.
Cersei curls her fingers inside Sansa- she’s tight and warm and so, so wet- she presses her mouth to the side of the Stark girl’s neck and nibbles and sucks at the skin, just enough to leave a pretty red bloom. Nothing like the savage lacerations marring her lovely long back, just something dainty and decorative to mark her as Cersei’s own. The thought pleases her, and she brings her free hand into her own smallclothes, rubbing herself in time with Sansa.
The little maid rocks her hips up, mouth open in a silent scream, her inner muscles contracting at an alarming rate. After she rides her climax to its completion, Sansa reaches up and catches her fingers in Cersei’s soft golden hair. Her full lips curve up into a beatific smile, and she whispers- “So beautiful...the most beautiful...”
Cersei comes with a low cry, the hand that had been in Sansa now grazing over the curves of the girl’s body. And if the sight of long-lashed eyes and rosy lips and ample breasts causes a little sting of panic in her chest, the Queen Regent chooses to ignore it for now. Instead, she lies beside her rescued damsel, golden curls mingling with auburn, and wraps her securely in her arms.
Mine.