Title: worthy
Info: written for femslash-today’s annual porn battle, and while it didn’t quite get to porn I like what I came up with.
Cersei’s movements were calculated (they always were) as she moved her hands from adjusting Sansa’s dress in back to meeting somewhere across her abdomen. “There are things that, as a King’s betrothed you must learn.”
Sansa inhaled sharply, turning her head to the side. “I’m well aware that I am… lacking, your majesty.”
“Lacking?” Cersei coughed. “You’re hardly here to begin with. First of all, you must work on presence. Disappear when necessary, but you must grow worthy of carrying Joffrey’s crown.” She turned Sansa around with a firm hand, leaving one on top of her head, stepping back so she could give the girl a full once over. “I suppose your posture is fine, however your chin–” Cersei lifted Sansa’s gaze, posing her like a doll. “And I’m afraid the quality of your dress has much to be desired.”
Nothing Sansa attempted was good enough for the young king’s mother, and it wouldn’t be good enough for subjects eager to find fault with the daughter of a traitor. Sansa’s throat ran dry mid-swallow. “Any advice you have would be appreciated, my lady.” The words slipped out, cold, and she was certain that Cersei would notice the change in honorific.
Cersei blinked slowly, her hand on Sansa’s chin squeezing briefly. There was the promise of a slap in her palm, itching against Sansa’s skin.
“And that innocent look of yours will be your end.”
“Innocent, my lady?”
Cersei still did not correct her, but forcefully — her hand still cupping Sansa’s face — moved her backwards, taking quick steps until the interruption of a wall forced her to stop. “The first blood has not yet risen to your cheeks. My son will ruin you.” She said the words matter-of-factly, and yet there was a twinge of sadness in her eyes.
“I do not desire to be ruined.” Sansa kept her chin raised, her eyes on Cersei’s face, the Lannister’s expression closed, her lips pressed firmly together. Her eyes traveled far away for the smallest of moments, Sansa attempting to track them desperately, almost begging for the return of that firm hand.
She felt as though, without it, she would drift away.
“Then I will teach you.” Cersei’s eyes and then her hands drifted down Sansa’s front, gripping the fabric at her hips, causing both breaths to hitch.
