Fic: Last of the Nightly Visits, for cmeeks51
Recipient: cmeeks51
Title: Last of the Nightly Visits
Author: minviendha
Rating: R
Character or Pairing: Catelyn/Petyr
Word Count: 1317
Summary: Late and alone, Catelyn and Petyr talk under the covers. Old enough not to be children but still not grown, things are nonetheless changing.
Warning: youthful experimentation.
“You should be a minstrel,” she said, giggling. The covers nearly slipped off her head and she reached up to catch them. Petyr made a face.
“A minstrel? That’s not very flattering, Cat. Can’t I at least be a knight or something gallant and dashing?”
“You don’t think minstrels are gallant and dashing? -well, Edmure would probably agree with you there…” Both of them laughed at that, into their hands, nearly snickering with youthful mirth. “He says he’ll never let father have minstrels again. Poor Edmure.” Catelyn shook her head, though her teeth gleamed white in a smile.
“We’ll have to get him to sing instead,” Petyr said, solemnly. “I’m sure he has a beautiful voice. He can sing all of the best songs. Especially ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair,’ that one is my favorite.”
Catelyn flushed, brightly and suddenly. “Petyr! I heard that song is actually - very filthy, in what it’s saying. Edmure told me - the bit about her hair-“
Petyr was laughing. “I know, Cat. That’s why it’s a good song, isn’t it?”
“What do you-“
“Come,” Petyr said, leaning forward just a little, his mouth curving in that small little smile of his, and his eyes gleaming a little, “You don’t think people would talk about it so much if it weren’t a good thing?” Catelyn was silenced by that, but couldn’t help leaning forward, biting her lip. She felt a squirming of nervousness in her belly and quashed it.
“People talk about - it? I’ve never heard…”
“Of course not to you,” Petyr said, dismissively. “You’re a lady. But it’s different, being a man. You hear all kinds of things if you just know how to listen, and people never think I am.”
Catelyn gasped, a little. “Petyr, that’s eavesdropping.”
“And you’ve never listened to a conversation that isn’t yours?” His smile was a little wicked. “Well, yes, it is, but everything’s much more interesting that way, and I know so many interesting things. But yes, people talk about it all the time, especially down in the baths or the stables.”
Catelyn hesitated, looked back and forth, bit her lip, and leaned forward a bit more. “What do they say?”
Petyr seemed, just for a moment, a little embarrassed, but he recovered himself quickly. “Mostly just words. But sometimes other things, too…did you know that it’s not just - you don’t have to do it one way, there are other things you can do, too, with your mouth, or…”
Catelyn went bright pink, though it was not visible in the dark. “Petyr!”
“You did ask,” he said, but fell silent. Catelyn said nothing, knowing they were both thinking about it. She squirmed a little, wondering if it was normal to be this curious about - everything, or…there was a curious warmth spreading from her belly and she felt very self conscious.
“Catelyn?” She looked up, startled, and saw that Petyr was watching her. Inexplicably, she felt herself flush again. “Would you mind if…I kissed you?”
She was well aware that she should have said no, well aware that it was wrong to let him even touch her, and there were all kinds of nasty names for women who did what she was doing - but it had felt nice when he did it before, so she nodded and leaned forward. He laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed her lips.
They’d both been very young the first time, she realized, and it was different now. He kissed her differently, less like bumping mouths like strangers in the night and more with intention, with something she even might have dared to name, with a shiver, passion. She thought about - it and Petyr leaning toward her, smelling slightly of spice and more of books and paper, and opened her mouth slightly.
The first time Petyr had told her about real kissing, the open mouthed tongues playing kind, Catelyn had wrinkled her nose and exclaimed with disgust. It didn’t seem so disgusting now, Petyr’s tongue tracing her lips before slipping between them. She wriggled a little closer. It was safe here, in the dark, under the bedclothes.
When they parted, Catelyn could hear Petyr’s breathing, almost panting, and her own heart thudded loudly against her rib cage. “Petyr,” she said, and this time he cut her off, voice husky. She hadn’t realized how much it had deepened.
“Come here?”
She scooted over, and he tugged her onto his lap. One of his arms was around her waist, and she was suddenly aware of her rear end nestled between his legs, and colored. “Comfortable?” He asked her, and she thought about that for a moment.
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said, and she felt his lips press against her neck, and his other hand resting flat on her stomach. “Catelyn…can I - touch you?”
No, she thought, but her mouth betrayed her, turning her head into Petyr’s shoulder. It felt nice, the way his hand ran through her thick, red hair, just like when he used to brush it. “Yes,” she said, and he slipped his hand from her hair down to her breasts. He cupped one, lifted it gently and let it go, rubbed his thumb over where her nipple through the nightgown. She could feel every touch, her skin prickling, and felt too warm and then too cold all at once. His other hand felt along the curve of her waist, slid down her thigh, crossed over to touch the inside of her legs-
Catelyn shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with something pressing against her where she sat, and squirmed a little before she understood and opened her eyes wide, somewhere between startled, horrified, and - something else that she had no proper word for, but that made her feel warm all over.
“Petyr!”
She turned to look at him and he was flushing as brightly as she was, and pulled his hand away quickly. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to-“ He sounded like he meant it, but all the same…
“You - you’re -“ She gaped at him, unable to tell him what she wanted to say without resorting to dirty words or euphemisms that now sounded unbearably silly. She pulled away, clambering out of his lap, flushed. There was a strange smell under the covers, not unpleasant, but not at all familiar, either.
She couldn’t help it. Her eyes were drawn down to his breeches, staring at the tent - it, his manhood, that sounded suitably demure - created in the fabric. She thought about what Petyr said. Things you could do with your mouth… She could never - she would never…
But what did it feel like?
Catelyn moved back toward him, slowly. Petyr watched her, wide-eyed himself now. “Hold still,” she told him. “I just want to see…”
She straddled his ankles and sat on his feet, leaned forward and stretched out her hands for his breeches. She could feel Petyr’s embarrassment and hesitated.
“If you don’t want me to…” but he shook his head, and she undid the clasp, almost gingerly, and brushed her fingers against…him. It. Petyr’s manhood.
Whatever she had expected, this was not it. The skin was silky soft, warm under her hand as she wrapped her palm around it. Petyr moaned, very faintly, and she worried for a moment that she was hurting him.
“Cat,” he said, in clear enough a way that she knew she was not. It was the softest, most delicate skin she had ever touched, and she couldn’t resist running her fingers along it, eyes wide, curious-
“I have to go,” Petyr said, suddenly, pulling away from her in one sharp movement.
“Wait,” she said, but pulled her hand back, confused, embarrassed, warm in places she hadn’t known existed. He shook his head, lips pressed together, and pulled his breeches together, throwing the blanket off and almost jumping to his feet.
“What are you doing,” she started to ask, but he was already gone.
Title: Last of the Nightly Visits
Author: minviendha
Rating: R
Character or Pairing: Catelyn/Petyr
Word Count: 1317
Summary: Late and alone, Catelyn and Petyr talk under the covers. Old enough not to be children but still not grown, things are nonetheless changing.
Warning: youthful experimentation.
“You should be a minstrel,” she said, giggling. The covers nearly slipped off her head and she reached up to catch them. Petyr made a face.
“A minstrel? That’s not very flattering, Cat. Can’t I at least be a knight or something gallant and dashing?”
“You don’t think minstrels are gallant and dashing? -well, Edmure would probably agree with you there…” Both of them laughed at that, into their hands, nearly snickering with youthful mirth. “He says he’ll never let father have minstrels again. Poor Edmure.” Catelyn shook her head, though her teeth gleamed white in a smile.
“We’ll have to get him to sing instead,” Petyr said, solemnly. “I’m sure he has a beautiful voice. He can sing all of the best songs. Especially ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair,’ that one is my favorite.”
Catelyn flushed, brightly and suddenly. “Petyr! I heard that song is actually - very filthy, in what it’s saying. Edmure told me - the bit about her hair-“
Petyr was laughing. “I know, Cat. That’s why it’s a good song, isn’t it?”
“What do you-“
“Come,” Petyr said, leaning forward just a little, his mouth curving in that small little smile of his, and his eyes gleaming a little, “You don’t think people would talk about it so much if it weren’t a good thing?” Catelyn was silenced by that, but couldn’t help leaning forward, biting her lip. She felt a squirming of nervousness in her belly and quashed it.
“People talk about - it? I’ve never heard…”
“Of course not to you,” Petyr said, dismissively. “You’re a lady. But it’s different, being a man. You hear all kinds of things if you just know how to listen, and people never think I am.”
Catelyn gasped, a little. “Petyr, that’s eavesdropping.”
“And you’ve never listened to a conversation that isn’t yours?” His smile was a little wicked. “Well, yes, it is, but everything’s much more interesting that way, and I know so many interesting things. But yes, people talk about it all the time, especially down in the baths or the stables.”
Catelyn hesitated, looked back and forth, bit her lip, and leaned forward a bit more. “What do they say?”
Petyr seemed, just for a moment, a little embarrassed, but he recovered himself quickly. “Mostly just words. But sometimes other things, too…did you know that it’s not just - you don’t have to do it one way, there are other things you can do, too, with your mouth, or…”
Catelyn went bright pink, though it was not visible in the dark. “Petyr!”
“You did ask,” he said, but fell silent. Catelyn said nothing, knowing they were both thinking about it. She squirmed a little, wondering if it was normal to be this curious about - everything, or…there was a curious warmth spreading from her belly and she felt very self conscious.
“Catelyn?” She looked up, startled, and saw that Petyr was watching her. Inexplicably, she felt herself flush again. “Would you mind if…I kissed you?”
She was well aware that she should have said no, well aware that it was wrong to let him even touch her, and there were all kinds of nasty names for women who did what she was doing - but it had felt nice when he did it before, so she nodded and leaned forward. He laid his hands on her shoulders and kissed her lips.
They’d both been very young the first time, she realized, and it was different now. He kissed her differently, less like bumping mouths like strangers in the night and more with intention, with something she even might have dared to name, with a shiver, passion. She thought about - it and Petyr leaning toward her, smelling slightly of spice and more of books and paper, and opened her mouth slightly.
The first time Petyr had told her about real kissing, the open mouthed tongues playing kind, Catelyn had wrinkled her nose and exclaimed with disgust. It didn’t seem so disgusting now, Petyr’s tongue tracing her lips before slipping between them. She wriggled a little closer. It was safe here, in the dark, under the bedclothes.
When they parted, Catelyn could hear Petyr’s breathing, almost panting, and her own heart thudded loudly against her rib cage. “Petyr,” she said, and this time he cut her off, voice husky. She hadn’t realized how much it had deepened.
“Come here?”
She scooted over, and he tugged her onto his lap. One of his arms was around her waist, and she was suddenly aware of her rear end nestled between his legs, and colored. “Comfortable?” He asked her, and she thought about that for a moment.
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said, and she felt his lips press against her neck, and his other hand resting flat on her stomach. “Catelyn…can I - touch you?”
No, she thought, but her mouth betrayed her, turning her head into Petyr’s shoulder. It felt nice, the way his hand ran through her thick, red hair, just like when he used to brush it. “Yes,” she said, and he slipped his hand from her hair down to her breasts. He cupped one, lifted it gently and let it go, rubbed his thumb over where her nipple through the nightgown. She could feel every touch, her skin prickling, and felt too warm and then too cold all at once. His other hand felt along the curve of her waist, slid down her thigh, crossed over to touch the inside of her legs-
Catelyn shifted, suddenly uncomfortable with something pressing against her where she sat, and squirmed a little before she understood and opened her eyes wide, somewhere between startled, horrified, and - something else that she had no proper word for, but that made her feel warm all over.
“Petyr!”
She turned to look at him and he was flushing as brightly as she was, and pulled his hand away quickly. “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean to-“ He sounded like he meant it, but all the same…
“You - you’re -“ She gaped at him, unable to tell him what she wanted to say without resorting to dirty words or euphemisms that now sounded unbearably silly. She pulled away, clambering out of his lap, flushed. There was a strange smell under the covers, not unpleasant, but not at all familiar, either.
She couldn’t help it. Her eyes were drawn down to his breeches, staring at the tent - it, his manhood, that sounded suitably demure - created in the fabric. She thought about what Petyr said. Things you could do with your mouth… She could never - she would never…
But what did it feel like?
Catelyn moved back toward him, slowly. Petyr watched her, wide-eyed himself now. “Hold still,” she told him. “I just want to see…”
She straddled his ankles and sat on his feet, leaned forward and stretched out her hands for his breeches. She could feel Petyr’s embarrassment and hesitated.
“If you don’t want me to…” but he shook his head, and she undid the clasp, almost gingerly, and brushed her fingers against…him. It. Petyr’s manhood.
Whatever she had expected, this was not it. The skin was silky soft, warm under her hand as she wrapped her palm around it. Petyr moaned, very faintly, and she worried for a moment that she was hurting him.
“Cat,” he said, in clear enough a way that she knew she was not. It was the softest, most delicate skin she had ever touched, and she couldn’t resist running her fingers along it, eyes wide, curious-
“I have to go,” Petyr said, suddenly, pulling away from her in one sharp movement.
“Wait,” she said, but pulled her hand back, confused, embarrassed, warm in places she hadn’t known existed. He shook his head, lips pressed together, and pulled his breeches together, throwing the blanket off and almost jumping to his feet.
“What are you doing,” she started to ask, but he was already gone.