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bang bang // beautiful and dirty rich

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“How was practice?” Joffrey asks obligingly, gripping her hand a bit more tightly across the table to draw her attention back to him. Sansa takes another sip of her latte to hide her reflexive grimace, and shrugs.

“Practice was okay. A couple of the workouts were more difficult than I’d expected, but all in all, it was okay. It was good to see the rest of the girls again.”

Hellish. That was the word that came to mind. Absolutely hellish.

“Well, you always get back into your rhythm quite easily, don’t you, darling?” he says with his characteristic, feigned sweetness. She nods again, hoping he’ll drop the subject, and of course he does, since he’d far rather suffer her to listen to his declarations of his new professors’ inadequacies than suffer himself to listen to any details about his girlfriend’s extracurricular adventures.

He finishes his smoothie and chucks the plastic cup towards the trash bin. It misses, but he shrugs and stands up and slings his backpack over his shoulders. He gives her a kiss goodbye, wet and with his lips still tasting of cigarettes, simultaneously slipping his hands inside the folds of her sweatshirt and groping her breasts.

“Joff, not in public,” she whispers angrily.

“Oh, Sansa,” he laughs. “As amusing and arousing as your innocence can be, it really does toe the line of prudishness.”

He slaps her ass and exits the campus coffee shop. Through the lull of her peers’ voices she can hear a couple of hoots, but then an “oh, fuck off!” quiets them.

She looks back, and it’s Arya’s boyfriend, whose name she regretfully can’t remember. He’s low class and doesn’t seem to speak much; he’d be easy to ignore if he weren’t so easily intimidating, but he’s attractive and smart and dating a Senator’s daughter, so the proper allowances have been made, and even most of the football players are reluctant to challenge him. He’s walking toward the doorway, so she pulls her gym bag onto her shoulder, pushes the door open, and waits to thank him before walking to her car and driving home.

They just had to go for even shorter skirts this year…this is going to be a death sentence. I can imagine the headline: 'young socialite passes from oxygen loss due to gay panic.' Maybe it’s because the first couple weeks of a new year are always tiring. I just really need a nap, and I will be totally fine. Totally normal Sansa, who sometimes looks at other girls in the locker room because she’s at the top of the social ladder and is sizing everyone else up, but don’t worry - she isn’t actually mean, just maybe a bit insecure. That was it, definitely. Of course the other cheerleaders were attractive - it was practically in the job description! I’m just a little jealous, and jealousy is totally normal.

It takes three tries to get the damn door to her suite open, which is shocking on multiple counts. It’s not often that she can’t get it open, but Margaery’s almost always in their room when she returns from cheer practice, so she’ll open the door for Sansa if she hears her outside.

She’s probably taking a nap or watching something on her tablet, Sansa thinks. The start of a semester is always stressful.

She tosses her gym bag to the floor by her bed to the right of the door, and turns back around to close the door behind her. One hand on the lock and another in the middle of the door, the moment she pushes the door shut is the moment she realizes that Margaery is definitely not taking a nap.

The stockings, skirt and bra she’d had on earlier that day lay near the foot of her bed and she’s reclining on her purple velvet body pillow. Her thin black short-sleeved button-up is unbuttoned and open, leaving her full breasts and tan chest and stomach exposed, her eyes are intently focused on a video playing on her phone, and her thong’s been pulled against her thigh to give two of her meticulously manicured fingers entry to her slit. Sansa loses control of her breath, whimpering internally as she feels herself growing wetter by the second.

Seven Hells.

“Shit, sorry!” the two girls exclaim, almost in unison, Sansa pushing back from the door as though it’s burned her and Margaery abruptly sitting up. She hastily jerks her earbuds out, but it’s not as though it helps much - the video still playing, moans still desperate and audible through the tiny speakers, still adding to the throbbing feeling in Sansa's clit. Marg fastens the two buttons immediately at the gap between her breasts; in a flimsy attempt to distract herself from her almost entirely naked roommate Sansa glances at the screen, but it’s - it’s two girls, and one is flicking her tongue against one of the other girl’s nipples and that girl is biting her lip and grinning in ecstasy and Sansa’s cheeks feel as red as her hair.

She can barely think of the words to say, but she makes herself stumble over them, because the most prevalent thought in her mind is how badly she needs to leave.

“I am so sorry, Margaery,” she says with far more force than necessary. “I should not have barged in on you like that. I’ll just grab a couple of my books and leave right away, and then you can just...text me when I should come back.”

She starts toward the far wall, standing on her tiptoes and pulling her English textbook from the bookshelf on her desk; the surface of the book makes her aware of how sweaty her hands have become.

She feels Margaery’s eyes watching her as she walks over and back, her legs less steady than they should be. Sansa doesn’t pray often anymore, but she finds herself begging the gods that the nipples she feels hardening beneath her sweatshirt aren’t visible. She feels herself clenching, feels her panties beginning to get cool as the wetness of her mounting arousal sets upon their thin fabric.

“You don’t have to leave, you know,” Margaery says coyly, scooting to the edge of her bed. Sansa tries to look at her disapprovingly, but the bitten lip that follows the realization of what her friend is suggesting impedes her feigned expression.

“I’m not going to try to do homework while you masturbate, Margaery,” she asserts innocence, gripping her book tighter.

“Of course not! How unfair of me it would be, to pleasure myself and leave you to do something so mundane as coursework!”

Marg’s look is gentle, if not a bit scolding, as though she knew precisely what Sansa was feeling. She stands up and closes the already-too-small gap between them, and then she clasps a hand around the top of Sansa’s textbook, and pulls. Sansa tells herself not to let her take it, but Margaery’s breasts aren’t quite pressing against its surface and she’s right in front of Sansa and can hear her breathing and Sansa’s using so much energy just to have semi-coherent thoughts and the book slips right out of her fingers.

It lands with a muddled thump on Sansa’s bed, and Margaery’s shirt rustles as she comes even closer to her.

And then things start to happen very fast.

First it’s the sound of her hoodie being unzipped that rings in Sansa's ears, and then her own moaning echoes through her whole body as Margaery’s lips meet hers and the residual taste of a caramel macchiato makes her mouth water, and then Margaery’s hands are slinking to her back, slipping under her tee shirt. The fingers she’d had inside herself are still the littlest bit slippery, and Sansa shivers at their coldness against her bare hip for a moment before impulsively grabbing Margaery’s hand and slipping them between her lips, running her tongue in the gap between them and fuck, she tastes so sweet. Margaery pulls her hand free after a moment, meeting Sansa’s eyes as she fearlessly reaches below the short skirt of the cheerleading uniform and rubs those same fingers against the redhead’s clit. Sansa gasps at the pressure, and Margaery’s smile takes on its signature smugness again - no, smugness wasn’t the right word, it was too sexy for the word smug but fuck.

Margaery kisses her again as she starts to rub her clit with more force, and Sansa reaches back and unzips both pieces of her uniform, letting the top fall to the floor then grabbing Margaery’s hand and moving it away from her just long enough for the skirt to drop. She pushes Margaery away by her hips the next time the brunette reaches for her, with just enough power to sit her back down on the edge of her bed, and Marg momentarily seems put off by the apparent change in attitude, but her smile returns brighter when Sansa’s nimble fingers hastily undo the last two buttons still fastened on her shirt. Leaning into her as she pulls the shirt off, Sansa thinks of the girls in the video, and the flush traveling down from Margaery's neck, and the weight of the arousal in her stomach compels her lips to lock around one of Margaery's nipples, her hand pawing for the other. Marg gasps, grabbing Sansa's hand and guiding her fingers to roll the other nipple between them, then scoots further back on her bed, shoving the body pillow to the side and moving her phone to the stool at her bedside.

She directs an authoritative come-hither look, complete with an extended pointer finger, at Sansa; growing slightly less sure of herself, Sansa takes a seat next to her, trembling when one of Margaery’s hands comes to lay upon her thighs. Marg presses a kiss to her clavicle, but pulls back from her after she gulps nervously.

“Hey, you okay?”

Sansa’s words come out shaky.

“Gods, yeah, it’s just…”

“First time with a girl.”

Sansa bites her lip.

“First time, period.”

“Really? Even with-”

“I’ve told him I intend to wait until I’m married. He was mad about it at first, but he understands enough, most of the time.”

“By which you mean he totally doesn’t give a shit. And begs the question: do you?”

“Intend to wait?”

“Yeah. Cause I’m quite adept at getting myself off, I can turn away and pretend this didn’t happen if you want me to.”

Sansa sighs, playing nervously with her hands.

“I don’t…exactly…want you to.”


“I didn’t want to have sex with Joffrey when we started dating, and I still don’t. I can’t think of a single guy I’ve ever met that I’ve actually wanted to have sex with. But…I have met...I don’t want to be…”


Sansa hesitates.

“You say it so easily…but gods, all of this is wrong. Everything is so-”

“What’s so wrong about it?” Marg’s voice is tender, concerned, and one of her hands finds its way into one of Sansa’s. Sansa presses her eyes shut for a moment.

“I had a plan. A plan of how my life would work out, how I would be the best that I could be, and…being more attracted to my fellow cheerleaders than to my boyfriend is not part of that plan, and-”

“And are you?”

“More attracted to them?”

Margaery nods, and Sansa nods back.

“Then, honey, you’re gonna have to make some changes to that plan.”

Sansa lets out a half-hearted groan.

“And no, I’m not just saying that because I want to go down on you. Not that I don’t. But I’m saying this as a friend, okay? So…maybe you don’t turn out the Westerosi social elite poster girl. Maybe you don’t spend your adult life in a horrible marriage to a miserable shit. Maybe some pap manages to get a picture of you with a hair or two out of place. What’s really so bad about that?”

Margaery raises her arms at her sides dramatically, enunciating the fact that her question is rhetorical, and Sansa groans again, this time letting herself fall back against the bed. Margaery’s eyes scan her body lustfully, but she doesn’t move. Gods, to be with someone who didn’t move at a moment like that, who waited for Sansa’s cue even with the knowledge that she may well declare she wanted to stop entirely.

And she didn’t. She really didn’t. She’d felt arousal before, but she’d never felt anything like that. In lieu of intercourse, she had agreed to occasionally blow Joffrey, but an entire half hour spent kissing him and watching and helping him get off brought no pleasure like that she’d felt with just Margaery’s fingers between her lips.

“Joffrey doesn’t believe in the legitimacy of same-sex relationships,” she declares eventually, softly, more for herself than Margaery.

“Under that line of thought, it’s not like I’d be cheating,” she shrugs, looking towards Marg again.

“He doesn’t know how lucky he is, having the privilege of being with someone as clever as you,” Margaery says, her hand going from stationary and comforting to gently stroking Sansa’s thigh. Sansa giggles, and extends her hand to Marg, whom she pulls down to kiss her; she allows Sansa’s arms to wind around her shoulders.

They kiss like that, slow and sweet and gentle and entwined, for a couple of minutes, but when Marg’s hands come up to cup Sansa’s breasts Sansa leans her head back against the bedspread as she moans, and Margaery moves to straddle her, lips traveling, light and wet and leaving the slightest feel of chapstick against the spots they kiss, down Sansa’s lithe form. When Margaery reaches her lower abdomen, she stands and leans over the bed, and Sansa pushes her away and twists herself around so that she’s positioned lengthwise on the bed. Margaery crawls back up on the bed, running her hands along Sansa’s smooth legs, but not sitting herself between them for a moment - not until she slips her index fingers inside the band of Sansa’s underwear and Sansa pushes her ass up off the bed to let her pull them off.

Margaery tosses them and all her own clothes to the floor, and then kneels in between Sansa’s legs, pulling her tousled brown hair to one side and sliding her other hand down from Sansa's navel to her vulva, the edges of the manicured nails just sharp enough to elicit moans as they scrape ever so gently against the skin below her neatly trimmed auburn bush. Looking up for and getting a nod from Sansa, Margaery rubs against Sansa’s clit again, waiting for her moans to become more enthusiastic and then moving to lay prostrate on the bed and position her arms underneath Sansa’s thighs. Sansa stretches her arms down her sides, and Margaery entwines their fingers tightly, and then - oh fuck.

She runs the tip of her tongue lightly against Sansa’s folds, and Sansa reflexively pushes against her, and she pushes deeper, sweeter, and she moans, the way someone does when they're eating a piece of candy that they particularly want to savor, and Sansa’s last real conscious thought is that she should pay attention so that she might have a clue what she’s doing because Margaery is being so good to her and she deserves to feel twice as good as this. The attention doesn’t come easy, though, and she functionally forgets about everything in the world but the feeling of Margaery’s tongue in her sopping cunt and against her clit. And right when she’s certain she’s about to come, so tensed up her legs are beginning to feel sore, Margaery slows her tongue down. Sansa properly whimpers as Marg lets go of her hands and then she feels the pad of her thumb against her clit and she realizes.

Margaery’s fingers slide into her easily, and expertly find a swift rhythm that has Sansa falling to pieces gods-know-how-quickly and so fucking hard. (One of her hands she’d entangled in Margaery’s hair, and the other, gripping the topmost sheet, and she tightens her grip on the second so fiercely that she leaves imprints of her fingernails in her palm.)

It takes her a trembling, breathless moment to realize that she’s still holding Margaery’s hair, and she lets go almost reluctantly, pushing it back over Marg’s shoulder as she looks down her own body at the smiling girl, laying contentedly between her legs. Marg holds one of her hands out for Sansa to grab, and Sansa gives her just enough leverage to move her body over Sansa’s and come to Sansa’s side. She leans into her and gives her a sweet, slow kiss.

“Oh my god, is that what I taste like?”

“Yummy, huh?” Margaery affirms, and Sansa kisses her again in response. Even this soft, gentle kissing sets her in a trancelike state, and she can’t help but wonder if this is what people actually mean by making love.

“Are you going to the Phi Beta Kappa party tonight?” Margaery asks after they’ve been laying around a while.

“I hadn’t decided yet. Joffrey doesn’t want to go, but Arya and whats-his-name are going.”


“Yes! That’s his name.”

“How do you forget your sister’s boyfriend’s name? They’ve been together for, like, three years,” Marg laughs.

“You know, there are a lot of things I have to remember. If I say “Arya Stark’s boyfriend,” people in fucking Italy would probably know who I’m talking about. I don’t need to know his name offhand.”

Margaery just shakes her head gently.

“Okay, so I probably should. I’ll embarrass nobody but myself if I stand up to give a toast at their wedding and can’t remember his name, I got that.”

“Well, if you forgot Joffrey’s, you’d have more room in your pretty little brain to remember shit like that.”

“Oh, nice segue.”

“I thought so.”

Sansa chuckles, and sits herself up, leaning against the headboard, and then she sobers.

“Do you have a plan?”

“Not anymore.”

“But you did?”

“In high school, yeah. I was all set to be the second best fucking Angela Montenegro in the universe.”

“Oh, I love Bones!”

“Yeah, me too! The show’s great. And in theory, working with forensics stuff would have also been great. I didn’t want to do the whole family business thing, but it was professional enough that my parents were down with it.”

“And then?”

“Dead people freak me the fuck out. Like, it’s so different. Obviously the jobs are different - they don’t really show paperwork on tv, and even the lawyers give zero fucks about the law - but it was just…I’m shit at compartmentalizing. So after my horrific internship freshman year, I decided to do something that did not involve dead people. I don’t know what it is yet, but I know that I’ll figure it out eventually. Besides, I’m an art major. Nobody expects me to be able to get a job right out of college in the first place.”

She puts her hand on Sansa’s thigh, getting her to look her in the eye.

“Point is, things generally don’t go as planned, but that’s not a bad thing. That’s just life.”

“Are you going to the party?”

“I was hoping to, but they did say people were expected to come in pairs.”

“And? You could step outside our building and hold up a sign and you’d have a date in five minutes.”

Margaery smirks.

“Or, I could not even leave my room and ask my very attractive and very dateless roommate if she would want to go with me.”

“I am not very dateless-”

“You are still dateless.”

“Except that I’m not, since I’ve just been asked.”

Margaery kisses the outside of Sansa’s thigh, and rolls out of her bed, stretching once she stands up - and looking behind herself with the knowledge that Sansa is watching her.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower and then decide what to wear. If you’d like to do those things in the same sequence, I am open to that. Just so you know.”

Sansa smiles.

“I’ll text Arya and see if she wants to carpool over there. I'll be there in a minute.”