Jeoffrey: The Hedonist (SI)

The sun was beginning to set as Joffrey led Sansa deeper into the godswood, the light filtering through the ancient, tangled branches casting the world in shades of red and gold. The air was cool and crisp, filled with the scent of pine and damp earth, and there was a sense of stillness, of solitude, that wrapped around them like a secret. They walked in silence, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves underfoot, until they reached the heart of the grove, where the great weirwood tree stood, its white bark ghostly against the darkening sky.

Joffrey glanced at Sansa, his eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and something darker, something that made Sansa's heart flutter in her chest. He had brought her here under the pretense of a quiet walk, a simple escape from the bustling preparations for the evening feast, but Sansa knew there was more to it than that. She could feel the intensity of his gaze, the unspoken questions hanging in the air between them.

"Have you tried it yet?" Joffrey asked suddenly, his voice low and smooth, like honey dripped over steel. He leaned casually against the twisted trunk of the weirwood, one hand reaching up to trace the blood-red leaves with idle fascination.

Sansa bit her lip, glancing around as if the trees themselves might be listening. She had hoped he wouldn't ask—had hoped that he would forget, but of course he hadn't. He never forgot anything when it came to testing her. "I… I have, with arya" she admitted shyly, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. She twisted her fingers nervously, feeling the weight of his stare.

Joffrey's brows lifted in mild surprise. "Really?" he drawled, unable to hide the flicker of surprise. "I would have thought you'd try something with your mother, Catelyn. But Arya?" He chuckled softly, the sound low and amused. "That's not what I expected."

Sansa's blush deepened, but she nodded, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and pride. "It just… happened," she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the soft rustle of leaves. "We were talking, and… I don't know, I just wanted to know if it felt… like you said it would."

Joffrey stepped closer, his presence commanding, and Sansa felt a shiver run down her spine as he reached out, his fingers brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "And how did it feel, my sweet Sansa?" he murmured, his voice gentle, coaxing her to open up. "Tell me everything."

Sansa's breath hitched as he guided her down onto his lap, settling her between his legs as he leaned back against the weirwood's trunk. She could feel his warmth, his strength, the way his hands rested lightly on her waist, fingers tracing delicate patterns on her skin through the fabric of her dress. Her heart raced, and she was acutely aware of every inch of him beneath her—hard muscle, warm skin, the faint scent of leather and pine.

"It was…" Sansa began, struggling to find the words. "It was strange at first. We were just kissing, and I kept asking her what it felt like. I wanted to know if… if it was the same for me." She glanced up at Joffrey, her cheeks flushed, but he just watched her, his gaze soft, attentive.

Joffrey's hand moved, slipping under the loose fabric of her dress, fingers brushing over the smooth skin of her thigh. Sansa's breath caught, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she let him explore, the touch light, teasing, as he listened intently to her every word.

"When I touched her," Sansa continued, her voice trembling slightly, "it was warm, and wet, and I didn't know if it was supposed to be like that, but Arya said it was good. She told me to do the same to her, so I did, and it was… it felt so different, so… so strange but kind of exciting." Her voice was hushed, each word tinged with the blush of innocence meeting the first brush of desire.

Joffrey's touch grew bolder, his fingers trailing higher, tracing the edge of her underwear, and Sansa shivered, feeling the heat of his hand so close to her most sensitive places. "Did you like it?" he asked, his voice a soft whisper against her ear, his breath warm against her neck.

Sansa nodded, feeling her own arousal stirring, her thighs clenching unconsciously. "Yes, I think so," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "I liked the way it made me feel, the way it made her feel. It was… it was kind of wonderful, like discovering a secret."

Joffrey smirked, satisfied, his hand slipping around to rest on her stomach, pulling her back against his chest. He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, then trailing down to her neck, where he kissed her skin, slow and deliberate. Sansa's breath hitched, her body tensing with a mix of nerves and a budding, undeniable heat. Joffrey's kisses grew hungrier, his lips sucking gently, teeth grazing her delicate skin as he marked her, his tongue flicking out to soothe the sting.

Sansa whimpered softly, the sound barely more than a breath, but Joffrey heard it, and it spurred him on. He sucked harder, leaving a clear, dark bruise on her neck, a claim for all to see. Sansa's hands gripped his thighs, her body pressing closer, heat pooling between her legs as she surrendered to the sensation. She felt alive, buzzing with the newness of it all, her head spinning with the thrill of being touched so openly.

"You're beautiful like this," Joffrey murmured against her skin, his voice thick with satisfaction. "I want everyone to see it. To know you're mine." Sansa could only nod, her senses overwhelmed, her skin tingling with every touch. They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, lost in the heady mix of their shared secret.

When they finally pulled apart, Sansa's neck was tender, tingling with the fresh mark he'd left, a visible reminder of their stolen moment under the weirwood. Joffrey adjusted her dress, his hands lingering a little too long on her waist, his fingers tracing the fabric as if he couldn't quite let her go.

They walked back to the castle, their conversation shifting to mundane topics—the feast, the weather, small talk to disguise the lingering heat between them. But every time Sansa glanced at him, she felt the phantom touch of his lips on her skin, the warmth of his hands still imprinted on her body.

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The great hall was alive with the sounds of music and laughter as Sansa entered, her mind still swimming with the memory of what had just happened. She took her place beside her family, her cheeks flushed, her fingers absently brushing the tender spot on her neck where Joffrey had left his mark. She hoped no one would notice, hoped the dim light of the hall would hide the evidence of her indiscretion. But Catelyn's sharp eyes missed nothing.

Catelyn's gaze zeroed in on the dark bruise, her expression shifting from confusion to shock, and then to something close to anger. She reached out, her grip firm as she pulled Sansa aside, her voice low but urgent. "Sansa, what is that?" she demanded, her tone a mix of concern and reprimand. "Who did this to you?"

Sansa's heart pounded, her mind scrambling for the right words. She knew she couldn't lie, not to her mother, but the truth felt too scandalous to admit. "It was… it was Joffrey," Sansa said quietly, her eyes downcast. "But it wasn't improper, I swear. I… I was the one who sat in his lap. I… I wanted him to."

Catelyn's expression softened slightly, though her brow remained furrowed. She struggled between the instinct to scold and the knowledge that Joffrey was, after all, Sansa's betrothed. "Sansa, you're supposed to be careful," Catelyn chided, though her voice had lost much of its edge. "This is not how a lady behaves, even with her future husband."

Sansa nodded, her eyes brimming with guilt, but there was also a flicker of defiance, a quiet pride in what she had experienced. "I know, Mother," she murmured. "But… it felt… it was beautiful, and I wanted it." She hesitated, then added in a softer tone, "It wasn't just him. I… I liked it too much to stop."

Catelyn sighed, rubbing her temples, struggling to reconcile the sweet, innocent daughter she knew with the girl standing before her now—flushed, marked, and undeniably changed. "Tell me what happened," she finally said, sitting down beside Sansa and pulling her close. "Tell me everything."

Sansa hesitated, but the need to share was too strong, the memory still vivid, burning at the edges of her thoughts. "He took me to the godswood," she began, her voice hushed but steady. "We sat under the weirwood, we were talking about how our lives would be in Kingslanding and He…" Sansa's voice faltered, her cheeks growing warmer as she recalled the details. "He pulled me onto his lap, and he touched me… just a little. It was wonderful"

Catelyn felt her own breath quicken but she smothered it down as she told her daughter "He is you betrothed so it is to be expected but make sure others cannot see as it is.. it is improper"

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