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An Audience of One

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Jon and Sansa have decided that the annual Baratheon New Year's party, taking place a few days after New Year's Eve itself, is the perfect opportunity to pay Stannis back – or perhaps more truthfully, to reward him – for being a fixture of their joint sexual fantasies for years.

Jon is no longer working for Stannis at Baratheon Industries, so there's no longer any pesky employer-employee issues to spoil things. Stannis may still be married to that shrew Selyse; who hates him and is one of the reasons Stannis always stays so late in the office each night - that, and his mountainous sense of personal responsibility for every minute decision made at the company; but Jon and Sansa have thought of a perfect workaround for Stannis's impenetrable honour.

Jon hadn't had a thing for Stannis until he started working for him in the second year of university, even though he had met him a few times at Stark parties when he was a teenager, dragged along by his best friend Robb. Back then, Jon had been too busy lusting after more obvious targets like Renly and Sansa - always Sansa - and had yet to appreciate an older man in possession of a strong jaw, a hard body, and a tone of voice that has Jon wanting to drop to the floor and start doing pushups.

Once Jon had noticed his crush, working for Stannis had become tortuous. Partly because Stannis seemed – and Jon didn't think he was cocky for thinking this – to be into him too, or just very fond of messing with him. Stannis would smirk sometimes when Jon spoke during meetings which always made him feel flustered and hot. He would lean just a bit too close when he looked over Jon's shoulder at his computer screen and one day, when they were passing in the narrow hall near the boardroom, Stannis had squeezed Jon's hip to shift him past, and Jon had had to go and have a furtive, desperate wank in the office toilets straight afterwards.

Jon had confessed his crush on Stannis to Sansa pretty soon after they started dating four years ago, after he had finally given in to his inescapable infatuation for his best friend's younger sister and prostrated himself before Robb - Robb who had laughed and slapped him on the shoulder and said that Sansa would kill him if he didn't let them be together. Sansa already knew that Jon was bisexual because she'd met his teenage boyfriend Satin one Stark family Christmas, and he knew, from judicious eavesdropping, about Sansa's drunken fumbles with Margaery and that she had decided that while women were pretty and soft and lovely, they didn't really do it for her. But Stannis did do it for her, she confessed to him, and had done since she was a teen. It was all that simmering righteousness, that authority, the way he clenched his jaw, she had explained, flushing as Jon had nodded furiously in agreement.

The next time Sansa had come into the office to meet Jon, in a pretty summer dress, with her shoulders bare and her ponytail bouncing, he had made a point of introducing her to Stannis.

"Of course I know Stannis," she had beamed and Jon had seen his boss become instantly smitten, in much the same way Jon had when he was a spotty thirteen year old. "But we've not met since I was a teenager," Sansa said," I was too busy with school and Uni."

Stannis's expression had inched far closer to a smile than Jon had ever seen, before he seemed to shake himself and return to his usual frown. But after that, Jon had noticed his ears prick up whenever he brought up Sansa in conversation, and that Stannis had regularly paused to look at the photo on Jon's desk of the two of them at Robb's wedding, happy and partied out, and looking pretty damn good if Jon may say so himself.

One time, at the office summer party, Jon had watched Stannis watch Sansa brush her hair out as she stepped out of her car, that long silken curtain of red that was a fixture of Jon's own dreams. Stannis had looked almost longing, almost soft, as he watched her, but when he noticed Jon looking at him in turn, he had only frowned and turned away.


There's some risk to attempting anything tonight at a party filled with family friends but luckily the rest of the Stark children have gone skiing with Ned and Catelyn over New Year's. The two of them were invited as usual but Jon gets miserable when its too cold and he and Sansa both feel that now they're in their mid-20s they've reached the age when they can finally say a polite no and make their own plans for the holidays.

As they enter the party tonight - Sansa in a gorgeous red dress that skims her curves, Jon in his usual skinny jeans and a jacket that Sansa picked out - they run the gauntlet of familiar faces. Robert, Stannis' brother, not that you'd know it by his disdain for him, welcomes them first, with a booming laugh and much back-slapping and self-congratulation on hosting the party, before he gets distracted by the booze table. Then Jon and Sansa have a quick gossip with Renly and his husband; and speak politely with Myrcella and Tommen, thanking their lucky stars that there's no Cersei or Joffrey tonight because poor Joff has got himself in some legal trouble that Cersei is currently trying to pay her way out of; and greet more of the Tyrells; before they make excuses to go and find some of Robert's famous mulled wine.

It's only then that Stannis himself arrives, and Sansa spots him first, tugging on Jon's shirt so that he turns to see the older man stalk inside the drawing room, glowering, looking fantastic in a sharp black suit they've never seen before. Hot suit, Sansa whispers to him and Jon nods in agreement.

"Hi Stannis!" Sansa says as they draw near to him, and then leans forward to kiss his cheeks.

"Good evening," he replies gruffly, and Jon reaches out to shake his hand, breath catching at the firm squeeze of Stannis's grip - no one has a firmer handshake than Stannis.

"How have you been? I miss dropping into the office to meet Jon, and catching up with you," Sansa says.

"I'm fine, thank you," Stannis answers after a pause, the usual disdainful look on his face at having to go through the motions of smalltalk, "and you two?"

"We're great," Jon replies, touching Stannis's forearm.

The rest of the conversation is suitably bland since there's other people nearby but Jon makes sure to touch Stannis's forearm a few more times, even reaches out and manfully squeezes his firm bicep once as Stannis glares at him and clenches his jaw, while Sansa stands beside Jon and looks as gorgeous as ever, not needing to do anything in particular to be seductive, to draw his eye.

They leave Stannis when he appears to run out of smalltalk, and patience for their flirting, Sansa with another kiss on his cheek, and Jon with a handshake and firm grab to his shoulder, and make the rounds of the room, achingly aware of Stannis's heated eyes on them from across the room. Jon glances back repeatedly, and Sansa does too, sipping on more mulled wine, their mouths red with it.


Later, Jon finds Stannis in a quiet corner of the hall, glowering as usual.

"What do you think you're doing, Jon?" Stannis asks, in that low voice of his.

"I don't know what you mean," Jon says.

Stannis snorts. "Pick someone else to toy with, someone your own age."

Jon smiles at him, the brazen smile that has been known to get him into trouble. "I don't think I will," he says.

Stannis glances around and, finding that they're alone, pushes Jon by the shoulder into the wall, looming closer. "You have a girlfriend," he spits out, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"You're worried about her honour, is that it?" Jon asks, shrugging, still smiling. He strains against Stannis's hold to lean closer and say, "You're on our list, both of our lists, of people we're allowed to fuck."

Stannis scoffs and lets Jon go. "In case you didn't remember, I'm married."

"I don't see your wife anywhere here," Jon says, acting dumb.

"I take my vows seriously," Stannis says furiously.

Jon drops his smile. "I know you do. It's...admirable," he says, and meaning it. Stannis's commitment to duty and honour above all else is part of what makes him the man that Jon so idolizes. But Selyse is a shrew who stays with Stannis to make his life as miserable as she believes he's made hers, and Jon doesn't think Stannis should owe her any kind of fidelity.

"How do you define adultery, Stannis? Does it have to involve touching?" Jon asks.

"Don't try me, boy," the other men replies, clenching his teeth.

Jon shrugs. "Sansa and I have your Christmas present to give you," he says, squeezing Stannis's arm again, because to be quite honest Jon gets off on the look of fury on the other man's face, the grinding of his jaw. "Come find us."


"Where've you been?" Sansa asks, leaning over the buffet table to get to the lemon cakes at the back.

"Talking to Stannis," Jon replies, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Sansa pauses with half a lemon cake in her mouth. She raises her eyebrows at him and chews quickly. "Talking to Stannis, or talking to Stannis," she says, and then covers her mouth to finish her cake.

Jon hums casually, "Propositioning him," he says.

Sansa grabs his arm, "And?"

"He defended your honour-"

Sansa sighs dreamily.

"-and was generally very Stannis about the whole thing, furious and honourable. He was into it though, I could tell."

"So what do we do now?" Sansa asks.

"I said he should come and find us. So we should go and set up a nice scene for him to find," Jon says, leaning forward to kiss her cheek.

"I know just the place," Sansa says, "Top floor of this ridiculous mansion, east wing. There's a spare room where I hid from Joffrey one year, it's out of the way of the main hall and, if I remember rightly, it has a giant bed."

"Perfect," Jon says, bringing his hands up to frame her face. "I'm so lucky to have you, you know that, right?" he says, unashamed by the earnestness of his voice and the dreamy smile he knows he's wearing.

Sansa rolls her eyes fondly. "You're normally sex-drunk afterwards, not before," she whispers to him. "Get your head in the game, we've got a man to seduce."

They leave the room, Jon nodding to a glaring Stannis and Sansa winking at him, and grab the whiskey bottle they brought with them for an extra hit of courage. They bundle their way up the stairs, past the party crowds, trying to act casual, shushing one another's laughter as they rise to the quiet third floor of Robert's horrible McMansion and round a couple of corners to get to the room Sansa picked out.

"Will he find us here, do you think?" she asks, looking nervous and biting her lip as Jon downs another gulpful of whiskey.

"If there's one thing I know about Stannis Baratheon, it's that he's bloody single-minded," Jon says, kissing his wonderful girlfriend.

They leave the door open about a foot, turn on the lamps at both sides of the high double bed and shift things around the room to make sure there's an unrestricted viewpoint to the door.

He and Sansa have thought about this, quite a bit. Stannis is unlikely to come in and join them but he might just be tempted to stand outside, to glare through the cracked door and get an eyeful, and they want to make sure he sees a picture that will haunt him, pleasurably, for years to come, a holiday treat just for him.

Jon unbuttons his shirt and whips off his trousers as Sansa returns from the en-suite, fluffing her hair.

She pouts at him. "I wanted to help you with your clothes," she says.

"There's no time," he says, and toes off his socks and then his boxers too, while Sansa watches eagerly.

As someone who appreciates both forms, Jon is pretty confident in saying that undressing women is far more aesthetically pleasing than doing the same to men, and besides, if Stannis only walks past the once, Jon wants to make sure he catches a glimpse of him naked – Jon has no disillusions about his own penchant for exhibitionism.

He nudges Sansa to stand at the side of the bed opposite the door, taking the bottle of whiskey from her and setting it down on a table.

"Now?" she asks, and shivers.

"Now, sweetheart," he says.

He kisses her, coaxing her tongue into his mouth, stroking his hands up and down her arms, around her back. He brushes her hair back from her face.

"Alright?' he murmurs.

She nods and brings his hands to the tie of her red dress. A wrap dress, apparently, according to her. And with one tug, it falls open and he gawks at her, despite already seeing her underwear before the party.

He peels the dress off her shoulders and throws it to the side. She's wearing black lacy knickers, a sheer black bra Jon bought her, with a pearl dangling in between the two cups, and a black suspender belt with thin straps that hold up black stockings which make her legs look amazing.

They pause, staring at each other and Jon glances behind, into the empty hall.

She draws his attention back to her, kissing him, reaching a hand down to tug his cock, twisting her grip just how he likes. He sucks at her neck, drawing up a hickey since it's a week until she has to go back to work.

Both of them are breathing very quietly, straining to hear the soft pad of shoes on the hardwood floor outside, as they grope each other and wait for the arrival of their guest.

There, Jon thinks suddenly, hearing a sound, and Sansa grabs him, widening her eyes. He's close, she mouths.

Jon kissed her deeply, holding her head in his hands, and then slowly drops down, kissing her collarbone, her cleavage, the sweet softness of her stomach. He has his nose pressed against the front of her knickers when she clenches her fists in his hair and he knows Stannis is right outside and smothers a groan against her thigh.

Jon lifts up each of her feet as she digs her hands into his shoulders, taking her heels off and pressing his thumb into the bottom of her feet so she moans.

Next he reaches up and palms her breasts, working his hands underneath the sheer cups, plucking each velvet strap and then tugging her bra down as she reaches behind her to unclasp it.

He stands up to suck at her breasts, to pinch at her nipples, imagining what the two of them look like to Stannis, the picture they must make.

Jon drops to his knees, arching his back and biting at the straps of Sansa's suspender belt, mouthing at the tops of her thighs and then sits back on his heels to remove her belt and peel her stockings off. It would be hotter to fuck her wearing them, but he knows she hates how they feel when she gets too warm, and the act of undressing her now will look just as good to their audience member of one.


Jon sucks at her hipbones and looks up at her, his eyes glinting in the dark, as another pair of eyes watch them both from the door.

Stannis is standing a few footsteps from the doorway, his face shadowed by the lights in the hall, but his ever-present frown, the clench of his fists by his sides, his broad shoulders in that amazing black suit, are still visible. Sansa had seen him stop with a start when he caught sight of them from the hall and he hasn't moved since. If he's angry at them, and Sansa heats at the thought of his glower, then he won't say anything until later, he'll look his fill first.

This scene – her and Jon fucking, with Stannis watching – has been a favourite fantasy of hers since she first met Stannis in his role as Jon's boss and realised that he had a thing for both of them, realised how Stannis pressed every one of both their older-man buttons.

She looks down to see Jon tracing the waistband of her knickers with his fingertips, looking wicked and hungry.

She's wearing a new pair today, bikini cut and not the tiny thong she already owns, because she hasn't waxed. Earlier this evening, when she had got dressed staring at her body in the long bedroom mirror, she had remembered the first night she and Jon had slept together, after a month's worth of flirtation, and how she apologised afterwards for not grooming properly, because she had known from past partners what was expected of her, and then had hated herself for doing that, for drawing attention to it. But Jon had only shaken his head where it lay on her stomach.

"I like your muff," he had said, petting it like a small animal, and looking fond, and the laughter that had ensued gave her a stitch so sore she had cried and Jon had brought her ice cream to soothe her and then eaten her out enthusiastically and Sansa had lain awake that night thinking that surely she couldn't be this lucky, that Jon couldn't really be this good; but he really was. Kind, thoughtful, funny, and inhumanly enthusiastic at cunnilingus.

Jon had stressed it again, the next day, that he liked her with hair and she shrugged outwardly but was thrilled that it meant her varying pubic hair grooming habits - which ranged from waxes to short trims to nothing at all according to her mood - wouldn't faze him. In preparation for tonight, she had grown it out, only trimming the very sides, because Jon had reasoned, and Sansa had agreed, that Stannis was an old-fashioned kind of man, the kind who still smoked and had the same two work suits in rotation, used the same cologne as he had for twenty years, who grew up wanking to stolen Playboy pictures—

"—the kind who appreciates a proper old-school bush, especially one your shade," Jon had said, seriously.

"Do you think we're getting too into this, the planning, I mean," Sansa had pondered, half-hysterically, as they lay cuddled up in bed later that night, "he probably won't find us, and if he does, he won't watch us, he'll just get angry and walk away."

"I think he will. And besides," Jon had said, walking his fingers across her chest and cupping a breast, "it's fun, imagining, playing, isn't it?" He smirked at her, that odd downturned smile that drove her crazy.

"Uh-huh," Sansa had nodded and let herself flop on her back for Jon to crowd over her and kiss her.


Here, now, Jon peels off her knickers and pushes her back on the bed, fingers parting her folds so that he can nuzzle and lick at her cunt and she pulls his hair and then looks up to see Stannis still looking, looking at her and at Jon's muscled back, the way his ass looks when he bends over. Stannis has inched just the tiniest bit closer so she can see his eyes properly for the first time, and they're furious and hot.

Normally she'd be down for an extended session of Jon's head between her thighs but she's too impatient today, aware that they don't have much time before Stannis walks away.

"I need you," she murmurs to Jon and he stands up and shifts her around and into his lap, sitting sideways on the bed so that Stannis can see them, glancing over to get his first glimpse of the man lurking in the shadows of the hall.

"You need my cock, sweetheart?" he asks and she moans a little and puts a hand down to help him into her, gasping at the stretch. She thinks of how this looks to Stannis, how they sound as Jon starts to thrust, how he must be wishing he was right here in between them.

Then she hears the sound of someone else coming along the hall, a voice and stumbling footsteps, and she swears. Stannis is going to turn around and close the door behind him, so she better give him one last image to remember before he leaves, she thinks, and arches her back, tipping her head back so that her hair falls in a curtain, moaning softly.

The door closes with a click.

Jon stills and she looks to her right to see that Stannis hasn't walked away at all, but has come inside the room instead, and closed the door behind him.

Her stomach trembles and she tries not to laugh delightedly. Stannis looks furious as ever, put out and frustrated, eyes roaming all the flesh on show.

"You should lock the door," Jon murmurs, and Stannis reaches behind him and locks it without taking his eyes from them.

Sansa feels Jon's breath hitch against her neck.

"Take a seat, Stannis," she says and nods to the armchair opposite the foot of the bed, the armchair that Jon had set up just in case. Sansa had teased him over it but now she takes her words back.

Stannis warily stalks across but when he sits down he leans back in the chair casually, comfortably, legs spread, and stares at them, looking every inch the CEO of Sansa's fantasies. He pours himself some of the whiskey Jon and Sansa had been necking into a glass he seems to have brought with him and then looks at them over the rim of it, raising one eyebrow.

"Continue," he says, tilting his head, a tiny twitching smile at the corner of his mouth offsetting his disapproving frown.

Sansa lets out a little squeak at his order, because that's what it is, and Jon huffs a laugh, gripping Sansa's hips tightly and thrusting up so powerfully that Sansa bounces and has to hold on to Jon's shoulders so she doesn't fall off his lap.

Jon has always liked to prove himself to other men, especially older men in positions of authority. Sansa teases him about it sometimes when she brings him off with her hand, murmuring stories, conjuring fantasies, but she doesn't feel like teasing him now. And anyway, she has the same thing for men like Stannis too, and Jon is just as good at teasing her about it.

She clutches at Jon's shoulders, meeting his thrusts, moaning a little at the force, staring at Stannis over Jon's shoulder as he watches her right back, eyes skimming down the muscles of Jon's back.

She leans back slightly and Jon takes it as a cue. "On your back, yeah," he murmurs, rolling them over, shifting them so they are perpendicular to Stannis.

He just wants to show his ass off to him, but it's a pretty good ass, and he can thrust just how she likes in this position, so she'll allow it.

"He looks good from that angle, doesn't he, Stannis?" she asks, thrilled by her own daring, and reaches out to squeeze Jon's perky behind as Stannis frowns heatedly.

Jon feels so good in her, hot and hard. She lifts one leg and he hooks it over his elbow, fucking deeper into her, brushing his lips back and forth over hers teasingly, biting her jaw. 

"She feels so good," Jon pants with a smile. "So good. You should feel her."

"Now, Jon, be nice," Sansa gasps, "don't tease the poor man, you know he can't touch us."

She digs her head back into the bedspread, her thighs aching pleasantly.

"Do you mind if I smoke in here?" Stannis asks. His voice is even, unaffected but rumbling.

"Go ahead," Sansa gasps as Jon reaches a hand to tweak her clit, and turns her head to watch Stannis.

Stannis puts a cigarette between his lips and reaches into his jacket for his lighter. "Harder," he says around the cigarette.

"What?" Jon asks.

"Fuck her harder," Stannis orders, and Jon grunts a fuck under his breath, as Sansa lets out a squeak and clutches Jon's shoulders.

Jon puts his perfect ass into use and does as Stannis commands.

The smell of cigarette smoke drifts across the room, joining the scent of whiskey and men's cologne, of sweat and body fluids. Stannis sits there like a king, Sansa thinks, surveying his domain, and it's getting her off so hard.

She pushes at Jon's shoulder.

"You want to go on top, sweetheart? Show Stannis how good you can be?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says, feeling embarrassed at the whine in her voice, and Jon flips onto his back for her to sit up and ride him.

Stannis doesn't have anything to say as he watches her ride Jon, and she glances back and forth between both men watching her, her body hot, her breath short, alternating deep grinds with sharp bounces that show off her tits, moaning in an embarrassingly high-pitched tone.

She watches as Stannis smokes and moves his other hand between his legs, palming the shape that's hidden by his trousers and the gloom of the room. His hot eyes flick between her face, her tits and ass, and Jon's face, his hands on her hips.

"You should unzip yourself," she gasps.

"No," Stannis replies, hand still on the bulge in his trousers, still staring at them sternly, and the fact that he's so in control of himself too just makes it that much hotter. It's like he's not even affected by it, like he's waiting for them to really impress him.

She reaches a hand down to touch her clit, to show off for him, and the corner of his mouth curls in an almost sardonic smile that gets her so hot it only takes a few more seconds and she comes, her thighs squeezing around Jon's waist as he holds her down on him and coaxes her through it.

"Good girl," Jon murmurs and she twitches again and shivers, looking between the two men and their dark eyes.

Jon rolls her under him and lifts her legs up, bending her almost in two, hands tight on her calves, working in with rough thrusts that send aftershocks through her lower body.

"Where should I come?" Jon gasps and she knows that he isn't asking her.

"Inside her," Stannis says, his manner unruffled although his voice is deeper and when she looks at him his mouth is parted, shining damply in the lamplight.

Jon groans and fucks in-in-in and then comes, grunting. He lies there for a moment, head resting in the crook of her neck, and she brushes a weak hand through his sweaty curls.

"Show me," Stannis orders and Sansa feels her cunt clench at just his words, at the thought.

Jon dutifully lifts himself up and pulls her body round, kneeling beside her to spread her legs and then part her folds, and looks back at Stannis, as Sansa leans up on her elbows and tries not to squirm.

Stannis looks at her cunt and lets out an audible grunt that makes her thighs spasm, and then takes a last drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke out, eyes dark and wanting, before stubbing it out on the side of the whiskey bottle, breaking his gaze.

Sansa falls back to the bed, bringing her legs back together and stretching out her arms, moaning softly at the ache in her limbs. Jon lies beside her, petting her side gently, stroking her hair back from her face, and then lays his head on her stomach.

Stannis get up and moves closer, walking around the other side of her, studying her and Jon. She stares up at him balefully, biting her lip.

"Did you enjoy your Christmas present?" Jon asks, looking up, his voice low, brushing his fingertips against Sansa's nipple so that she shivers.

Stannis scoffs. "I did," he says.

He stops by the side of the bed and stares at them, and then reaches out a hand and Sansa holds her breath, waiting for him to give in and touch her, to put his large hand over her breast and squeeze, but all he does is rest his thumb gently on Sansa's bottom lip and rub the pad of it back and forth a few times, forehead creasing as if he's in pain, while she gasps and flicks her eyes between his face and the bulge in his dark trousers that she aches to touch.

Then he moves the same hand to grab Jon by the ruff of his hair and shake him lightly, barking a laugh, and steps back.

"We can't tempt you to join us for more?" Sansa asks as Stannis starts to walk away.

He doesn't reply, just turns to look back over his shoulder.

"When's your birthday, Stannis?" Jon asks, moving his hands to cup Sansa's tits, to show them off for him.

Stannis snorts. "July," he says, raising his eyebrows.

"That'll give us lots of time to prepare you an even better present," Jon says, and Stannis shakes his head with a wry smile. He nods at the both of them and unlocks the door, entering the hall and closing the door gently behind him.

"Oh my god," Sansa says, once he's gone, flopping back on the bed. "That was amazing, fucking hell." She turns to look at her wonderful boyfriend.

"Merry Christmas," Jon says, mouth twitching in a smile.

"-and a happy New Year," Sansa replies, kissing him, and then they both break into mad laughter, and get up to hunt around for their clothes so that they don't give anyone else an accidental show.

When they get back to the party, kiss-rumpled and giddy, Stannis has already left and they wait a long half hour, chatting nonsense to other guests, before they get in Jon's car, and start micro-analysing what happened earlier, saying, did you see when heI can't believe he said thatand when youoh my god, I know.


It's a good fantasy to have on rotation for the two of them as the months go by, but by the time July starts they get too impatient to wait for Stannis's actual birthday at the end of the month and rock up on his doorstep one balmy night, carrying a bag with all sorts of treats and with bodies primed for a night of glorious exertion.

But as it turns out, it's Stannis who ends up surprising them when he ushers them inside and shows them the divorce papers his unhappy wife has finally had him sign.

Stannis then has them sit down, flustered, at the dinner table, and plies them with good wine and a bloody charcuterie board, like he knew they were coming, with lemon cakes and chocolate to follow, with a fire in the hearth of the room and crooning music on an honest to god record player.

And then, mood set and suitably provisioned, Stannis orders them into the bedroom, where he puts decades worth of sexual frustration into scorching good use.