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Sansa's asking her how she knows about pleasing a woman, and Margaery is momentarily tempted to answer with the truth, if only to witness the scandalous look on her face as she processes it. She finally settles on a white lie, slipping off her tongue with ease. Lying to Sansa hardly feels like an arduous task, but it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth nonetheless. She briefly wonders what it would be like to bed her, and the thought alone makes her heart flutter in her chest. After having crossed half of the gardens with their arms entwined, Sansa disentangles herself from her and excuses herself feebly, visibly uncomfortable. Uncomfortable is one of Sansa's constants, she remarks. It is no wonder that the wolf is not at ease in the lion's den, and so Margaery doesn't protest, though she lets out a drawn-out sigh at the redhead's departure.
She doesn't see Sansa until later that day at the feast. They are seated next to each other and she pretends not to notice her from the corner of her eye, instead focusing on the background chatter between Lady Olenna and Cersei. Their tones are measured, but she knows full well that it's a façade, and she wonders how long her dearest grandmother will keep it up before the thorns rear their ugly heads.
A small clearing of the throat interrupts her train of thought, and she looks up to see Sansa raising a cup of wine to her lips. She licks her own, and mimics the girl's gesture. Liquid courage, she thinks.
To her surprise, it's Sansa who's emboldened, her voice only above a whisper. It's a miracle Margaery can hear her with the sound of laughter intermixing with various conversations.
''Would you teach me how?''
Margaery feigns innocence and flashes her a smile.
''How what, sweet Sansa?''
''How to... how to be pleased? Since your mother taught you, I supposed that, I mean...'' she trails off, suddenly unsure.
Margaery chuckles. Sansa is blushing, and she has rarely seen something so enticing. The flush on her cheeks delightfully matches her hair, and Margaery can't help but wonder whether the carpet matches the drapes, so to speak. She's lucky she's much too experienced to let anything show through; she remains impassible as a statue while she lets her imagination run wild.
''So you wish to be properly trained for your wedding night, Sansa, is that it? You want to enjoy yourself as much as Lord Tyrion will?''
Sansa's breath catches in her throat, and Margaery briefly wonders if she's gone too far.
''Yes,'' she says simply, and for the first time since she's gotten to know her, Sansa sounds confident. She repositions herself on her chair as she feels something stir deep within her.
She leans into Sansa, whispering in her ear:
''I'll come to your bedchambers tonight. Make yourself relaxed, have a glass of wine if you must.''
She leaves out lewder instructions, not wanting to say anything entirely too brusque for Sansa. After all, she doesn't intend to frighten her. Sansa doesn't speak a word to her for the remainder of dinner, but Margaery knows that the seed she's planted will flourish tonight.
Well past midnight, Margaery rises from her bed and slips into a turquoise nightgown with embroidered humming birds on it. She takes a candle with her to guide her way, and prays that no-one follows her to Sansa's bedchamber. Thankfully the maids are sound asleep in the ante-room.
A few minutes later, she arrives at Sansa's door, her chest heaving from the fast-paced steps she took through the castle. She knocks thrice in a quick succession, and Sansa responds almost immediately.
''I was expecting you earlier,'' she says softly. Her room is darker than hers, and Margaery is glad that she brought a source of light with her. Sansa's pale face glows in the candlelight, her expression a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Her hair is loose, and she's wearing modest nightgowns fitter for a girl than for the woman she's become.
''Are you eager, my lady?'' Margaery teases her.
Sansa stays quiet, but she can see the faintest blush spread on her cheeks.
''Get on the bed, my little flower,'' she urges her, and Sansa obliges. ''Have you had something to drink?''
''I've had another glass of wine, but it's been hours. I don't know if it's still-''
Margaery interrupts her with her index on the lips. She gets on the bed next to her, making it creak slightly under their combined weight. She wants to kiss her so badly, but bites her lip to prevent herself from doing it too soon. She wants to take her time, to make this last. Her little flower deserves it.
''Sansa, tell me how you feel.''
She hears the girl swallow, and then shift towards her. They are only inches apart. If she didn't know better, Margaery would think Sansa is teasing.
''I feel hot everywhere, and my heart is beating fast, very fast. I feel a bit lightheaded also.''
Margaery tentatively trails her fingertips along Sansa's shoulders, jawline and cheeks, letting her hand rest on her cheek for a while as she drinks her in. The very sight of her is intoxicating. Sansa shivers under her touch, and Margaery is pleased with herself when she hears the slightest whimper coming out of her. She may not last as long as she'd intended.
''Sansa, tell me, may I kiss you?'' she whispers.
As a response Sansa closes her eyes and approaches her face nearer. Margaery closes the distance between them and captures her lips in a kiss. Her lips are soft and pliant, just like she had expected. She tastes faintly of wine and something sweet, perhaps lemon cakes she muses internally. Margaery deepens the kiss by opening her mouth, inviting Sansa to do the same, which she does after a while. She's quite clearly inexperienced at kissing, but it is not unpleasant. Sansa moans when Margaery bites her bottom lip, and she breaks their kiss, panting.
''That was... better than I expected. I've never really enjoyed kissing Joffrey,'' she confesses.
''Kissing Lord Tyrion will be much more pleasant than kissing him, of that I am sure.''
''Will it be as pleasant as kissing you?'' Sansa asks.
Margaery chuckles, not daring to respond to her. Instead she resumes her exploration of Sansa's body, this time with her hand cupping one of her breasts. She brushes past Sansa's hard nipple and Sansa emits a small moan at the touch. Oh fuck.
''Is this alright?''
''Yes. Please, I want... more,'' Sansa finishes, and Margaery can tell that this is her first time enjoying anything sexual. She hopes to remedy that.
Margaery thinks of something before she continues. She suspects that Sansa must not know about it, but still wants to verify before.
''Have you ever touched youself? You know, your womanhood...''
Sansa shakes her head no. Margaery fights the urge to sigh. She should have known.
''I'll show you.''
She removes her nightgown and tosses it to the ground. She slowly undresses Sansa by unlacing the laces in her back, and peppers kisses along her shoulders.
''I feel all wet,'' Sansa comments, unsure of herself. Margaery puts a reassuring hand on her back, stroking it gently.
''Shh, that's normal. It means that you're aroused. When your womanhood becomes slick and relaxes itself, it allows for things to glide effortlessly into it. If you're not aroused enough, it can prove to be more difficult. No-one has taught you that, little flower?''
Sansa turns away from her, and Margaery senses the shame that she experiences now. She almost regrets pressing the issue.
''Not really. I was told that my wedding night would be painful, but...'' she trails off.
''It doesn't have to be painful, or at least, not as painful as other women would have you believe,'' Margaery says confidently. ''Once you're completely naked, put your fingers in your cunt and slide it in and out. Yes, just like that.''
Sansa does as she's instructed, and moans when her index first enters her.
''Very good, Sansa. Now, I want you to go a little higher and find the nub of flesh at the junction of the lips. Oh, yes, Sansa,'' she says breathily as she starts touching herself as well. She looks at Sansa's breasts bounce up and down with her motions, and then her eyes wander to her cunt, with her pretty butterfly lips and coarse red hair sitting atop her mound. She accelerates her rythm, and Sansa mimics her. She emits all sorts of unholy sounds that nearly send her to the edge.
''Little flower, do me a favor and kiss me,'' she asks her. Sansa pauses her movements reluctantly and sits up to kiss her. It's sloppy and wet and oh so good. She moans a little louder then, and feels something coil inside of her. A wave of white-hot pleasure washes over her, and she cries out Sansa's name as she comes. She collapses on the bed, feeling lightheaded.
''Fuck, that was good,'' Margaery says, and quickly sits back up. She can't bask in the afterglow yet, she has another task to accomplish. ''Let me take care of you now.''
''It tingles down there,'' Sansa complains, and Margaery nearly chokes from laughter. Oh my sweet innocent little flower, she thinks amusedly.
''You'll feel good after I'm done with you, I promise.'' It's statistically true; she's managed to bring all the women and girls she's bedded to climax at least once per sexual encounter, and sometimes more than once. She's had years of practise.
She begins by trailing kisses down Sansa's stomach, and impulsively decides to entwine her hand with Sansa's, who presses softly. She decides to be more daring by biting Sansa's inner thigh, which rewards her with a deep moan from the redhead.
''Oh so you like biting?''
Sansa nods eagerly, and that's when Margaery chooses to plunge in between her wet folds, tongue first. She laps up her juices and sucks on her clit, then bites Sansa's lips gently, testing her limits. She seems to like it, so she resumes her ministrations until Sansa is panting earnestly.
''This feels... really good.''
I bet it does, Margaery thinks.
''Do you feel some tension build up within you?''
''I'm not sure, but it feels good.''
Margaery smiles in the dark, and slides two of her fingers inside of Sansa's cunt. It's tight, of course, but relaxed nonetheless.
''Tell me if that hurts, little flower. I'll be gentle.''
Sansa moans really loud when Margaery hits her G-spot, and she bites her lip. She continues to fingerfuck her for a while until Sansa's breathing picks up and Margaery lowers her head to suck on her clit while she continues her up-and-down motion. It doesn't take too long for Sansa to cry out in ecstasy, her legs clenching violently, which almost sent her reeling backwards. She's panting heavily and closes her eyes.
''That was... I can't...''
Sansa has a hard time finding the proper words to describe her experience, but breathtaking would be a good start. She knows that nothing Lord Tyrion will ever do will compare to what Margaery just did, and sighs.
''Shh, Sansa, just relax. We must be in the middle of the night, and you should get some sleep. I'll be on-''
Before she has the time to finish her sentence, Sansa takes her hand and murmurs softly:
''Stay, please.''
''Of course, anything for my little flower,'' Margaery says.