[ And herein, the problem: Petyr Baelish has never been satisfied, and never will be. So when she kisses him, quick and chaste, his brow creases, and the line of his mouth thins, and then he moves to claim his prize. The question is never if she will or she will not yield (she has to, says the debt unpaid, says the sway that he knows he holds over her heart and her head), but how; if the tree will fall on its own or be cut down.
No, no a soul in the Seven Kingdoms has seen Petyr this open or this ugly, save her, and no one else ever will. Where he hides one lie, he opens up another for her inspection, and allows her to grasp for whatever justification she needs. It is a luxury he affords no one else, for no one else is so completely a product of his own two hands as she is, and if he is ever brought down, it will be by his own blade, not that of another.
When he kisses her, the gesture is not chaste nor brief, not fatherly in the least. There is no one to see them, no one to judge or to suspect them, only the plants and insects that make up the garden, and there is no one to know the worst of their secrets save each other. ]
( ACTION )
No, no a soul in the Seven Kingdoms has seen Petyr this open or this ugly, save her, and no one else ever will. Where he hides one lie, he opens up another for her inspection, and allows her to grasp for whatever justification she needs. It is a luxury he affords no one else, for no one else is so completely a product of his own two hands as she is, and if he is ever brought down, it will be by his own blade, not that of another.
When he kisses her, the gesture is not chaste nor brief, not fatherly in the least. There is no one to see them, no one to judge or to suspect them, only the plants and insects that make up the garden, and there is no one to know the worst of their secrets save each other. ]