Work Text:
Genna's small fists clenched the lemon cake so tightly that crumbs rained onto her silk coverlet like golden trail. Outside her chamber window, the sun bled crimson over the sea, staining the waves in a color similar to her now puffy eyes. Shoving another piece of lemon cake past her trembling lips, the tart sweetness turning to ash in her mouth as she chewed. Emmon Frey! He wants me to wed Emmon fucking Frey?? The name echoed in her head, taunting her with a dreadful humiliating future ahead. A second son, not even the heir. A Frey. Not even a Tully - at least they are wardens of the Riverlands. But a Frey?? Her father might as well have betrothed her to a stable boy.
But what is she to do? Her mother only cared about baby Tygett now, her father - the drunken wimp - gave in to the pressure old Lord Walder and announced his only daughter would be married to the snivelling Frey boy once she turned 7. So she wept, and she ate - and wept and ate, in such a vicious cycle that started to make her head hurt and her tummy ache.
The heavy oak door groaned open without a knock. Only one person did that, only one person would check on her and her eyes rose to look up at him with a pathetic sniffle. Tywin stood silhouetted against the torchlit corridor, his posture unnaturally stiff for a boy of nine. His bright orange-gold hair, usually meticulously neat, was slightly mussed, and his freckled green eyes scanned the disaster of her room – scattered cakes, tear-streaked pillows, her own gown smeared with sticky yellow filling. She must look quite a pathetic sight, Tywin has always prized for control and order, behaving like an old man even as a boy.
"Go away," Genna mumbled weakly, burying her face in a pillow that smelled of lemons and was stained with tears. She didn't want him to see her like this, a swollen, sticky mess.
He didn't go away. Instead, the door clicked shut, soft footsteps approached her bed. When the mattress dipped beside her, Genna felt a cool, damp cloth, smelling faintly of lavender soap - his soap, that she had taken some to herself in the past – touched her cheek, wiping away crumbs and tears with surprising gentleness.
"You'll make yourself sick, sweet sister" his voice was low, carefully controlled, but the anger simmering beneath was palpable. Not at her. Never at her. At their foolish weak father.
"You tried," she sniffled, turning her head just enough to peek at him, leaning into his touch instinctively. Even through her tears, all blurred, her brother looked strong. He always seemed older than he was, a man she could rely on even though he was himself just a boy. Tywin had been the only one who stood up and tried to stop their father. "You told Father it was a bad match. You spoke for me."
Tywin’s jaw tightened as he kept wiping her clean.
"He wouldn’t listen. He never listens." The cloth moved to her sticky fingers, meticulously cleaning each one as he had a little frown on his face. His touch sent little shivers up her arm, different from the comforting warmth she usually felt. It was… different, made her feel safe and cared for. "You may have to wed him, but it doesn't matter what our father says, Genna. You won't go to the Twins - I won't let that happen."
Her face paled momentarily - she hadn't even considered that. After marrying she would have to leave the Rock. Gods, no!
"Promise me, Ty?"
"I swear it." His gaze locked onto hers, fierce and unwavering; he meant it. "No matter what our father says, or what the old fool Lord Walder does - you are a Lannister of Casterly Rock, you belong here Genna." You belong with me, he thought to himself. She was his precious little princess, the apple of his eye. He wouldn't let them take her away, he'd pass the Crossing to torch if he had to. She wouldn't leave. "You are half of my heart, sweet sister - I wouldnt let them harm you."
A fragile little smile touched her lips, a bit hopeful.
"And are mine, Ty. Always." She meant it with every fiber of her six-year-old being. He was her favourite brother, her prince in shining armor and her fierce protector. She trusted he would keep his word, and for that she loved him dearly - and a silent vow solidified in her chest: she would follow him forever, no matter what happened.
He sighed, surveying her ruined dress and sticky face, his nose wrinkling slightly grossed out by the mess.
"The cloth is not enough, Gen, you need a bath. You're… sticky."
Genna’s heart leapt, then immediately sank. They used to bathe together since they were all little, but recently Tywin didn't want to bathe her or share a bath with her.
"You… you don’t bathe me anymore." The hurt resurfaced, like a wound still open. He’d stopped moons ago, suddenly insisting Kevan help her instead, or the maids. It had felt like utter abandonment and betrayal. She missed playing with him in the bath and making soap bubbles.
Tywin hesitated. A flicker of something unfamiliar – discomfort? guilt? – crossed his face before vanishing behind his usual serious face. He could ask for the maids to tend to her but he didn't wish her undignified state to be seen by strangers, it was bad enough the whispers about her bethrodal to that disgraced riverlander family.
"It’s late, I'll do it...this time. " He stood, holding out his hand for her. "Come on."
The sheer relief washed over her. He would bathe and play with her! His company alone was enough to cheer her up. Genna scrambled off her bed, ignoring the ache in her belly from eating too many cakes, and took his hand.
Her chambers had an adjoined private bathing chamber room and Tywin efficiently lit extra candles, chasing away the deep shadows into the corners as night fell. The flickering light played over the stone walls as he started to prepare her bath - heating up the water, taking the soap, going through the motions as he used to.
Genna sat on the tub's edge, her feet dangling a bit in the air as she watched him and waited for him to unlace the back of her stained gown. His knuckles brushed the soft skin beneath her shoulder blades, and she felt him pause for a fraction of a second before continuing. As the dress pooled at her feet, followed by her smallclothes, the cool air raised goosebumps on her plump body as she watched her brother pour the water in the tub and mix it with cold water so she wouldnt burn herself. Tywin averted his eyes pointedly as he helped her step into the steaming water and she sank into the blissful heat with a sigh that was almost a whimper of relief.
"You're not getting in?" she asked, pouting as her eyes threatened to fill up with fresh tears.
Tywin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before nodding gruffly.
"Fine. Just this time, because you've been through enough today." He retorted, and stripped off his own tunic and breeches quickly, his movements efficient but a bit awkward. Genna watched him, the familiar sight feeling new as they hadn't shared a bath in moons. Tywin was lean where she was plump and soft, angles beginning to define his shoulders where childhood plumpness still lingered on her. He slid into the steaming water opposite her, putting distance between them with a gruffy look. She grinned at him and splashed him with some water, as they used to play before. He smiled a bit, splashing her easily and making her look like a drowned rat momentarily as his splash was much bigger than hers. Amused, he shook his head.
"C'mon, sister - turn around, I'll wash your hair"
Genna obeyed instantly, shuffling through the water until her back was to him, smiling as he tried to detangle her rat's nest of hair. She felt the cool sluice of water poured from a copper pitcher over her head, then the familiar, comforting scratch of his nails against her scalp as he worked in the lavender soap and herbs. It felt wonderful, easing the headache from crying and overeating. She sighed, a long, shuddering sound of pure relief, leaning back slightly into his touch, resting her back to his chest, her eyes fluttering closed. His hands paused for a heartbeat before resuming, firmer now.
"Smells nice," Genna murmured with her eyes closed. "Like you."
Tywin scoffed, jaw clenched.
"Well, you stole my soap stash," he muttered, but she heard the faintest softening in his tone. He rinsed the suds away, the warm water cascading down her neck and shoulders. His hands moved lower, smoothing soap over her back carefully. His touch was thorough, methodically washing away the grime and the lingering scent of lemon cakes, but as his fingers traced the dip of her spine, skimming the swell of her small buttocks, Genna felt a peculiar flutter deep inside her belly. It wasn't like hunger or sickness from eating too much. It was… warm. Pleasant. Tingly.
She squirmed slightly, unsure what to make of the strange good sensation.
"That tickles," she breathed out, though it wasn't exactly ticklish. It was something else. Something that made her want to press back against his hands and stay there forever.
Tywin’s hands froze and Genna felt the sudden tension radiating from him, a stiffness against her that hadn’t been there moments before.
"Hold still," he commanded sharply, his voice rougher than before. He resumed washing, but his touch felt different now – quicker, less exploratory, avoiding the curve of her bottom almost entirely. He focused instead on her arms, lifting each one to scrub gently, trying to finish it quickly.
Disappointment pricked at Genna. She wanted that warm feeling back. The bathwater swirled around her, reaching up to her pudgy chest. Frustrated, Genna huffed and without thinking, driven by that inexplicable urge to feel it again, she leaned back further, letting her head rest against his chest. His skin was hot and damp against her and she felt him inhale sharply, his body going rigid behind her.
"Genna," he started, a sharp warning note in his voice.
"It feels nice," she insisted, nestling closer, wiggling. She could feel the frantic thud of his heart against her back. "Like before. When you used to bathe with me..." She reached back blindly, her small, wet hand finding his thigh under the water only to pat it gently, a childish gesture seeking to give him comfort. "Don't stop, Ty. Please?"
She felt the muscles beneath her hand clench momentarily, tense, a low sound, almost a groan, escaped him, quickly stifled.
"Genna," he said again, strained. "You need to sit forward. Now."
"Why?" She tilted her head back to look up at him. The candlelight caught the gold flecks in his green eyes, wide and conflicted. His jaw was clenched so tight she saw a muscle move a bit. "Don't you like bathing with me anymore?" That hurt resurfaced, mingling with the confusing warmth inside her. "Did I do something wrong, Ty?"
"No," he said instantly, too quickly. His gaze flickered away from hers, down towards the water swirling around their bodies, a bit panicked in a way he never had been in front of her. "It’s… it’s not proper anymore. I'm getting older."
"You're only nine!" Genna protested, a whine creeping into her voice. "Kevan’s seven and you still wrestle with him in the yard!" She accused, sniffling as she shifted, turning slightly in the water to face him more directly. The movement caused the water to lap higher, exposing more of her plump little belly. She saw his eyes dart downwards, then snap back to her face, a flush creeping up his neck. That fluttery feeling she felt only intensified. She didn't really understand why his discomfort excited her, but it did. She wanted his attention. All of it.
"It’s different," Tywin insisted, his voice tight. He tried to lean back, putting space between them, but the tub was not that big. "Boys… are different."
"Why?" Genna pressed, her moss-green eyes wide with genuine, innocent curiosity. She scooted closer through the water, ignoring his recoil. The warm, soapy water sloshed gently. "You always say I'm your favorite." she pouted, not understanding. "Is it because I am a girl? Mother and Father bathe together sometimes, why can't we?" She remembered stumbling upon Jeyne and Tytos once, many moons ago, in the Lord's Bathing Chamber. Her mother had been sitting in front of Tytos, much like Genna was sitting now with Tywin, her coppery wet hair plastered down her shoulder as Tytos' hands had been moving under the water, over down Jeyne's belly... and lower still. Genna hadn't been able to see it well what they had been doing but her mother had made soft little sounds, different from anything Genna had heard and it made her curious as she watched it through the half open door in secret. Genna hadn't understood, but the intimate sight had lodged itself in her mind. Seeing Tywin so tense, so flushed, sparked something in her that she couldn't articulate but instinctively chased. "You wash me better than the maids,Ty!" she added, a deliberate whine softening her voice.
She knew exactly how to get what she wanted from him.
"Genna," he started, tensely.
"I'm still sticky Ty... please...?"
Tywin’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the edge of the tub. The lavender scent suddenly felt cloying, thick in the humid air. He saw the determination in her cherubic face, the stubborn set of her chin beneath the damp blonde curls clinging to her cheeks. She wouldn't relent. Fighting her would only make her louder, risk discovery. And the thought of anyone else – Kevan, a maid, or worse, their parents – seeing them like this, with him...stiff... it would be atrocious. "Fine," he ground out, the word clipped. He had little choice, Genna has always been wilful and he could never deny her. "Where?"
Genna’s face lit with triumphant delight. He spoiled her rotten and they both knew it. He would do anything she asked, eventually. Without hesitation, she took his wrist beneath the water. Her small, damp fingers guided his larger hand downwards, past the curve of her soft belly, through the warm water swirling around her waist. She stopped his hand just above the soft plump skin of what she called 'kitty'. Where it was tingling.
"Here," she whispered, her voice husky with an anticipation she didn't fully comprehend. Her moss-green eyes held his, wide and trusting, yet with a new found need for something neither could name. "My kitty feels sticky."
Tywin froze. His hand hovered, suspended in the warm water, inches from her most intimate place. He felt the heat radiating from her skin, different from the bathwater. His own skin felt impossibly hot, prickling everywhere. The flutter in his belly intensified, twisting into a sharp ache between his legs. His cocklet, stirred uncomfortably against his navel since she leaned against him, full into his rigid hardness. It pressed insistently against the soft skin of his lower belly, trapped between them. He tried to shift back, but Genna leaned into him further, pressing her soft back firmly against his chest. His rigid cocklet nestled snugly between the plump cheeks of her buttocks and a choked gasp escaped him.
"Ty?" Genna asked, wriggling slightly, the movement sending sparks through him where their bodies met. "Wash me?"
He couldn't speak. His heart thundered on his chest as deep shame and desire warred violently as he wanted to protect her but at the same time he couldn't deny her. But her implicit trust, her absolute reliance on him, tipped the scales. She needs me. With a trembling hand, he dipped his fingers slightly lower, brushing the soft plump skin with a shuddering sigh. He felt her tense, then relax against him with a small little moan, victorious. He carefully traced the outer folds of her little mound, hesitant and afraid of hurting her but also because he had no idea what the hell he was doing - he knew it was something they should not be doing, that only married couples did, grown up things, but he couldn't bring himself to disappoint her. He traced her folds gently, marvelled at the different textures and feeling herslickness, the skin was impossibly soft, slicker than the bathwater. He used the lightest touch, awkwardly mimicking the way he washed her arms, swirling a fingertip gently over the delicate flesh. He avoided the tiny bud nestled within, though his thumb brushed against it accidentally. That made Genna gasp, a sharp little intake of breath that wasn't pain.
"Oh," she breathed, her head lolling back against his shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered shut. "That... That feels nice." Her hips shifted almost imperceptibly, pressing his hand more firmly against her, moving out of instinct. "Don't stop."
Her plea shattered his remaining hesitation and Tywin continued the gentle ministrations, his fingers exploring the soft, hidden folds with growing fascination - his heart fluttering at her little moans. Every sigh, every tiny shift of her body against his, sent jolts of heat straight to his own straining cocklet. The friction against her soft skin, trapped against his hardness, was both exquisite torture and a forbidden thrill. He watched her face, illuminated by the flickering candlelight. Her plump lips were slightly parted, her cheeks flushed a deep pink beneath their freckles. She looked relieved, in need, utterly absorbed in the sensations he was causing her. A strange manly pride bloomed alongside the shame in his chest.
I made her feel like this, he thought to himself.
They stayed like that for long moments, enjoying little touches in the steamy water. Tywin’s world narrowed to the feel of her slick heat beneath his fingers, the soft pressure of her body against his hardness, the rhythm of her shallow breaths. The water began to cool, stealing the comforting warmth but doing nothing to dampen the fire burning within him. Eventually, reluctantly, he withdrew his hand, hearing her noise of disappointment.
"Water's cold," he murmured, his voice rough. "Lets get out and dry up."
"Already?" Genna whimpered softly, her eyes opening, heavy-lidded and disappointed. She was about to pout again but Tywin was already moving, shifting her gently off his lap. The sudden loss of contact made her skin feel cold despite the lingering steam. Water sloshed as he stood, his movements stiff and deliberate. He avoided her gaze, his freckled cheeks flushed a deep crimson that spread down his neck. He grabbed a large, soft linen towel from the rack nearby and started to dry himself quickly and awkwardly.
"Out," he commanded, his voice tight. He held the towel open for her. Genna stood obediently, water cascading down her plump little body, making his breath hitch - she was adorable, like a doll, though he could tell she was growing up. Too fast for his liking. His little girl would be a woman soon and he felt at loss at the thought alone, even though he felt she would always be his little sister, no matter how much older they got.
He wrapped the towel around her quickly, rubbing her arms and back with brisk strokes, trying to dry her up as soon as possible. The awkward roughness was a stark contrast to the gentle ministrations moments before. She tilted her head back, watching his face as her height made her face reach around his ribs. His jaw was clenched, his brow furrowed. He was chastising himself for the indiscretion, concentrating fiercely on drying her hair, squeezing the blonde curls within the towel to get the water out.
That's when she saw it. Nestled against his lower belly, beneath the wet trail of a droplet, was his cocklet. It wasn't soft and small like she remembered from their childhood baths. It stood rigidly upright, flushed a deep pink, straining against his skin. As thick asthree of her fingers. Genna blinked, curiosity overriding her disappointment. She pointed a small, damp finger at it uncerimoniously.
"Ty?" Her voice was soft, innocent. "What happened to your kitty? Why is it sticking up like that?" She tilted her head, green eyes wide with fascinated confusion. "Did it get hurt?"
Tywin froze mid-motion, the towel still pressed to her hair. His flush deepened impossibly as he looked down sharply, then immediately snapped his gaze back to her face, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and discomfort.
"It's not a kitty," he corrected her gruffly, his voice rough as he pulled the towel tighter around her shoulders, shielding her body as if protecting her from the offending sight as he attempted to cover himself with his hands. "That's... that's my manhood. Boys have manhoods, Genna. Girls have kitties." He spoke with forced authority, the way he did when explaining sword stances to Kevan. "It's... normal. It does that sometimes."
Genna frowned, her brow wrinkling.
"But it never did that before," she insisted, peeking from behing the towel. "Not when we used to bathe together all the time." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Does it hurt?" Concern laced her voice and without waiting for an answer, driven by the sudden impulse to soothe her beloved brother, her small hand darted out from beneath the towel and her fingers brushed the hot, rigid length.
Tywin gasped sharply, his eyes fluttering closed for an instant in pleasure. His entire body tensed up, a tremor running through him. Genna misinterpreted the sound instantly.
"Oh! It does hurt!" she cried out, her fingers instinctively curling around him gently. "I'm so sorry Ty!" She leaned forward, her damp curls brushing his belly, and pressed a quick, feather-light kiss to the flushed tip of his cock. Kissing it better. "Better?"
A strangled groan escaped Tywin, the sight alone was...too much. It looked sinful. His hands shot down, gently but firmly encircling her wrist.
"No, no! Don't—" He pulled her hand away, holding it firmly at her side. His breathing was ragged. Gods, it had felt so good... "It doesn't hurt," he managed, his voice strained and low. "Not... not exactly." He met her bewildered gaze, struggling for words a nine-year-old shouldn't need. "It's... delicate. You mustn't grab it. Or tug." He swallowed hard. "And, and..you mustn't... kiss it."
"Why?" Genna persisted, her eyes locked on his flushed face. The confusion was giving way to a spark of that earlier, needy curiosity. The kiss had felt strange... but not bad. And touching him had sent that same warm flutter through her own lower belly. "Mama always says to kiss owies better...Why does it stick up? Why now?"
Tywin looked trapped. He glanced towards the door, half panicked as if expecting their mother or a maid to burst in. No one did, it was late at night and ever since Tygett had been born their mother Jeyne had been far too busy to mind Genna much.
"It started... recently," he admitted reluctantly, focusing intently on finishing drying her and getting her clothes, avoiding her eyes. "That's why... why I stopped bathing with you, Gen." He paused, the admission hanging heavy in the humid air of the bathchambers. He didn't understand well himself, but he felt the need to give her an answer, always seeming wiser than his years. "It means..." He searched for an explanation she might grasp. "It means I like you very much. But... it's not proper. Not for us." He forced the words out. "Only... only mothers and fathers do special things like that. Together. Touch each other... there."
Genna digested this. Mothers and fathers. Like the time she saw her Father's hands moving under the water on her Mother's belly, causing the soft sounds her Mother made. Something in her mind clicked - this was something special. Intimate. Was that was why Tywin touching her kitty felt so good? It was something grown-ups did. That was exciting! She was tired of being treated as a baby. She's already six! But still...she wasn't a grown-up, nor was Tywin. Yet... he liked her very much. Like mommies and daddies did. Her heart swelled. She wanted that special feeling again, wanted to touch him like that again. To make him gasp like that.
"But..." Genna persisted, her small fingers curling into the soft towel Tywin had wrapped tightly around her. She felt the lingering warmth of the bath fading, replaced by a different kind of heat low in her belly. "You like me very much. And I like you very much. More than anyone in the world!" Her moss-green eyes, still slightly red-rimmed from earlier tears, fixed on his face with unnerving intensity. "Why can't we do special things? Just us?" She leaned forward slightly, her damp curls brushing his bare chest. "Please, Ty? Just a little bit? We can play mommy and daddy..."
Tywin flinched as if burned. He finished drying himself with rough, efficient strokes, then grabbed her nightgown – a simple cotton camisole – from the rack.
"Put this on," he commanded, his voice clipped. He turned away abruptly, presenting his damp back as he snatched his own smallclothes and breeches from the stool where he'd discarded them, the rigid line of his spine was taut with tension.
Genna watched him scramble into his clothes, her lower lip jutting out in a stubborn pout. The towel slipped a little, exposing one plump shoulder. She didn't move to put on the camisole. The sight of him hastily dressing, the flush still high on his freckled cheeks, the way he avoided looking at her… it fueled those strange nice feelings inside her. He was hiding something. Something exciting.
He turned back, now clad in his breeches and tunic, looking marginally more composed, though his bright orange-gold hair was still damp and tousled. His green eyes, freckled with gold like chips of malachite, darted to her still towel-clad form, exasperated.
"Genna," he warned, his voice low, almost paternal. He always acts as if he's her dad even though he is a kid himself. "Put your nightgown on."
"Why?" she challenged, clutching the towel tighter. "You're afraid."
"I'm not afraid," he snapped instantly, a flicker of his usual fierceness surfacing. But it warred with the lingering flush on his neck.
"You are," Genna insisted, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. If there was one thing she knew how to do and was extremely good at it was baiting her brothers and teasing them mercilessly. "You're afraid because it feels nice. Like when you washed me." Her moss-green eyes held his, wide and guileless yet shimmering with an understanding that unnerved him. "I liked it too, Ty. It made my kitty feel all warm and tingly." She saw his pupils dilate slightly, a tremor running through him. Emboldened, she pressed further. "You promised you'd always protect me. Always be with me." Her voice softened into a familiar, pleading whine. "Don't you want to make me feel nice? Like you did in the bath?"
Tywin stared at her with wide eyes. Her round, cherubic face, framed by damp blonde curls lightening to straw-gold from the summer sun, was earnest. Trusting. Utterly unaware of the dangerous precipice she was urging them on towards. His protective instincts warred violently with the shameful heat coiling low in his belly. She was too smart for her own good, damn her. To deny her felt like betrayal. To give in felt like damnation. He saw the stubborn set of her chin beneath the soft flesh. She wouldn't relent. She’d cry again, loudly this time. Risk discovery. The thought of anyone knowing what he did, what she asked him to do...
"Don't you want me to make you feel good too...?" she breathed out.
Seven hells...
He took a ragged breath.
"Fine," he ground out, the word tight with conflict, half against his will. "But only for a moment. And you must be quiet. Never speak of any of this again, understood? To no one!" His gaze scanned the door nervously. "Then you sleep."
Genna’s face lit up like the sun breaking through storm clouds. Triumphant. She nodded vigorously, her damp curls bouncing.
"I promise Ty! I won't tell!" she offered her pinky so she could pinky swear with him "I'll be quiet as a mouse!"
"Sit. On the bed." Tywin gestured stiffly towards her rumpled bed. The silk coverlet was still stained with lemon cake crumbs, he'd have to change her bedsheets before she went to bed. but for now it would do. As she sat on the bed, he rolled up the nightgown "Arms up." he said briskly, and as she did so, he slip on the cotton nightgown on her little body, the nightgown slightly tight. She really needed to stop eating so much cake, he thought to himself even though she looked adorable. "Help me clean up your mess..." he murmured.
Once the bed was clean and the bedsheets changed, Genna scrambled onto the high mattress excitedly. She perched on the edge, swinging her plump little legs slightly, watching him with rapt anticipation. Tywin approached slowly, his movements stiff and hesitant, then sat beside her on the edge of the bed, leaving a careful space between them. The mattress dipped under his slight weight. He stared straight ahead at the stone wall opposite to them, his jaw clenched. The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows.
Genna waited. The silence stretched, thick with tension. She could hear his breathing, slightly faster than normal. Why wasn't he moving? Disappointment pricked at her.
"Ty?" she whispered, scooting closer on the mattress until her nightgown-clad hip pressed against his thigh. "You said..."
"I know what I said," he interrupted, his voice rough. uncomfortable. He still wouldn't look at her. His freckled hands clenched into fists on his knees. "But... it's wrong."
"It felt nice," Genna insisted, leaning her head against his tense arm. The slightly damp cotton of his tunic felt cool against her temple. "In the bath. When you washed me... down there." The words felt strange, secret. "You liked it too. I saw." She nudged him gently. "Your kitty... your manhood... got all up and happy."
Tywin flinched.
"Don't say that," he muttered, a flush creeping back up his neck. He finally turned his head, his green eyes, usually so steady and fierce, darting nervously to her face, then away again. "It shouldn't feel like that. Not for us."
"Why?" The question was a persistent hum in Genna's mind. "It's just us." Her small hand crept out from beneath her nightgown. landing tentatively on his clenched fist. She felt the hard knuckles beneath her little palm. "Please, Ty? Just for a little bit? You promised."
He stared down at her small hand covering his fist. He shouldnt give in, but he couldn't deny her - to see her cry again the thought was unbearable. His gaze flickered towards the door again. Silence. Only the distant sigh of the sea crashing against the stone through the open window and the sputtering candle.
Slowly Tywin unclenched his fist beneath her hand. He didn't look at her.
"Fine," he breathed, the word barely audible. "Only... only touch for a bit. Through my clothes." It was a desperate compromise, a flimsy shield against the enormity of what they were edging towards. "Nothing more."
Genna’s face lit up instantly, radiant. She nodded eagerly, her damp blonde curls bouncing.
"Just touch!" she whispered.
Tywin shifted awkwardly, turning slightly towards her on the edge of the bed. He kept his legs pressed tightly together. Genna, emboldened, shuffled closer until her knees bumped against his thigh. Her small hand, still slightly damp and cool from the bath, slid tentatively from his fist onto his thigh, exploring curiously just above his knee. She could feel the firm muscle beneath the roughspun breeches. She patted it experimentally. Then, driven by that insistent, fluttery warmth low in her own belly, her hand began a slow, exploratory journey upwards to his crotch. Her fingers traced the seam of his breeches in fascination, moving higher, towards the tented juncture of his legs.
Tywin sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers brushed the stiff ridge straining against the fabric. He froze, every muscle locked tight, his eyes squeezed shut as Genna felt the hard heat beneath her fingertips. It was different from before. Fascinated, she curled her fingers gently around it through his clothes, mimicking how she’d held it before. feeling it pulse faintly beneath her touch.
"Does it feel nice?" she whispered, watching his face intently. His freckled cheeks were flushed deep red, his jaw clenched so tightly and his breathing was shallow and fast.
He didn't answer. A low groan escaped him, quickly bitten off. Ashamed. He opened his eyes, but they stared blindly past her shoulder, unfocused. His hands remained clenched on his knees.
Genna took his silence as encouragement. She tightened her grip slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel the solid shape beneath the fabric. She began to move her hand tentatively, a slow, clumsy stroke upwards along the rigid length. It felt right to do so, the instinct proved itself right and Tywin shuddered violently. His hips jerked forward slightly, pressing himself more firmly into her small hand.
"Ty?" Genna murmured, a thread of concern in her voice. "Am I hurting you?"
"No," he choked out, the word thick and strained. His eyes finally met hers, wide and dark with a turmoil she couldn't fathom – fear, shame, and something else, hot and desperate. "Don't... don't stop." The admission was torn from him, a surrender to the forbidden sensation.
Genna’s eyes brightened with triumph and she felt so good. She was doing it well, she was making him feel good! She tightened her small hand slightly, feeling the hard ridge throb beneath the rough fabric. Her fingers resumed their tentative exploration, stroking upward again, mimicking the movement she had seen her mother do to her father when she watched them secretly. Tywin gasped, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. His own hands trembled and he moaned low.
"It feels... strange?" Genna whispered, fascinated by the flush spreading down his neck. "Hot. Like... like when you touched my kitty." She shifted closer on the bed. The cool night air raised goosebumps on her skin and her little nipples perked under the cotton nightgown. Tywin’s gaze flickered down, drawn to the swell of her chest - it was barely there, not really teats per se but rather just her being pudgy, yet it didn't look any less...attractive. He groaned low and averted his gaze, snapping back to her face, a fresh wave of crimson staining his freckled cheeks.
"Don't look," he muttered harshly, but his voice lacked conviction, breathing ragged.
"Why?" Genna pressed, emboldened by his reaction. "You've seen me before. Lots." Her free hand reached out to touch his flushed cheek. Her thumb brushed the sharp line of his jaw. "Does it feel good to you too?" It felt strange but so good, her own belly felt warm and tight, a pleasant ache echoing his tension.
Tywin shuddered violently under her touch – her small hand moving clumsily on his breeches, her other hand cool on his burning face. He leaned into her palm for a fleeting second, a tremor running through him.
"Yes," he breathed, the word barely audible. "Too good." He squeezed his eyes shut again, his brow furrowed in conflict. "It’s… it’s supposed to feel good. But not like this. Not with you."
"But why not?" Genna persisted, her thumb tracing the shell of his ear, fascinated; she had never seen Tywin like this "If it feels good for both of us?" She remembered their parents. "Mother and Father do things that feel good." The logic, to her six-year-old mind, was impeccable. Their parents loved each other, and thus made each other feel good. Genna and Tywin adored each other, so it made sense to do this together. "You promised I’d always be yours. That's kinda like married, I think..." She gave another tentative stroke, longer this time. Tywin groaned, a low, helpless sound that vibrated through her hand on his cheek. His hips bucked pathetically against her touch.
"Genna…" His voice was a ragged whisper, thick with warning and something else – a plea. Need. "You don’t understand..."
"I want to!" she insisted, her own breath quickening. The warmth pooling low in her belly intensified, a strange, liquid heat that mirrored the tension radiating from him. She wanted him to feel that good thing, make him feel good as he had made her good. Her hand moved faster, driven by instinct and the thrill of his helpless response.
Tywin couldn’t speak. His head fell back slightly, exposing the taut line of his throat. His chest heaved and every muscle in his lean frame was coiled tight, trembling with the effort to remain still under her ministrations. His freckled skin felt feverish beneath her fingers. Eventually he nodded once, a jerky, almost imperceptible movement.
He couldn't deny her. He never could.
Encouraged, Genna leaned closer, her damp blonde curls brushing his shoulder. She could smell the lingering lavender soap on his skin, mixed with the sharper scent of his sweat. Her exploring hand slid from his cheek down to his chest, feeling the frantic hammering of his heart beneath the thin tunic.
"Your heart is loud," she murmured, fascinated. Her other hand, still moving rhythmically on the hard ridge in his breeches, squeezed gently. "Like a drum."
He flinched, a choked sound escaping him. His eyes flew open, locking onto hers. They were dark pools, dilated with a desperate, with panicked pleasure.
"Genna… stop…stop!" The words were weak, unconvincing. His hips thrust forward again, seeking more friction against her small hand.
Genna's touch, with such innocent, willful desire, was Tywin’s undoing. He felt as if something was building up, as if something would happen soon and he panicked. He had never... touched himself there, only to wash, but he always stopped when it felt different and... tingly. The breeches were a flimsy protection that did little to dampen the feeling. A shudder wracked his entire body. His hands, trembled violently and finally moved from his knees. Not to push her away. Slowly, hesitantly, they rose. One hand hovered near her small shoulder, the other drifted downwards, towards the cotton of her camisole. His gaze remained locked on hers, dark and conflicted, but the frantic need blazing within them was unmistakable.
Genna held perfectly still, watching him, her own breath quickening. The fluttery warmth inside her bloomed into a hot, insistent throb. She saw the moment he surrendered. His jaw clenched, not in denial, but in fierce, possessive resolution. His hovering hand settled firmly on her shoulder, pulling her slightly closer. The other hand, fingers trembling, slipped beneath the edge of her nightgown, seeking the warm, soft skin of her thigh. That made her moan and Tywin flinched, realizing what he was doing.
His hand froze. Conflicted with the molten heat warring with the dawning horror. She doesn’t understand. She’s six. He jerked his hand back as if scalded, clenching it into a fist against his thigh.
"No," he rasped, the word sharp, final. "We can’t." His other hand, still resting on her shoulder, tightened almost painfully. "It’s wrong."
Genna’s lower lip jutted out instantly. Her eyes filled with wounded confusion.
"But it felt nice!" she protested, her voice rising with childish indignation. "You touched me before! In the bath!" She scooted closer, her bare knee bumping his thigh. "And I touched you!" Her small hand darted towards the tented fabric of his breeches again.
Tywin caught her wrist before she could make contact. His grip was firm, unyielding.
"No, enough Genna." His voice was low, strained, but brooked no argument.
Tears welled in her eyes, genuine distress mingling with frustration.
"But why?" she wailed, pulling against his grip. "You promised I was yours! Half your heart! You said you’d protect me always! This feels like protecting!" The childish logic, twisted with devastating earnest.
Tywin stared at her tear-streaked face, the flush high on her cherubic cheeks, the damp curls clinging to her temples.
"Gen... you know I love you more than life itself, sweet sister..." he murmured, cupping her face, pulling her to a hug. She resisted, but eventually gave in and hugged him back, sniffling. "But this is not right, you are much too young. We both are."He lifted her easily under her arms, depositing her onto the freshly smoothed bed. She landed with a soft bounce, her white camisole riding up slightly over her plump knees. Tywin swiftly tugged it down, covering her legs completely. He pulled the light woolen blanket up to her waist, tucking it firmly around her hips – another barrier.
Genna watched him, silent for once. Her moss-green eyes were wide and luminous in the candlelight, fixed on his face with unnerving intensity. She wriggled beneath the blanket, making room beside her.
"Stay?" she whispered, patting the mattress. "Hum to me?"
Tywin hesitated. His own bedchamber awaited. Safety. Distance from the cruel temptation. But the plea in her eyes, still faintly red-rimmed from earlier tears, was impossible to deny. He nodded stiffly and perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the neat tuck of the blanket. He began humming softly, a tuneless Lannister lullaby their wetnurse used to sing when they were little.
Genna nestled deeper into her pillow, curling onto her side facing him. Her small hand crept out from under the blanket, resting lightly on his navel. He tensed but didn’t pull away. The humming continued, low and steady, filling the quiet room. Her eyelids grew heavy, fluttering shut. Her breathing deepened, evening out. Tywin let out a silent breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Almost asleep. Good. He shifted slightly, intending to ease himself off the bed. His movement disturbed the blanket covering her hip. It slipped down a few inches and Genna’s eyes snapped open. Not drowsy at all. Alert.
"Tywin?" Her voice was small, innocent.
"Hmm?" He kept his gaze on the wall.
"You promised," she murmured, her fingers flexing lightly against the roughspun wool of his breeches.
His humming faltered.
"You were supposed to be asleep."
"I'm not sleepy," she countered, her voice gaining strength. Her hand slid purposefully lower, slipping into his breeches. "You promised I could explore. Just a little. Before sleep."
He caught her wrist again, his grip tight.
"Genna. No." The denial felt hollow even to him.
"You promised," she insisted, her lower lip trembling dangerously. A threat of fresh tears shimmered in her moss-green eyes. "You always keep your promises to me. Always." Her free hand tugged at the hem of his tunic where it met his breeches. "Please? Just for a moment? Like before? It made the tingle go away last time."
The reminder of the bath, of her softness beneath his fingers, sent a fresh jolt of heat through him. He felt himself throb against the rough fabric. He looked down at her earnest, pleading face – his precious Genna, his little lioness. The Frey betrothal loomed over her like a shadow. Their father’s weakness. Tywin felt the weight of his own helplessness to stop it. Tonight, she needed comfort. His comfort. And he… he needed her.
His grip on her wrist loosened. He didn’t push her hand away. He didn’t move.
Genna seized the tacit permission. Her small fingers scrabbled around his breeches with surprising dexterity. He didn’t help her but he didn’t stop her either - instead Tywin caressed her back, rubbing her gently. His humming had died completely, leaving only the frantic pounding of his own heart echoing in his ears as her warm hand slipped beneath the waistband, past the linen of his smallclothes. Her fingers brushed against him – hot, silken skin over rigid heat. Tywin gasped, a sharp intake of breath. His hips jerked forward involuntarily.
Genna’s breath hitched. Her moss-green eyes widened further, filled with fascinated awe.
"It’s so warm," she whispered. Her fingers curled tentatively around him. It felt nice, really nice - hard and squishy, firm and throbbing. A soft sound escaped her lips, almost a sigh. "So hard." She gave a tentative stroke, her thumb rubbing hesitantly over the smooth tip.
Tywin shuddered violently. A low groan tore from his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing one hand against the mattress, the other holding on to her. Every nerve ending in his body screamed. Her touch was clumsy, innocent, yet devastatingly potent and alluring. It sent lightning streaks of pure ecstasy up his spine.
The only sounds in the room were her little sighs and the choked groan that tore from his throat, raw and ragged. His sister's clumsy, innocent exploration was an exquisite torment. Genna took his silence as encouragement, her small hand slid awkwardly, experimentally, up the straining length that would grow much larger once he aged, her thumb brushing clumsily over the slick, sensitive tip. Tywin gasped, his hips jerking forward uncontrollably.
"Genna," he rasped, a warning strangled by desperation.
"Ty?" Genna whispered, a flicker of concern touching her voice as his movements grew frantic, pressing his cocklet to her hand almost desperate. Years later they would know how to call it - he was practically fucking her hand. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face a mask of agonized ecstasy. She didn't stop. She couldn't stop. She wanted to see where this led, this peak she sensed him climbing.
Then it happened.
A final, shuddering gasp ripped from him. His entire body arched violently off the bed, rigid for one endless, suspended moment. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest, raw and primal, unlike any sound Genna had ever heard him make. Warmth pulsed against her palm, a bit slick and sudden. He collapsed back onto the mattress, trembling violently, his chest heaving. His eyes flew open, wide and dazed, staring blankly at the embroidered canopy overhead. He had never felt that before.
Genna froze, her hand still wrapped around his softening member. She stared, mesmerized,
"Tywin?" Her voice was small, uncertain now. She never called him by his full name. "Are you… okay?"
He didn't answer immediately. He was breathing hard, his gaze still unfocused, lost somewhere beyond the canopy. Slowly, shakily, he turned his head towards her. The fierce conflict was back in his green eyes – dazed satisfaction warring with profound horror, a deep, sickening shame. He saw her small hand, sticky and glistening with some clear liquid, he didn't know what it was but it felt weird and so he rushed to wipe her little hand clean, feeling awful for soiling his dearest sister. He saw her wide, questioning eyes, filled with innocent curiosity and a trace of worry.
"I’m… fine," he managed, his voice thick and hoarse. He cleared his throat, forcing a semblance of control. He couldn't meet her eyes, mortified in shame.
Genna studied him intently. His skin was flushed, damp with sweat along his temples. His breathing was still too fast, too shallow. He looked… wild. Not like her serious Tywin at all. Yet, beneath the trembling exhaustion, she saw a flicker of something else – a profound relief, a softening around his tightly clenched jaw.
"It felt… good," he admitted, the words scraping painfully from his throat. He couldn't lie to her. Not about this. Not ever. "But it was… wrong." He forced himself to meet her gaze, needing her to understand the gravity. "It’s something grown-ups do. Married people. Not… not us."
Genna’s brow furrowed.
"I don't wanna do that with Emmon Frey." She spat the name, frowning with a huff. "And I don’t want to be married to him! I want to be with you!" Her voice rose, edged with childish panic. "You said I wouldn’t leave! You said I’d stay with you! How can I stay with you if I can’t make you feel good?" Her eyes welled with fresh tears, genuine distress replacing the earlier curiosity.
Tywin’s resolve cracked, the sheer desperation in her voice drowned out the shame. He instinctively pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her trembling shoulders beneath the blanket. As she buried her face against his chest, her damp curls tickling his chin, he felt the shuddering breaths against his tunic as he kissed the top of her head.
"You will stay," he murmured into her hair, his voice low and fierce. "I promised. The Frey means nothing." He stroked her back through the blanket, the familiar gesture soothing them both. "And you… you were a good girl." The words felt strange, inadequate, but they were true. She had done exactly as he’d allowed, driven by innocent affection and burgeoning desire. "A very good girl."
Genna sniffled, pulling back slightly to look up at him. Her cheeks were tear-streaked again, but her eyes held a fragile hope.
"Really?"
"Really," he affirmed, meeting her gaze steadily. He brushed a stray curl from her forehead. "But…" He took a deep breath, bracing himself. "What happened… it can’t happen again. Not like that." He saw the protest forming on her lips and gently pressed a finger against them, rubbingher plump lips absently minded. His breathing hitched momentarily. "Shh. It’s… too much. Too… grown-up for us." He searched for words she might understand. "It makes things… messy. Confusing. Like Father gets confused with his wine." It was a weak analogy, but it was all he had. "We need to… be careful."
"But… it made the tingle go away," she whispered, her moss-green eyes lifting back to his face, searching. "For both of us."
Tywin flinched. Her innocent observation pierced the fragile shield he'd tried to erect. She wasn't wrong. The frantic, consuming heat that had consumed him moments ago had dissolved into a profound, bone-deep relaxation he'd never known. It was wonderful. The gnawing tension that had coiled in his belly since Father announced the Frey betrothal, the constant vigilance against his father's drunken foolishness, the confusing ache that stirred whenever he saw Genna lately… it had all melted away under her small, determined hand. And he knew, with a certainty that terrified him, that she had found similar release in his touch earlier in the bath. The way her little body had trembled, the soft gasps she hadn't been able to stifle as he had caressed her slick cunny… it mirrored his own unraveling.
"It did," he conceded, his voice rough. He couldn't deny her that truth either. "But…" He struggled, grasping for control. "Too much of anything good can be bad. Like… like too many lemon cakes." He gestured vaguely towards the crumpled wrappers still littering her bedchamber floor. "It makes you sick."
Genna wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. She hadn't felt sick. She'd felt… wonderful. Warm and floaty and powerful, she made him feel good. But Tywin looked so serious, so strained. His jaw was still clenched, though the fierce flush had faded slightly from his cheeks, leaving him pale beneath the freckles. She trusted him.
Tywin always knew best.
"Okay," she whispered, forlorn, snuggling closer against his side beneath the shared blanket. She tucked her head against his chest, listening to the rapid thud of his heart slowly calming. "But can we do it again… sometimes? When the tingle is very bad?"
Tywin closed his eyes briefly, torn. No. Never again. The words formed instantly in his mind, sharp and decisive. Yet, looking down at the top of her golden head, feeling the trust radiating from her small body pressed against him, the denial stuck in his throat. How could he deny her comfort when the world conspired to hurt her? When he was the only one who could truly protect her, truly understand her? The Frey betrothal was an insult, a dagger aimed at her, and therefore at him.
This intimacy felt like the only shield they possessed, something delicate and pure between them.
"We... we will talk in the morrow, Gen," he replied, evading a direct answer. "Go to sleep, I'll stay."
Genna agreed hesitantly, biting her lower lip as she hugged him tightly - not wanting to let him go.
"Thanks, Ty." her voice was muffled against his tunic. She burrowed deeper, seeking his warmth, his scent. "Love you." She yawned widely, the intense emotions and physical exertion of the night finally catching up to her. Soon enough, she was fast asleep as he caressed her hair, looking at her for a moment.
"Love you too, Gen..." he murmured, eyes feeling heavy as the sleep claimed him too...