Author's Notes: This is the first chapter to what may be a short 2-3 chapter Petyr x Sansa fanfic. As you can tell from the first half of this chapter, it takes place directly after/during the Snow Castle scene, based on the Television Show version of it more so than the book version. Enjoy :)

The hair on her arms were standing on end, if not because of the cold surrounding her, then more importantly because of the chills his voice made her feel. Her snow castle was in ruins, much like the real Winterfell she had based it so strongly on, and her palm still stung slightly beneath her thin black gloves from when she had slapped the Lord of the Vale only moments ago. She rubbed at it idly as she watched him step carefully down each snow-covered step in the courtyard.

"I hit him," Sansa confessed, pulling her eyes away from the figure moving steadily towards her.

"Yes, I saw." Lord Baelish replied smoothly with a small nod and a gentle shrug of his arms.

"I shouldn't have done that." She added regrettably.

"No," Lord Baelish quickly agreed before correcting her. "His mother should have, a long time ago." He was approaching her, the tightly packed snow crunching stiffly beneath each footstep. "Consider it a step in the right direction."

The slight smile on his face did little to calm her worries, though it did help. She began to voice her concerns. "If he tells Aunt Lysa-,"

"Let me worry about Aunt Lysa." Littlefinger had finally reached her and came to a pause as he fussed with his sleeve, never taking his eyes off of her as he spoke.

Sansa's eyes dropped down to the crumbled remains of her northern-inspired snow castle. "I was trying to remember what everything looked like." Even as she said it, she could feel her voice lower down to a defeated tone. It had been years since she last saw it, her family's home, her own bedroom, and even the snowy grounds surrounding it much like the courtyard surrounding them now. She continued rubbing her hand and stated bitterly, "I'll never see it again."

With a raise of an eyebrow, Littlefinger offered optimistically, "A lot can happen between now and never." Sansa watched as he began to move again, this time rounding carefully around the pile of kicked-about snow and ending up even closer to her than before. "If you want to build a better home, first you must demolish the old one." He came to a halt beside her, his eyes locked in place on her face as she turned to face him.

Her mind had passed beyond snow castles and before she could think of why she was asking it or where her sudden bravery and boldness had come from, she asked, "Why did you really kill Joffery?" Her question must have caught him off guard, as Littlefinger's face froze, softening slightly as he could only stare back at her silently. "Tell me why," she insisted, her expression serious though she couldn't tell whether or not it would be enough to get an answer from him.

He stilled for another moment longer before caving. "I loved your mother more than you could ever know." Lord Baelish replied with a small shake of his head. "Given the opportunity, what do we do to those who've hurt the ones we love?"

Sansa's thoughts came to Joffery, to his mother and his grandfather- all the Lannisters who had put her family through so much before finally wiping them out to near extinction. Lord Baelish's reasoning made sense and as she thought of it, her cheeks lifted just a hair as her lips curved into a sweet smile.

Lord Baelish smiled back, a half-smile, a true smile, unlike the over-enthusiastic grins she had seen him display so often when they were in Kings Landing. As she looked at him now and saw the smile creep just barely up through his eyes, Sansa felt as though she could finally really see him beneath the trained expressions and false demeanors he had been known to hide behind.

"In a better world," he explained, moving towards her again as his words reached her wholly. "One where love could overcome strength and duty," She could feel the heat of his body so close to her. His breath, warm in the chilly, snow-sprinkled air, smelt of sweet fresh mints and gave her goose bumps. "You might have been my child." He was inches away from her and yet he couldn't look away, not even for a moment and Sansa couldn't help but do the same as she watched him with intrigue. "But we don't live in that world," Lord Baelish finished, his eyes finally casting down as they trailed over the long length of her beautiful Tully red hair.

He couldn't resist the urge to reach out and touch it, fondling the soft locks between his fingertips and remembering only one other woman. His brows creased and his eyes closed almost painfully as he shook his head gently, just barely fighting with himself to keep the words he was about to say back. It was an admission more than anything else. His eyes felt heavy as they lifted back up to meet Sansa's. "You're more beautiful than she ever was."

Sansa's stare broke away, searching the backdrop around them for what she was supposed to say. It was her mother he was talking about, surely, but as his close proximity felt suddenly closer and as his fingers remained gently on the ends of her fiery hair, Sansa finally spoke. "Lord Baelish…"

His hands dropped away from her hair and lifted up to cup the sides of her face. Something in him had changed, as if a spark had been lit behind those green-grey eyes. "Call me Petyr," he offered just above a low, raspy whisper and leaned in to capture her with a kiss.

It was gentle and warm, the only chill creeping in between them was that of the mints on his breath and the snow beneath their feet. His hands felt soft against the tenderness of her face though his lips felt even soften. She felt her heart begin to beat against the cage of her chest and the goose bumps on her arms had multiplied by the hundreds, but she didn't care. Her eyes closed, as did his, and as he held her against him, she felt her body pull towards him in return.

Her hands went to the coarse patterned fabric of his winter tunic. She meant to place them on his chest and push him away, to break apart their encounter like any refined, dutiful lady should, if not for her husband back in Kings Landing, then at least for her own reputation. But as her hands felt the solidity of his chest beneath the thick layers separating their bodies, she couldn't make the final move to push him away.

Perhaps it was his skilled lips or the feel of his hands so gently against her face, a lock of her ginger hair hung loosely between his pinky and ring fingers, but as the seconds ticked on and she lost track of time entirely, she could feel a tiny flutter begin in her chest and travel down to her stomach. She thought it would end there, ceasing to invade her any further or at least settle like a flock of wild butterflies in her tummy, but the feeling continued to shift and lower itself until it found the spot it had been looking for. Petyr's hands found their way to her jawline and with the gentlest of strokes, the fingers of his right hand coaxed her to allow him entry past her tender lips.

She felt the soft sigh of a moan escape her as he stepped closer, his body brushing against hers so deliciously that it made her want to keep him there with her forever. Her lips parted and as if it had been exactly what he was waiting for, Petyr deepened the kiss. It was a feeling she had never felt before, not like any other embrace she had shared in her life and she didn't want it to end. His mouth pressed harder against hers as a fire engulfed them both in a sudden heat of passion. Sansa's hands slipped up to his neck and found the mockingbird pendant hanging neatly at the collar of his clothes. She wanted to pull it away, unfasten the binds of his shirt beneath and explore all that remained of him.

Despite the cold nipping at her as they stood in the snowy courtyard, she felt heated, not just on her face or in her chest, but further down. Beneath her own clothes, she felt a desire building up inside her, threatening to claw its way loose. His right hand broke free from her neck and moved down to the curve of her hips. It was enough to make her explode, to feel his fingertips gripping at her and knowing that he felt just as strongly as she did in that moment.

Petyr took another step forward, needing to get closer to her, but as he moved forward, Sansa wasn't expecting it and fell back. Their kiss broke suddenly and as he saw her going down, he grabbed for her hands, but it was too late. She was already nearly on her behind and as she reached for his hand to save her, she pulled him down right on top of her instead. He pushed himself up onto his knees, straddling one of her thighs with his hands still holding hers. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to happen. Are you hurt?" Petyr asked, his eyes fixed on hers as they sat atop the squashed pile of snow formerly known as Winterfell.

Sansa laughed and replied, "I'm fine. It was only an accident." Her smile brightened her big blue eyes and as he looked down at her, she knew he wanted to kiss her again. "Unless you did it on purpose to fall on top of me," she teased and she could tell by his reaction that he didn't expect such a suggestion to come out of such a refined young lady's mouth.

He shifted his weight from his knees to the balls of his feet and gave her one more look-over. She was perfect. Her porcelain skin countered the paleness of the snow beautifully and as his eyes left hers to trail back down to her lips, he noticed that they appeared to be redder than before, more full from the stimulation of their kiss. It suited her, as did the suddenly rosier shade to her cheeks. 'She should be kissed more often,' he mused quietly. He must have been silent for too long, lost in her eyes and the sinful thoughts that had suddenly overtaken him. She was staring at him, as if waiting for him to respond. He licked his lips where the cold had begun to bite at them and smiled. "It seems I've gotten you wet, sweetling."

Sansa was shocked. For him to speak to her so boldly, with such a rawness, it was unheard of in her world. She was a Princess, the heir to Winterfell, and a married woman on top of it all. Her lips quivered as she tried to push back the smile that threatened to show just how much she enjoyed his bluntness. "You've, what?" She asked innocently. Perhaps she had heard him wrong in her excitement.

"Wet," he repeated, his voice lower and almost accidentally seductive in nature. He wondered just how enticed he had made her, how far she would let him go just to scratch that itch that he knew must have been building up between those long, fair legs of hers. A part of him wanted to take her just as she was, right there in the courtyard, snow and all. But who knows how far away poor little Robin had gone to sulk after she struck him. There was too much potential for disaster if they stayed out there in the cold. He swallowed hard and glanced down at her cloak and gown, as if it were them he had been talking about all along. "Your clothes. They're damp from the snow."

With an almost disappointing realization, Sansa followed the line of his sight down to her clothing. She shifted her weight to one side and pulled the excess fabric from the back of her long gown over to her front, spotting a moist round patch where she had been sitting. "Oh, I hadn't even noticed." She replied shyly, embarrassed at just how wrong her misunderstanding had been.

Petyr stood and brushed off the bits of snow that clung to his clothes. He should have stopped himself there, curbed his interest and left it at just a single kiss, never to be spoken of again. But as he looked down at her and extended a hand to help her up, he knew he wouldn't be able to push himself away from such a beauty, especially when she wasn't eager to push away either. With a regained confidence, Petyr smiled his little half-smile and brushed a snowflake off of her long Tully red hair. "Let's get you somewhere warm, and out of those damp clothes."