Written as my way of happily ignoring the latest episode.

Prompt: "we are the only two girls left after all the partnering-up stuff in this heteronormative dancing lesson so let's dance together i didn't like any of the guys anyway AU"

Sansa had known that having their brother school, Ironborn Academy for Boys, over for the sake of dancing lessons was never going to be something enjoyable. While a few years ago she had been a hopeless romantic who lived for things like dancing lessons with pretty boys, she had come to learn something rather unfortunate.

Boys, as a general rule, at the age of seventeen, are all prats. Wankers of the biggest variety, with the exception perhaps of a few of her brothers and Loras Tyrell, but the formers are her kin and the latter about as straight as a slinky.

Which is why when it becomes apparent that she has missed out on gaining a male partner to undergo the lesson with, Sansa has to smother her grin.

"Miss Stark," the rather strict Mrs Mordane says, approaching her, "Given that you have no partner, I'm afraid you must-"

"That's alright, I need a partner too, so I suppose it's all worked out, hasn't it?"

Sansa could have picked that smooth, confident voice anywhere. When she looks up, sure enough – Margaery Tyrell is striding towards her with a Cheshire grin on her face. With her skirt nowhere near regulation length, her blazer tight enough to strongly hint at what lay beneath, and her tie just low enough to let her shirt show some of her neck, she is a vision Sansa finds hard to look away from.

Mrs Mordane appears to be equally as speechless as Sansa, but for a rather different reason. "Well, I'm not so sure that would be appropriate-"

"Appropriate?" Margaery laughs, tossing her flawless mane of curls over her shoulder and distracting Sansa yet again from figuring out a verbal response to the entire situation. "Mrs Mordane, as much as you and this archaic school might like to try and forget, it is the 21st century. Two girls should be able to be partnered in a dancing lesson without anyone being devirginised or being lost to the devil."

Sansa feels her cheeks go pink, and Mrs Mordane gapes at Margaery, who has meanwhile turned her attention to her intended partner.

"What do you say, Stark? May I have this dance?" The Tyrell girl even extends a hand like a lord to his lady, but somehow manages to never look masculine for even a moment. As if Margaery Tyrell could ever be anything but blessedly female.

Sansa, still blushing to her roots, tells herself to grow up and that of course Margaery's plan of action is perfectly logical. Once halfway convinced, she nods dumbly and takes her hand upon standing.

Mrs Mordane gives them one last look before sighing and ordering everyone else into their places. Sansa is aware of several people giving them curious looks, but not nearly as many as she would have expected. And then Margaery's hand is in hers and her other is on Sansa's waist, and her mind is quite abruptly very far from wondering what Mrycella Baratheon is thinking of the whole thing.

"I hope you don't mind," Margaery says as they begin to step according to the instructions of the dance teacher, Syrio Forel. "It's only that I really could use the practice, and I do hate to be left out."

"It's fine," Sansa says, trying to work up the courage to smile at her, but for some reason terrified of this beautiful girl from the form above. "I need the practice too."

"In all honesty," her partner whispers, leaning in towards her ear a little, "All the boys in this hall are thoroughly disappointing, and I'm rather glad I ended up with you instead."

Sansa doesn't bother to try and hide her surprise. "Why? I'm not even a good dancer."

"No," Margaery admits, grinning at the same time that Sansa accidentally steps on her foot, "But you're lovely, and that's rare in a room full of backstabbing pedigree children."

"Aren't you one of those backstabbing pedigree children?" Sansa can't help but ask, and while she curses it even as it leaves her mouth, she gets a laugh in response.

"Proudly, but I only backstab the ones that deserve it."

"Miss Tyrell, cease your chatter and listen to Mr Forel!" Mrs Mordane barks, and when Margaery bites her lip and gives Sansa a conspiring grin, Sansa finds herself grinning back. In a world of boring bickering and family names that mean far more than they should, Margaery Tyrell is a breath of fresh air that Sansa hadn't even realised she needed until now.

But they do as they are told (for now, Sansa thinks, if she knows anything about Margaery at all), and keep quiet as they continue learning the dance that is a sort of cross between a waltz and a country dance like the sort one saw in Jane Austen movies. With every good reason to look nowhere but Margaery's eyes, Sansa finds herself getting lost in their complex depths.

Well, that and the feeling of her hand at her waist guiding her through the steps. The feeling of being secure and safe in the middle of a situation that with anyone else would have been horrific and awkward in the extreme.

Sansa realises she's smiling, softly, at what good partners they make, though the shock of noticing she's dancing and dancing well is almost enough to make her stop right there. Thankfully, Margaery's grip on her hand keeps her moving and yet somehow grounded despite that.

"You don't need dancing practice at all," Sansa tells her, wanting to frown but not quite managing it.

Margaery smirks. "No, I don't, but I honestly wasn't expecting my plan of getting you as my partner to work."

"You planned this?"

Margaery bites her lip for the second time, and Sansa falls out of step because the simple action is more captivating than it ought to be. "Surprised? That I might be interested in getting close to the pretty girl with the wolf backpack?"

Sansa isn't quite sure how to respond, but ends up laughing a bit. "Yes, actually. Do you really want to be my friend?"

The brunette girl lifts an eyebrow. "If that's what you want. Alternatively…" She shrugs and gives Sansa what the red head can only call a 'bedroom' look. "What I said to Mordane about no one getting devirginised doesn't necessarily have to be true, if you're very very good."

For some reason, the blush doesn't come this time, and Sansa just laughs again, though nervously. Being interested in girls isn't something she's given a lot of conscious thought before now, but with the way Margaery's lips part in a smile and the way her eyes sparkle when she flirts, Sansa wonders why the hell she didn't catch on sooner.

"And what if I'm very, very bad?" The Stark retorts, tilting her head.

Margaery laughs, wickedly and in a way that sends a shiver down Sansa's spine. "Then we shall get along even better, you and I."

"Miss Tyrell!"

At Mordane's reprimand, Margaery's demeanour shifts from flirting to plotting. "Now, Sansa Stark, if I ask you to run from this hall with me right now for the sake of getting up to entirely inappropriate things, will you say yes?"

Sansa glances at Mrs Mordane, then back at her new friend. Then she bites her lip, nods, and grips Margaery's hand all the tighter a second before the older girl yanks her off in the direction of the door. With Mordane shrieking after them, they sprint from the hall, laughing as they run through the corridors and into an alcove in the garden that Sansa has never noticed (Margaery assures her it is impossible to spot unless one is looking for it).

And there, Sansa Stark is thoroughly snogged by Margaery Tyrell with a force and passion she has never experienced, and loses herself in the smell of roses and shampoo as one of Margaery's hands creeps up the back of her jumper and the other ventures under her skirt and up her thigh.

It's not dancing, as such, but it's still a lesson of sorts, and Margaery is an excellent teacher.

I've never written GoT fic before, but this was a fun way to start! (And yes, as a general rule I usually only go for Modern AU GoT fic)

Feedback is appreciated, hope you enjoyed!

-MayFairy :)