Work Text:
The kitchen was flooded.
Petyr's shirt clung to his skin, outlining his stomach, soaked straight through. He wasn't sure how the faucet had managed to spray in such an arc, but the cabinets were dripping, too. He'd only gotten the stupid thing off by shutting off the water supply at the base of the sink, which was why he was as damp as he was now. This was the danger of old houses, of course, he'd known that when he bought the place. Mr. Baelish had flipped many such old houses, though: buy them for a song, pay someone to have them fixed up, sell them for a mint. It was fantastically lucrative. He'd taken a liking to the melancholy of this one, though, and he was sick of the young trust fund babies moving into his building. It had seemed like a great idea, moving into the slim, old Victorian, properly restored.
Properly being the key word.
I'm going to fire my contractor. After I murder him.
And it was a Sunday. Good bloody luck getting anyone to come out on a Sunday. He'd been on the phone all morning, he'd called everyone in the book, promised gobs of cash just to fix the damn thing. But no, it was all, “Sorry, Mr. Baelish, but this is my first day off in three weeks,” or, “I'm spending time with my family today, Mr. Baelish,” or, “It's my daughter's ballet recital, Mr. Baelish,” or, “Sir, my mother is in the hospital, Mr. Baelish.” Fuckers wouldn't know a decent day's work if he smacked them in the face with his faulty piping.
It was true he didn't use his kitchen a lot. It was true he could just sleep at a hotel for the night if it was that offensive. But more important than any of that, Baelish's pride had been stung. He wasn't about to let a goddamn faucet outsmart him. None of the plumbers he called even had a college education; surely fixing it couldn't be that hard, just a bit dirty. And he could have a celebratory wash in his conquered sink if he felt like it, once he was successful. Fifteen minutes of careful googling for what he'd need, and it was off to the hardware store.
…
And it was hot.
So hot. If his shirt hadn't already been damp, sweat would have quickly soaked it through anyway. It was a short walk, just a few blocks away, and yet he felt wilted with the heat. The gentrifying neighborhood had recently gotten the new chain of Stark Supply Hardware, the only convenient store of any decent size within miles, in the old grocery building. It wasn't worth trying to deal with traffic on these narrow streets, a walk wouldn't hurt him.
That hypothesis, though, turned out to be entirely wrong. Baelish's hair clung to his head with a sweaty curl by the time he got to the building – and it wasn't significantly cooler inside.
Electric fans lined the walkways. Near the checkout counter was an empty shelf, large ads posted alongside it saying, “A/C units here!” A run on the air conditioning, hm? Not a surprise. At least that wasn't broken in his goddamn house as well.
“Hi there!”
Petyr turned; a svelte redhead was leaning over the customer service counter towards him, her grey shirt (with the “SSH” logo over the left breast, oh fuck, don't look at that) clinging to her lithe form in the heat. Shit, did it just get hotter in here?
The girl smiled; her fiery hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, yet locks had escaped it to curl about the nape of her neck and behind her ears. “What brings you in today?”
Petyr was silent a moment, staring at her (Don't stare, you idiot), weighing his options. He sauntered over – he hoped he sauntered over – after a second, hands carefully unfolding his list of requirements. “Did you have a breakdown in here as well?”
The girl – Sansa, her name tag read Sansa as it swung from her neck between those two sweet little, shit, no, don't go there – blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, still smiling. “Problems with a new store, growing pains, you know. Our system shorted out. We've got people working on the A/C right now.”
“Ah.” There was an awkward silence that followed.
The Sansa girl glanced at the scrap of paper in his hands, nodding towards it. “Did you have stuff you needed to work on?”
“Ah, yes, uh....” Petyr glanced down again. “My faucet...”
“Oh, sure.” She smiled, stepping out from behind the counter. “I can show you.”
Oh yes, show me. He cleared his throat. “Thanks.”
The young lady walked ahead of him, and Petyr got a good look at her: the heat had driven her to wear shorts, and though they certainly weren't immodest – they were perhaps only an inch above the knee – he found himself sweating all the more for the exposed skin, the frankly excellent way they clung to her ass, which swung with her hips and made his fingers twitch. She stopped short, and he almost plowed into the back of her. Not that that would have been so terrible...
Sansa smiled at him, not seeming to mind too much how close he was. “That's going to be over on aisle nineteen. What's your name?”
His head picked up. “Petyr.”
“Petyr.” She repeated it with the same smile on her lips; on her, it sounded good. “I'll let them know you're heading down there, Petyr.” Oh. Oh, that was why she asked. He watched her pick up the lapel mic and say something about, “Plumbing, I have Petyr coming down to aisle nineteen, he's going to be looking for-” and the rest might as well have been “-magic hippos with sewing skills,” for how much he cared. Baelish's face dropped slightly and he hurried down the main walkway toward the indicated aisle.
This was stupid. It was the heat and the frustration with his faucet. Of course she asks your name, of course she's going to smile at you, it's her job, jackass. Really. He was better than this.
Aisle nineteen. Pipes and plastic packaging lined the aisles. He didn't know what the fuck any of this shit was, eyes scanning the different peg boards, fingers dragging against different items. Universal flapper repair? What in the shit was that? Who needed all this vinyl tubing, and for what? Was someone making beer stands out of this? O rings? Weren't those in sex stores? He was startled by a voice at his back: “You must be Petyr.” He turned, trying to ignore the way he'd jumped, to find a gruff older man, somewhere past middle age; swarthy, beardy, thick hair turned to grey with bushy eyebrows over blue eyes. “Having faucet problems?”
“Uh....yeah.” He began to offer up the list, but the man barely looked at it, or the pictures of the problem on his phone: diagnosis complete. Shit, where was this guy when he'd been up to his elbows in standing water?
“Uh huh. Got some burst seams. Let me get you a basket, we'll get you what you need.” A grey, plastic shopping basket was shoved into his hands. Petyr just followed his guide through the hardware jungle. “You could go copper or galvanized on this job, it's more a matter of price point, they're both going to resist corrosion.”
Petyr looked from one item to the other. The copper was shinier, but the galvanized was more expensive. And silver was more his aesthetic. “Galvanized piping is fine.”
“Here we are.” Pipes of different sizes were piled into the basket; which would be all well and good if he knew what any of them were for...I'm getting had here, I can just smell it... “You're going to want some elbows and a coupling-” Fuck yes I do. “-and a union-” Uh huh. “-do you need female adapters?”
The man coughed. “E-excuse me?”
The associate just stared at him with those eyes. Those judging, old eyes. “Female adapters. To male parts. Do you have those?”
“I've...got male parts....”
“So then you need some females.” The plumbing expert held up a small, heavy piece of iron tubing, clearly indented and lined with threads for easy....screwing. Petyr put a hand to his temple. I just wanted to have my usual Sunday of drinking too much and hating everything. “Do you have pliers and pipe wrenches, son?”
“Somewhere, I think...”
“Well, we've got a good price on sets right over here, Stark brand, guaranteed for up to-”
“Fine, whatever, just put it in the basket.” Bigger the order, the more time he'd spend with that girl at the checkout counter. Jesus, when had he gotten so pathetic? And old and creepy? I'm going to drink extra to make up for this.
A few more rather conspicuous recommendations (“I've got plumbers tape here, too, if you want to just wrap that boy up,” Are you fucking with me, old timer, is that what this is? “And here's some lubricant just in case it sticks.” Oh, fuck you.) and he was sent back to the front. And that delicious little redhead was waiting, fanning herself absentmindedly with a folded piece of paper. An image came to him of running an ice cube between the peaks of her breast, down over that delicious little taut stomach, downward, followed all the while by his trailing tongue- She smiled to see him. “Hey there. Did you find what you needed?”
“I think more than enough...”
“Well, if you need to return anything, you can just hang onto your receipt – unless you're part of our rewards program, then we can look you up in our system-”
“No, thanks.” He started unloading his basket.
“Are you sure? All we need is a phone number, and-”
She wants my phone number. His eyes flashed as her hands hovered over her register computer. “Actually, yes. Sign me up.”
“Sure.” Sansa smiled at him. “What's your number?” Go slow, make sure she gets it. He enunciated it very carefully, and she hit each key one at a time. Was that a hint of impatience as she waited for him to finish, or was it concentration on memorizing? The second one. Definitely the second one. “Great.” She smiled more conservatively and began ringing up the items. “And don't worry, we don't call.”
Petyr leaned against the counter top. “You can call me any time you want, honey.” Honey? What are you, fucking eighty? Petyr winced at himself.
The girl laughed, a touch awkwardly – and the computer pinged. Invalid UPC. She tried the scanner again, the same issue popped up. “I'm sorry...” she sighed. “I'll have to get someone on the floor to get me the proper code. It will just be a minute.”
“Take your time.”
He watched those delicious little hands of hers play with the radio mic again, and tried not to look like he was staring. “Jon, I need a SKU on a nipple-” Petyr started coughing, and the girl took her hand off the mic. “Sir, are you okay?”
“I'm – it's just a-” Wheeze. “Uh....”
She was holding up one of those little pipes the old ass had tossed into his basket, perhaps two inches across. Oh. That kind of nipple, well, obviously. She started again, one eye on her customer. “-no, not the black ones. Mhm. No, that's the wrong size, this isn't that big. Small, yes.” Her hand rested over the keyboard. Petyr was staring. A few taps on the keys and the proper number and price popped up. “Got it, thanks.” A few more strokes of the keyboard and she was bagging his merchandise. “Thanks for waiting. That's going to be eighty-four twenty-seven.” Eighty freaking bucks! For hunks of metal and some tape? “Cash or credit?”
“Cash.” He dug out his wallet – Do I move the condom, or is that too conspicuous? Fuck it, move the condom – and handed over a bundle of twenties. Sansa smiled and counted them out before opening up the till. “And fifteen seventy-three is going to be your change today. Thanks so much for coming in, Petyr.”
“Ah...any time.”
“Hope to see you again soon.” She handed him his bag, still smiling radiantly, and his feet wouldn't move. “Good luck with your faucet.”
“Yes, you too – I mean-” Fuck it. He left the store.
…
He could use new sprinklers in the garden.
Well, why not? With this heat, the yard was looking a bit tired, a bit brown. Why not invest in a bit more weekend-warrior nonsense? The faucet hadn't been that hard after all (the faucet had been a nightmare, and his success was largely attributed to banging on it with his new pipe wrench and swearing, but he'd won, goddamn it), and there was nothing wrong with a man getting a little dirt under his nails. Petyr abhorreddirty hands, of course, but if he was going to do this right, he'd need soaker hoses, watering timers and stakes, and that would mean a trip to the hardware store. He could drive across town to the Lannister chain, or maybe he could go south to the immigrant bodega, or-
Oh, fuck it, he was going to Stark Supply Hardware.
The air conditioner had been fixed, and that girl – that sexy, gorgeous, redheaded Sansa girl – was still at the customer service desk, just like before. Petyr lingered by the front entrance, waiting to be noticed.
After a moment, she turned her head from her paperwork – and smiled at him. “Oh, Petyr! Hi!”
“Good afternoon.” He strolled over easily, hands in his pockets, doing his damnedest to appear nonchalant (if it was possible, he was entirely chalant). “I see you got the air fixed.”
“Yeah.” Sansa smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear. It was down today, it framed her face in loose, copper waves, and he wondered what kind of shampoo she used, what she might smell like. “Dad's pretty good at that stuff, but I think he might have fixed it a little too well. I'm freezing standing here.”
“Could I warm you up?”
She gave that slightly awkward laugh again. “Um, how did you figure?”
Baelish had to bite his tongue from saying all the different ways he'd love to keep her warm. Light her fire. Turn her on- oh Jesus, this was ridiculous. He cleared his throat and looked down to adjust his shirt, and noticed that, shit, she wasn't joking about the cold, because he was pretty sure he could see her nipples through the shirt – and not the galvanized iron kind, either.
I am officially a pervert. I belong on some kind of registry.
“Petyr?” Sansa was peering into his face, snapping him back to reality. “What brings you in today?”
“Uh....garden...stuff...” So eloquent. Your debate club coach would be proud, Baelish.
She smiled again. “Aisle six. I'll show you.” Ah, yes, show him, show him everything. She could have led him on a tour straight to the fertilizer section and he would have followed like a puppy, because he was an idiot.
No. No, Petyr was going to be better than this. Redheaded young women would not have this power over him. He was letting his dick do the thinking and the talking, and that had to stop. He nodded solemnly and followed her back toward the green-colored section. “Should I get an associate to assist you?”
“Ah, no...I'm going to look around a bit first.”
“Sure.” That winning smile again. “Just let us know if you need anything.” Your measurements? She was already gone. A short time later and he was back at the register, this time with a full shopping cart to unload. Five containers of mint starters, hammered gardening stakes in the shape of birds, slug and snail bait, and some container labeled “Fish and Poop.” He wasn't actually sure what that one was for. Sansa was helping him to unload his cart, grunting as she lifted a massive watering hose out of the basket. “You've got a really big hose, Petyr.” His chest puffed slightly. “You must have a huge garden.”
“It's, uh...” He had no idea, he didn't even look at the damn thing, he just got it landscaped. “It's getting there.”
Sansa smiled as she tallied everything together. “I love when I get to work in our garden department. My favorite is our lemon trees, they smell divine when they blossom.”
“...your favorite, huh?”
“Uh huh!” She beamed and motioned to the PIN pad. “Seventy-three oh-six.” Baelish paid, collected his merchandise, left the store.
In an hour he was back with a nursery cart and no less than two lemon trees in plastic pots. He threw a packet of altoids on the counter for good measure. Sansa was grinning. “Oh, you got two of the best ones!”
“They looked the most promising to me.” Like fuck he knew anything about lemon trees.
“For sure!” Sansa was carefully scanning them onto the register. “Did anyone talk to you about caring for them?” Petyr shook his head. Sansa brushed her hair back over her shoulder and bit her lip. “I'd be happy to help you.” He tried not to nod too fast. “Okay!” This looked like real happiness, not the fake customer service kind, and the man hung on her every word. “So, with mine, I keep them on rolling pots so when it's cold I can bring them inside to our patio...”
…
“Arya, I need you to take this band saw back to Hardware – and don't make Hot Pie do it this time just because he's intimidated by you!”
“Tsk.” Her younger sister fluffed her closely cropped hair. “Whatever, it's not like he doesn't need the exercise!”
“It's your job, Arya,” Sansa told her crossly, hurrying to organize her counter; what a mess of a day. “You know what Dad said.”
“Sansa.” Robb approached with his clipboard, straightening his collared shirt. Managers didn't have to wear polos, and as the oldest, he was given the store management position. One more summer at CSR and Sansa was promised the assistant role. “How are our returns looking today?”
“I've been up to my eyeballs.”
“Yeah, we've had a pretty busy day, good job!”
Jon came up at the same time, rubbing a clean rag against the back of his neck. “It's good for you, you aren't working the floor; it's been a nightmare, I need more coverage.”
“We just don't have the hours right now.”
“Robb.”
A customer approached the desk and Sansa did her best to smile engagingly. “Where would I get keys made?”
“Gendry can help you at Workbench.”
“Put Theon out, he's not doing anything anyway!”
“I so am.” Assistant Manager Greyjoy strolled up to the counter to clock in – late, again. Why did Robb and Dad put up with this, gawd... “I have to rearrange all the merchandising displays before the sale next weekend.”
“There's time for that and assistance in Paint.”
“Speaking of,” Robb tapped his pen against his clipboard. “Theon, you're my closing manager tonight.”
“What? Stark, I have a date!”
“Cancel it, you know I had to change the schedule.”
“Dude, I don't think you understand. This girl is a slut.”
“Theon!” The one thing that could make Sansa and Jon speak in unison.
“Don't be such a creep, Greyjoy.”
“I'll do it,” Jon grumbled, tossing his rag into a bin. “Just give me coverage in Paint so I can have a lunch break, deal?”
“You got it, Snow,” Theon was grinning at him. “I owe you.”
“Yeah, you do.”
Robb snorted, penciling in the change on his schedule. “So, speaking of creeps, Sansa; has yours been back in yet?”
The girl blinked blue eyes. “What?”
“Which one!” Arya hopped up and down in front of her big brother, excitedly. “The crazy homeless one or the old perv one.”
Robb laughed. “The old perv one.”
Sansa's brow furrowed. “He isn't that bad.”
“No? Does that mean you like him?”
“Sansa's got a new boyfriend-d-d-d!”
She was blushing fit to match her hair. “I-I'm just saying – he's clean and courteous and...and you know, a cute creepy. He's not bad to look at.”
“Gendry said he'd beat him up if you wanted.”
“Tell Gendry he'd better not threaten anymore customers or he'll lose this job, too.”
“Aw, come on, Sansa!”
“Oh my gawd.” Before Sansa could ascertain what was so startling, the boys had all scattered. Arya was doubled over laughing. “Here he is!”
“Here's who?” This from Mr. Baelish, approaching the counter as he always did when he entered the store. Sansa blushed furiously.
Arya still laughed as she strolled away. “Sansa's favorite customer!”
“Arya!” Sansa looked back at the counter. “You didn't grab the band saw!”
Petyr leaned against the customer service desk on one elegant hand. “Since I'm your favorite customer,” he smiled at her. “I could take it down for you.”
“N-no, thanks...It's her job.”
“Certainly. How are you this afternoon?”
“Me? I'm f-fine.” What did he want from her? “What brings you in today? How are your tomatoes coming along.”
“Better. The lime helped, just like you said.” Sansa smiled with a bit of relief. “I'm actually having a different problem today.”
“Oh? What is it?” Anything to keep him from looking at her breasts again, at least when her brothers were around to tease her about it. The worst part was that he didn't even leer like a proper creep, just gave her the kind of once over that set her skin to tingling. Yes, that was much worse.
Baelish lifted up a large paper sack and pulled out the aborted makings of a shelf; one leg was attached and the base hung off at an angle. “I've been struggling with this damn thing for more than a day and I cannot get it to...connect.”
Sansa looked it over, biting her lip. “I wonder if the wood in the kit is warped? Do you want to just return it?”
“I'm not losing to a shelf.”
She laughed. “Um, so then what do you want me to do?”
Petyr didn't look her in the eye, instead his gaze rested on her delicate fingers where they lay upon the counter top. “Help me fix it?” He was so quiet, asking for help. Her heart was pounding.
“I mean...I can try, yeah.” A small rubber mallet, plastic pegs and instructions were pulled out of the sack.
And war commenced.
“What in the hell!” Sansa wasn't one to swear on the job, but twenty solid minutes of frustration were taking their toll. “These instructions are in Russian, I swear they are.”
“That's Portuguese.”
“Okay, do you read Portuguese, Petyr?”
“Not very much.”
“Then they might as well be in Russian.” He smiled at her, with just the corner of his mouth. “I'm telling Dad to pull this product, this is ridiculous.”
“Here.” He took her hands and angled them to hold the boards in a certain way. “What if we tried this position?” She bit her lip as he pulled his hands away. “And if we just jam the tab into the slot hard-”
Gendry popped up to collect the forgotten band saw. “Oh, do you guys need help?”
“We have it, Gendry, go finish sweeping Hardware.”
The young man blinked. “I already-” At the look Sansa was giving him, he quickly muttered, “Fine, sure I'll go do it again...” and scurried off.
It worked. With a groan, the board snapped into place – and held, firmly, securely. Sweat beaded along Sansa's nose but she laughed with triumph. Petyr was smiling at her quite freely as well. “Something to be said for the satisfaction of do-it-yourself, hm?”
Sansa blushed slightly and brushed her hair behind her ear, averting her eyes. “Or doing it together...”
Silence. Petyr was staring at her, and she wished he wouldn't do that, because it always gave her this uncomfortable feeling in her stomach, and she wasn't sure if it was negative or positive, but it was definitely inappropriate, because he was a customer and her parents' age, and- “Sansa, listen, I-”
Arya's voice piped up over the loudspeaker. “Attention Stark shoppers!” Sansa pulled away slightly. “Need chain to help organize your garage or suspend the gimp off the ceiling? We have all gauges and lengths at our Workbench!”
Sansa's face dropped into her hand as she heard Robb over the speaker system. “Arya, what are you doing in the office? Did you just-? You little-!” There was a strong hissing sound before the feed was cut off and the store radio went back to playing “Modern Love” for the third time that day.
Sansa groaned. “I'm going to kill her.”
Petyr cleared his throat and pulled at his collar. “Thanks for the, um, the help. I'm....going to go look at the...flowers?” Sansa nodded and did not dare look at him. This was too embarrassing. Nor did she see him at the checkout counter the rest of the day, so perhaps he just left? It was for the best, she told herself. This wasn't the sort of thing that should be encouraged anyway...
The rest of the afternoon and evening passed without incident. Robb was making Arya clean the bathrooms and the break room for her little stunt, which left Sansa in peace to close all the registers. Nine o'clock rolled along and Jon closed the front doors. “Jon! I've closed the return drawer, we're all set for tomorrow!”
“Fantastic.” He smiled, sliding the keys back in his pocket. “All balanced and everything?”
“Uh huh. Am I good to go early?”
“Ask Robb.”
“It's fine,” Robb yawned, looking drained as he made sure the store was in presentable order. “I'll see you back on Thursday.”
“Uh huh.” Sansa collected her purse absentmindedly.
Robb raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
“It's fine.”
“That Baelish guy wasn't giving you any problems, was he?”
“I said it's fine, Robb.”
“Because we can always-”
“Night!” She waved goodbye and slid out the front so Jon could lock up-
And bumped straight into Petyr.
“Oh!” He caught her from falling by grabbing onto her lower arm with one hand, the other holding a potted orchid in a vice grip. “Petyr! You startled me...” She smoothed out her clothes and found she couldn't look him quite in the face. “Um, I'm sorry, we're closed now.”
“Ah...shouldn't have dallied, I guess.”
“What's wrong with the flower?” Sansa asked him, nodding at it. “Did you want to return it?”
“Ah, no, I...” He made a huffing sound and thrust it out at her. Sansa stared. “Look, I've spent nearly a grand here in the past month, and while my house has never been in better condition, it's about time I just asked if you would please get a drink with me.” His eyes closed as he said it. “Please.”
Sansa was silent a moment, fingers fussing with her hair. She should say no, she should say no, she should say- “I-I wouldn't mind that.” The man's eyes opened. “I mean...”
He was now closer than he'd ever been, the orchid pot all that separated them. “Could I kiss you?”
Sansa nearly squeaked. “I-I really think you should wait, I mean, we don't know each other very well, and you're a customer, so really – I mean, if you wanted to, I guess, but-” His mouth was on hers. This was no kind of gentleman courtship, orchid or no. Petyr used tongue.
….he was good at using tongue.
Inside, Arya fogged up the glass with her nose pressed against it. “Ewwww! They're totally playing tonsil hockey!”
“Arya, get off the glass, I just – Jesus, you're right.”
“I can still get Gendry to beat him up.”
“....maybe put him on standby for that.”
Arya opened up the door. “Hey, perverts! We're closed, get off the street!”
“Arya!”
Sansa was shouting back. “Arya Stark, I'm going to kill you!”
“You can't even kill a roach!”
Petyr lifted an eyebrow. “Are roaches a problem for you?”
“I-I've only seen them at summer camp, u-u-uh...”
The man fitted his hand at the small of her back, and Sansa found herself pulled along by that and the hypnotic sound of his voice. “Let me assure you, there are no roaches on my property. Now, I would love your expert opinion on my lemon trees, they seem to be a bit limp...” Luckily, the house was only a few short blocks away.