As he moved within you, his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his lips, teeth and tongue ravishing the delicate skin there, your hands pressing into his back, you were struck by how gentle Sandor was with you. He was gruff, unapproachable to all as a way of protecting himself, a lesson he'd been taught by his brother before he was fully grown. He worked hard but played harder, he drank and he whored, he fought and he fucked and sometimes it wasn't in that order. He kept people at a distance and claimed to need no one. He had few possessions, little to his name, and no interest in changing his title, reputation or prospects. Sandor Clegane, the Hound, needed no one. He loved no one. In his world, there was only room for himself, his horse Stranger and his duties to the King. If he was lucky, he had room to have the odd whore warm his bed in exchange for silver Stags and golden Dragons. It had been that way for as long as he cared to remember, and that was the way it was going to stay.
Or so he had thought.
Just like every curveball in life, you were unforeseen, unexpected like all the best things. You had been nothing but a bother, a hindrance, some silly cunt he didn't care to know. But slowly, surely, you had burrowed your way under his skin like a parasite and leeched your way into his thoughts until you had buried yourself so deep inside his heart and his mind that you were his every waking thought and his every daydream and nighttime wish. Your presence in his mind was like a poison, soaking into the fibres of his very being, making him unable to focus on anything other than you. You were still a hindrance, still a bother, but somehow his contemptuous mutters and curses had become whispers of love. Oh, so fine was the line between love and hate, a line on which he had one foot either side.
You were everything he never knew he needed. Long before Gregor had scarred him and ruined his life, Sandor had dismissed the notion of love, finding it pathetic how dependent some people became on others. He was the type to roll his eyes and scoff at giggling couples in the courts, to snort derisively at ladies gossiping in corridors and swapping bedroom tales. He saw no room for it in his life and so he stayed away from it. Sandor wasn't one for superficiality but he still wondered who the fuck would be able to stomach his ugly mug. Seven hells, even he couldn't stand it so what hope did he have that someone else ever could?!
Sandor hated you with a burning passion. He was the Hound, for fuck's sake, who did you think you were to waltz into his life and shake the proverbial ground he stood on? When you were near him, he couldn't think straight, couldn't see clearly and had to battle with ridiculous whims such as sweeping you into his arms and kissing you until he was the only reason you were still standing. When you were around other people, he was angry and cold and treated you harshly, cursing himself into the innermost circle of Hell when you become shocked and offended. When you were apart, his heart bled for you, his arms ached for the feel of your body even though he had never held you in such a way before. He hated the control you had over him and the worst part was that you seemed unaware of the grip that you had on his heart. He disgusted himself. Love, he scoffed, never ended well, at least not in a place where everyone lied to everyone including themselves and the weakest links were fed to the lions. It was survival of the fittest and in his nearly fourty years of life, surviving was all he could hope to do.
He was fierce, one of the most infamous fighters in all of Westeros. There was no battle he couldn't survive, couldn't win. He killed without a thought, he murdered Butcher's boys just because they couldn't outrun Stranger, he could talk his way out of any situation but you... You set his heart ablaze just as surely as fire had set his face on fire all those years ago.
Sandor had noticed you get lost within yourself and had bit down on your neck to bring you back to the moment, soothing the bite with his tongue. Your nails dug into his back, leaving little moons on his shoulder blades, and he hissed deliciously. Arousal so strong it made your head spin as everything Sandor was filled your senses and threated to overwhelm you, little shivers dancing down your spine. His movements were slow, steady, each thrust taking the both of you closer to the edge. You knew him well enough to know that he was holding back and even if you didn't, the protuding vein on his forehead, his clenched jaw and eyes set in determination gave it away for him.
Done with tender looks, loving kisses and the slowness of your lovemaking, you seized Sandor's face in your hands and kissed him roughly, pouring your love and frustration into it. "Let go." You murmured into the kiss, wanting more than anything for the Hound to take you. You loved Sandor more than anything but sometimes the Hound could give you something more. You kissed him again and with a defeated groan, he once again dropped his head down into the crook of your neck and began to pound into you with such fervour that it was almost as though it was the last time you'd ever come together like this.
The change in him was remarkable. As Sandor, he was caring, gentle despite his build. He cared for you and after you, making sure your every need and desire was sated before he pursued his own. He gazed into your eyes as you became one and though he didn't give you all of him, not yet, he gave you the parts of him that he was comfortable revealing. He knew what you liked and what you didn't and he made sure to always switch it up however he could so that neither of you were ever bored. But as the Hound... He was skilled. He was no inexperienced teenager who had to fumble their way around their lover's body. He knew what to do and he knew how to do it and by all the Gods, he did it well. He was cold and harsh, taking what he wanteed and he cared very little for his partner. Usually, the whores he paid with Stags and Dragons were given the Hound because that was who they saw when they looked at him. You were deserving of and therefore received Sandor because you were able to see the man behind the dog and didn't care much for his face or the things he had done.
You were so different from the others in King's Landing and that was what had got Sandor's attention in the first place. You were Y/N and you weren't put off by the facade that the Hound gave off. Instead, you took the time to get to know Sandor and to make it obvious that you cared for him and that you were there for him, no matter what. When you watched the Hound, you saw traces of Sandor and when you observed Sandor, you saw traces of the Hound. Man and dog were one and the same, overlapping the other, and it seemed to him that you were the only one who had ever seen that in him. For that, he loved you.
He had fought his feelings as fiercely as he faced opponents but when you'd patched him up a few months ago because he'd gotten hurt and almost killed, you'd yelled at him out of worry and fear and had let slip your feelings. He had yelled back, accusing you of lying and mocking him. This only added to your anger and you'd kissed him. From that moment, a different kind of battle had commenced and it was still going on to this day.
Sandor's limp hair framed his face like curtains and he held your eyes with his own, letting you see the vulnerability, love and the exact moment he found his release. You hadn't yet found yours and so Sandor continued to thrust into you, his hand dipping down to touch you where you usually liked to be. Within seconds, you'd found your own end and Sandor pulled out, flopping down beside you, panting and waiting for the inevitable pull of sleep. You thought about how he had never told you that he loved you, even though you both knew and could never be swayed into thinking otherwise. Busy thinking, you didn't see Sandor slide his hand across the space between you until you felt him lace your fingers together, his grip tightening slowly as he realised that you welcomed his touch.
This simple gesture to maintain contact even though he wasn't the cuddling type made you realise that Sandor told you every day, but he didn't use his words. To a man like him, words meant next to nothing and so he said it in the way he took care of you, in the way he made sure you'd eaten each day even if it was just a handful of grapes and some wine, the way his eyes followed you when you left the room. He said it in the way he took you for rides with Stranger to fetch supplies even though he'd be quicker on his own but he wanted time with you. And above all, he said it in the way that he chose to be with you.
His hand slackened in yours... He was asleep now, exhausted from a demanding day following the Boy King and now here, with you. You rolled into his chest and his arm came around your waist. Even in sleep, he wanted you near him. Sandor Clegane, the Hound, let his guard down around you and that was how you knew that what the two of you had was real and true, and no one could ever take that away from you. You closed your eyes and let sleep take you, knowing that Sandor would be there in your dreams, waiting for you faithfully.