A/N: I own nothing of G.R.R. Martin. This is not for profit. Enjoy!
Modest with Finery
Sansa stood with her arms folded against her chest. She held her thick shawl more securely against her womanly frame and leaned in a familiar manner against the open door, the only entrance to her home. With the warmth of the hearth at her back and the icy wind of an oncoming storm at her front, she could stare across fields of blanketed snow.
It did not take long for her to spot the dark figure that trekked through the growing depth of new-fallen powder. She caught sight of a glint from his back on the last rays of sunlight.
Sansa carefully made her way down the slick steps. She didn't have time to open her arms for an embrace. Swept into strong arms, she squealed with sheer delight. He had kicked the door shut in his urgency to bring them into the privacy of the modest life they had created together. Even with his consuming nature, he set her atop the table with a gentleness that still sometimes brought Sansa to tears.
Her husband managed to wedge his massive frame between her knees. His ever eager hands slid against her smooth skin to bunch her hefty skirts to her hips.
"Sandor," she gasped as he placed open-mouthed kisses along her throat. "We'll break the table if we continue on here."
He pulled away to grin unabashedly at his glowing wife. His hand brushed over her large belly, so close to the name day the midwife had declared moons earlier. As insatiable as his lady wolf was, Sandor couldn't keep his thoughts, his eyes, his hands, or his mouth from gravitating toward her.
"Lie back," he rasped, kneeling slowly in front of her as she followed his command. He had forgotten his own wants and needs, as he so often did in her presence.
"Oh!" she cried aloud as he gave her a kiss that curled her toes. She wondered how she had ever lived so long without such attentions, without knowing such pleasures even existed.
Sansa lay curled within her husband's arms, both naked and sated beneath the furs Sandor had acquired and brought home from his hunting trips. Her eyes wandered across the items that they accumulated since leaving Westeros. Last, her sight fell upon a Valyrian forged double-headed axe, Sandor's new weapon. Only the worthiest warriors of this particular free city were deemed to carry such a weapon. The axe was the only finery to be found in their home.
"Did you ever imagine we would end up sharing a bed half way across the world?" she whispered in his ear, her fingers trailed against the scars on his face.
He could have been sleeping; the calm on his face was so complete. His eyes were closed, lashes dark against his skin, as he battled the field between sleep and boneless pleasure. Sandor acknowledged her whispers by dragging his hand along her arm. He tugged on a long tress of red that escaped the rest.
"I still cannot imagine why a little bird ever entertained the idea of kisses from an old scarred dog."
Sansa smiled up at him through her lashes, her breath sweet on his face. "I'd gladly give you a thousand more."
The End