Title: Loving Her
Author: Demelza
Disclaimer: Game of Thrones and its characters belong to GRRM and HBO. I'm just borrowing them here for a little while. No infringements of any copyrights are intended.
Pairing: Tyrion/Sansa
Warnings: Mild sexual content
Summary: This unutterable thing that had developed between them was not love.
Author's Note: Re-release of the an older fic. Any and all comments are welcome. Hope you enjoy!

vv

This unutterable thing that had developed between them was not love; it was a way to fulfil their official duties as man and wife while setting a feeling of something beyond emotional pain within them. They did not desire this marriage, but, as Sansa had told him a few weeks after their unconsummated wedding, they could use the nights they shared to feel something other than the emotional pain they both felt.

It wasn't about the sex, they had agreed, it was about the need for bodily closeness and a bond that talking wouldn't build.

For Tyrion, he was famed for his sexual entanglements in city brothels. He'd never known love, not truly, and even now, five months after the beginning of their affair – if one could designate it that – he had never fallen in love.

Love was what Jaime professed he and Cersei had, and Tyrion had long sworn he would not possess an ounce of it. After all, if what they had was love? It was a terrible sickness he sorely needed to shield his heart from.

And maybe what he felt for Sansa Stark wasn't love? He undoubtedly had a respect for her that he felt for no other, in so much that he had – since their forced engagement – abstained from the touch of other women.

He readily found himself listening to Sansa's every word with a focus and intensity he gave to few others in his most intimate circle. If anything, he felt a gentle hint of adoration for her. She had, after all, survived living among lions for four years while their political families continued to fight in a dwindling but merciless war.

No, he told himself then, as he stood there in front of the shut door to their private chamber in Casterly Rock, anxiously watching as she sat before the open fire nearby, her needle and frail thread in hand while the dancing flames basked her in their light.

His thoughts creased his brow. It is concern I have for her, not adoration or affection.

Truthfully, he hadn't so clearly entertained thought of his affection for her before that moment, and there it was in black and white: despite his inner protests, he felt affection towards the woman before him. The affection he felt allowed him to repeatedly lose himself within thought of her, and whenever she smiled, when her gaze collected his, or when they made love he felt like he was in a separate universe with her.

But it wasn't love. It couldn't be love, for he recognized it not and the so-called examples of "love" caused him to cringe and want to see Westeros burned to ash.

But Sansa...

He loved her.

Only, the reasonable part of his mind told him he was mistaken. That he wasn't in love with her, he couldn't conceivably be. She was a Stark. Their families had been at war. Her family hated his – though with good reason – and she most absolutely detested him. He was, after all, a Lannister.

Suddenly, Sansa set her needlework on the bronze table at her side, and he blinked out of his thoughts, their gaze meeting as she rose to her feet and straightened her skirts.

Tyrion swallowed and followed his wife as she walked across the dusty stone floor and stopped before him.

"Sansa," he murmured, her eyes locked on his. A tender smile set a curve upon her lips, and he returned it with a smile of his own. "You look delightful, my lady."

She blushed, and with a light laugh she protested, "Tyrion..."

"Sorry, you look... positively dreadful."

This brought about more laughter from her, louder this time. "Not half as dreadful as you, my lord."

They stood together, not saying a word but sharing a warm smile that gave light to the gentle air between them. It had required months to get to this point, but he enjoyed it. He was reasonably confident she enjoyed it too.

Sansa's noiseless steps began anew, she narrowed the distance between them, her gentle hand reaching out to him.

Tyrion clasped her hand in turn, knowing their night duties as husband and wife lay ahead of them. For the first time, however, his stomach began to knot.

And there, as he looked up into his wife's eyes he saw the truths she knew she had so-long denied her voice, and though he yearned to hear the words, the ones that echoed the way he felt for her, he reminded himself she didn't desire this, that she didn't want the things his heart wanted, and he had to step away; he had to remain the voice of reason.

Only, while he thought he was moving away from her, he was moving with her.

When they were beside the bed, Sansa knelt before him and she suddenly pressed her lips to his.

Sansa, with her delicate and enticing lips, mesmerized him in ways no other woman had. Tyrion tried to deny it, he tried to resist it, but the more she kissed him the more he kissed her back – and the less strength he had to prevent this from going any further.

They were stopping to take a breath when his gaze momentarily shifted to the bed; Sansa had already drawn the blankets back for them, and the sight called to them jointly, as it had done the night past.

He swallowed at the memory of Sansa sitting atop him, his manhood buried deep within her warm center, their hips working jointly as one in heated passion. He felt Sansa's hands trailing down his chest, and he blinked out of the memory and gazed back at his wife, like he had done so many times before.

This time it was different, though.

This time, everything had changed.

The look in her eyes told him her every emotion was spiraling out of control in the identical way as his, and when her lips parted breathlessly he wished for it all to go back to the way it was. Back to when it was uncomplicated, when it was all duty and lust, and nothing else.

He'd have never given a second thought to being here with her before, but now? Now he wasn't so sure he could go any further.

At that moment, four words escaped her lips.

"Tyrion…" Sansa whispered, making his breath catch in his chest. "I need you..."

Her eyes, the softness of her voice…

No thought, a need like nothing Tyrion had felt before rushed through him and he captured Sansa's mouth with such a heat it left her breathless.

He'd never kissed her like that before, and as he pulled away her eyes told him she required him to do it again.

And he did.

Next, he cupped her chin with his hand, lifting her face to his before kissing her softly, slowly deepening the kiss.

Her hands discovered his chest again, and between rounds of kisses she assisted him out of his jerkin in haste, followed by his shirt.

Emptiness flooded through him when her hands abandoned his body – even though the absence was nothing but a moment – and when they went to the lace of his breeches it was enough to set Tyrion in motion again, and he guided Sansa toward the bed, his lips staying locked with hers.

All his inhibitions had faded, and when they climbed atop the bed he insisted she lay on her back, a feather pillow beneath her head, and he lay down with her. Their kisses didn't cease as he released each bowed lace of her chemise.

When the last of the laces came undone, Tyrion ran his fingers along the dip between her breasts, kissing her harder as he combated the emotions that were building inside him, when suddenly Sansa's hand met his shoulder and she gently nudged him away.

Guilt. It rushed through him as he opened his eyes, staring down at her. "Sansa..." he murmured, examining her eyes.

Her hand at his shoulder still, she shifted it to his neck, a breath visibly catching in her throat. Her eyes, so full of need, gazed back at him tiredly. "Can you... hold me...?"

Tyrion nodded, setting his head on the pillow beside her. He placed his comforting arm around her, gently moving his face closer to hers. "I will," he whispered tenderly, "For as long as you want me to."

She was more tired now, her dear voice weakening. "Promise me, Tyrion."

He gently kissed her forehead; set his head back where he had been resting. "I promise."

"…thank… you…"

Her kindly eyes drifted shut, and he beamed a tender smile at the peaceful look on her face while choking on the tears he was desperate to shed.

"…Tyrion…?"

Holding back the tears, he promptly swallowed. "Yeah?"

As he waited for an answer Sansa's breathing changed, it grew deeper, steady, and he knew she had fallen asleep there in his arms.

And while he should have been contented, and really he was, he was undeniably in love with her.

Desperately, painfully in love with her and his heart broke because that wasn't what she wanted.

It wasn't what she could ever want or feel towards him.

His sore heart broke further because he knew he could never divulge what he felt inside.

He could never tell her that if being with her, if passionately loving her as much as he did was merely an ounce of what heaven felt like? He desperately wanted to die.