Author's Notes: This story is a prompt fill for the 4th round of Livejournal sansa x sandor 'Sansan Russian Roulette' - let's call this "The Director's Cut"... The length of the prompt fill is limited to approx. 500 words, but when have I ever been able to be so short? So this is indeed the extended version. The original fill can be read in LJ or in my Tumblr (ladytp).

The prompt was by Maracuya / Maracuyakongeen: "KL. Sansa has run away and hidden herself from yet another beating. She has ended up in a room she doesn't know, has eaten food and drunk wine that's not hers and has - inebriate d - fallen asleep in a bed in that room. Until the owner of the room - guess who ;-) - comes back from a training if the first thing he does is to take off his tunic, even before he notices he's got a visitor. Basically a sexy Goldilock version. With a hungry Hound instead of bears."

The burning sensation down her throat into the pit of her stomach, from there to rise into her head making her forget – for one sweet moment, to forget…

Sansa drifted into half-awareness, floating in that magical state between dream and reality, not quite sure which was which. She felt a hard mattress under her body and a lumpy pillow against her cheek, smelling of… Her heart jumped - no, this couldn't be her own bed! Her gilded cage had a soft mattress and a down pillow, and no other person or their smell invaded that space, whereas scent wafting into her nose now carried a hint of sweat, hint of outdoors, hint of horse…

Then she heard again what had roused her from her sleep; metal clattering on a stone floor and splashes of water. The sound came from a curtain-covered alcove at the back of the room – the owner of the room must have returned.

Cold dread squeezed Sansa's chest – how was she going to be able to explain her presence here, that and the food eaten, the strongwine drunk? She prayed that her guess that the room belonged to one of Maester Pycelle's assistants, bookish poor young men who had time for nothing else but for higher learning, would be correct. She would still be in trouble, but one of them might look upon her as a lady and not raise too much fuss when she would make her presence known. Maybe she could sneak to the door and pretend just to be entering in search of…a book, yes, that was it. She had seen books on the window sill, she could use that as an excuse…

Before she had the opportunity to execute her plan the emergence of someone from behind the curtain made it impossible. She sank deeper into the bed.

The man – of course it was a man – was naked waist up, his unlaced breeches hanging low on his hips. Sansa could see the angular curve of hard muscle against his hipbone next to a flat stomach, a trail of dark hair traveling down from his navel, and a mat of hair covering his chest as her scandalised gaze travelled up the man's body. Powerful muscles, still wet and glistening, undulated under his scarred skin as he moved. He was surely personification of the Warrior himself in his blatant masculinity - even Sansa's innocent eyes could detect that. Yet he was rubbing his face and hair with a towel so she couldn't see his features.

Gods!

The man walked into the middle of the room but then turned away, allowing Sansa a good view of his broad back and exposed neck under a loosely tied knot of wet dark hair, water droplets still falling down his bare skin. His neck was paler than the rest of his body and it made that part of him appear oddly vulnerable – as ridiculous the thought was against the strength he otherwise emanated. Sansa tried to still her breathing so she would stay undetected for a moment longer, but he must have heard something as he stopped and cocked his head.

So fast that she had no time to react he then span around and reached the bed, pulling the blanket under which she was hiding up in one swift motion.

The Hound! In other circumstances Sansa might have been amused by his dumbfounded expression replacing his usual scorn, but not now, not here.

He stared at her as if not believing his eyes, his mouth slightly ajar and its burned corner twitching. Sansa could only stare back, wide-eyed and horrified. Finally he cursed.

"Fuck me sideways! Is this a dream come true, little bird in my bed?"

Sansa couldn't get a word out, couldn't even open her mouth. The Hound's eyes travelled down and up her body, taking in her dishevelled dress and dainty boots.

"Too much clothes to my liking. If this is a dream, why aren't you naked?"

That made only Sansa to clutch her arms tighter against her chest. Dear gods, how do I get out of this?

"What are you doing here, girl?" His eyes flashed to the door. "Who sent you and why?"

"No…nobody sent me." Her voice was brittle and hardly audible at first. "I didn't know this was your room, I came here to hide…and fell asleep. I am sorry, I am so sorry!"

The Hound glanced at the table and noticed the remnants of the cheese she had nibbled and the flagon she had flung on its side after she had emptied it in a fit of defiance. If wine gave comfort to Queen Cersei, maybe she could find the same in it, she had reasoned and drunk all the bitter brew.

"Drunk my strongwine as well, I see." He still didn't let go of the blanket, continuing to hover ominously above her. "If nobody sent you, then nobody knows you are here. So it is only you and me, then."

He looked at her again, hungrily, and Sansa became aware of the indecent way her skirt had ridden up her legs in her sleep, all the way above her knees. The cool air of the room kissed her bare legs between the tops of her boots and the hem of her skirt. The Hound had stopped to stare at her there and Sansa could almost feel the weight of his gaze on her skin. It horrified her, but also made her feel something…else.

She dropped her eyes but that was worse than looking him in the eye, the sight of his raw nakedness making her nervous.

"So what should I do with the little bird?" he grumbled almost as to himself, finally dropping the blanket and looking away. Sansa could see his profile now, the good side of his face as he stared at the wall. He sighed audibly and Sansa was mesmerised by the way it made his broad shoulders heave.

"I heard about Robb's victory and was afraid Joffrey would call for me." There was no need to explain why she feared that – he had seen it so many times himself. "I am sorry. Please don't be angry at me," Sansa whispered the last words.

She was fully aware that she was completely under his power. Eventually she would be missed and searched, but until then… The way he had looked at her made her shiver.

After an indeterminable time the Hound sighed again, cursed and shook his head, sending droplets of water falling on Sansa's face.

"You better scoot off. On your way, unless you want more than what you bargained for. Joffrey's punishment is a child's play compared to what might happen to you here if you stay."

He moved away and stared out of the window, waving his hand dismissively in Sansa's direction. Sansa didn't wait for more encouragement but rose quickly and pulled her skirt down. A few steps and she was at the door, her hand on the latch. The Hound had not moved, not even to look at her as she was leaving.

Sansa glanced back, relieved. Yet somehow it felt wrong to leave without saying anything – but what could she say? The effects of wine were still upon her and her head hurt. She observed the silent man for a while and being so close to escaping she allowed herself to look at him again, truly look. His body was… huge. Even without his armour he was the biggest man she had ever seen. He was so strong, and she had been at his mercy – and he was sending her away without touching or even teasing her more than what he had said about how she should be…naked.

Sansa squirmed. He had talked about a dream come true. Did he….could he be dreaming of her? Hot blush on her cheeks and a strange combination of shock, pride and curiosity directed her next actions.

"I am sorry I invaded your privacy. I thank you for your understanding. I… I am sorry it was not a dream come true."

The Hound showed no signs he had heard her words.

"I hope you may find it in you not to tell the King about this incident. I will not do this again."

He turned at that and looked at her angrily. He hadn't bothered to cover himself and if anything, his breeches have fallen even lower on his hips. Sansa could see even more hair spreading out of that thin trail near his nether regions… She had to look away and doing that she saw that he had noticed, and some of his old scorn returned.

"Never do this again, sneak into a man's room. The next time you may not be so lucky. And if you come here again, next time I may not let you go."

Sansa nodded and finding nothing more to say, turned the latch and opened the door. Just as she peered around the corner to make sure that nobody was there before stepping out, she heard him muttering under his breath.

"Fucking sorry too. If only…"

Sansa stepped into the corridor and ran all the way back to her rooms, not caring what might wait her there.

His last words plagued her sleep that evening and her night was filled with odd dreams, disturbing sights and a strange new longing.