A/N A birthday treat for you all - two thousand words of smut! Hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Still not mine.


Sansa flinched away from the contact. Tyrion wanted to whisper into her ear, but found he could not reach, and instead whispered up to her shoulder.

"Sansa, relax. It will only make things harder if you are so tense."

Breathing heavily, she composed herself. "Yes, my lord," she whimpered, with a gentle nod.

"You needn't be so formal. I'm your husband, and we're in private. There's no need to stand on ceremony."

He reached to take her wrists, allowing her to stand up. Their height difference was laughable, but as Sansa nervously removed the pins from her hair and the jewels from her neck, it was clear that the smaller one was the wisest in this field. He removed his shirt, but decided that it might keep Sansa calmer if his manhood was concealed in his breeches, at least for now.

Sansa reached behind her to unlace the back of her dress, but fumbled with it, being unused to dressing and undressing alone. Tyrion reached up in an attempt to help, but found that he couldn't. This was another embarrassment for him, but Sansa realised that though his outer form was difficult, she couldn't have hoped to be wed to a kinder Lannister. She knelt willingly, a stark contrast to the events of her wedding, just a few short weeks ago.

Tyrion felt a glow of happiness radiating from within him, which manifested itself as a slight smile on his face. Sansa seemed to have finally gone some way toward accepting him, and some of the tension between them had slipped away. She reached down to remove her shift. All of Tyrion's instincts wanted her to more than anything. He wanted to see the naked beauty in her entirety, but some sense of, what was it, guilt, sympathy, made him stop her.

Sansa had no idea what to expect next. Her husband had just refused her naked body. What did that mean? Was she not good enough for him? That would just be hypocritical. Had he seen his own appearance?

"Not yet," he whispered, after a pause.

He led her slowly over to the bed, and nerves began to pool deep in her stomach. What if she did something wrong? She knew the basic principle of how it worked, and her mother had said that it would hurt, but was clueless as to what would actually happen, and how it would make her feel. She lay down slowly, flat on her back with her head resting on one of the pillows. Her legs were spread slightly, waiting for him to do something.

Tyrion saw her messy, fiery locks spreading from her head to the base of her back, the glimmer of nervousness in her ocean-like eyes, the rosy colour of anticipation on her cheeks, and felt blood rushing to his manhood. He climbed onto the bed, parting her legs so he could kneel between them.

Sansa wondered why he still wore breeches. Surely he had to remove them before he could do anything. But her question was answered by his whispering in her left ear.

"Let's take this slowly," he murmured, brushing his lips past hers.

She smelled amazing. The scent of lemon and sugar radiated from her entire body, and her deep breaths pushed more sweet-smelling air towards his face. More blood seemed to rush to his cock, and he felt his need rising, pushing against the stiff fabric of his breeches. His lips returned to hers, pressing against them for a moment longer this time. He brought his arms up to settle in her thick hair. It cascaded down the bed in fiery waves. He pulled his fingers through it gently, leaning down for another kiss.

His touch was gentle, soft. It became obvious that he really did care for her. The way he kissed her, slowly, taking it a tiny bit further each time. The knot of nerves began to unfurl in her stomach, and she decided to let herself go, because this clearly wasn't going to be as bad as she had thought it would. He leaned down once more, and Sansa parted her lips, and his tongue slipped inside her mouth, exploring every crevice.

She tasted amazing, like honey and lemon. He felt her lips part and finally had managed to make her let go. Though he could happily kiss her all night long, there were more pressing demands. It was time to take this further.

He trailed wet kisses down the side of her face to the base of her neck. He reached down for her arms, which still lay flat by her sides. He placed more soft kisses on her fingertips, before placing her arms on his back. Her arms stayed where he placed them, her grip on his waist now tight.

He withdrew slowly, hoping that Sansa was relaxed enough to be ready to remove her shift and show herself to him. She started in surprise when he moved off of her. He gripped the hem of her shift pushing it upwards, and realisation dawned on her as she shuffled forward to make Tyrion's task easier.

Sansa's nerves returned as he pushed the shift upwards. She had always been taught that it was improper to show her naked form to anyone, and found it hard to break all those years of learning, especially to a man so much older than her who she felt no overwhelming affection for. The nerves returned, but she did nothing to stop him. There was no point. One way or another, this had to happen, and if it wasn't the soft, moral Tyrion, it would be an angry, forceful one.

Soon, she was naked before him, a fiery goddess to his twisted human form. He desired her temple, to worship, to explore. His manhood became stiffer, harder, as she settled herself back on the bed. He wanted to just ravish her now, but he knew she was nowhere near ready yet.

He leaned down to kiss her deeply, while his hand grazed her flawless flesh, exploring her stomach and dragging his fingers up to cup one of her breasts. She felt fire beginning to pool in her stomach, and his every touch felt like a soft lick of flame. Sansa started to realise only now that he really did know what he was doing, despite his size. She hoped that any children she might bear of his would not carry the same condition as he did, if only to save their embarrassment, though, she reasoned, she would rather raise children like Tyrion that ones like Joffrey.

He squeezed her breast gently, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers. It felt so clean, unspoiled, so unlike the flesh of all of those whores he had fucked. A soft whimper escaped her lips, though she tried hard to conceal it. The high pitched sound satisfied Tyrion and he knew that he was pleasing her body at least. It only made his manhood press more determinedly against the fabric of his breeches.

His mouth moved off her lips as he shuffled down the bed. He took one of her nipples, hardened by the chill in the air, inside his mouth, sucking gently on it. This quickened the pace of her breathing and caused her to let out another series of small moans. She had to suppress the unladylike sounds her body was trying to make as he expertly sucked on her. She felt a pool of wetness gathering deep within her sex, and was disgusted by it. She only hoped that it would not put Tyrion off completely.

His mouth still on her nipple, he moved his fingers down, between her legs. Something he had done was obviously working. She was almost dripping with wetness, and he pressed his fingers into the soft folds of skin, rubbing softly, creating rough patterns in her golden hair. He felt more pleasure welling inside him, but ignored his desires. It was not his experience that mattered here. More moans escaped her lips, and he saw that she was suitably wet now.

It hurt her as he slipped a finger inside her, probing her cavern for a pleasure spot. She closed her eyes, breathing heavily through the pain. She only now noticed how her hands were lying limp beside her, and felt that she should do something with them, so she placed one in his coarse, blond-brown hair and the other on his bare shoulder. The flesh was hard, and she could feel the little muscle he had tense at the sudden contact.

He was glad that she had finally found the courage to touch him, and this made him swell with a small amount of pride, as well as pleasure. He slipped another finger inside her, causing her to moan in pain. He now began to consider how lucky he was, to be given a girl this beautiful for a wife. He did not deserve her - his battle scars, his height were enough to ensure that. The regal Lady Sansa could have suitors lined up at her door. But instead, she had been betrothed to the twat, King Joffrey, tortured, tormented by him and then forced to marry the cripple. She deserved so much better. But too soon, he would be forced to steal her innocence, take her maidenhead and plant the broken seed of a cripple deep inside of her, and force another Lannister babe into the world, at a very dangerous time.

She noticed the increased vigour which he was pushing into her with and the increased amount of pain and pleasure that came with it. The pain was manageable, and the way he subtly increased in speed seemed to minimalize the discomfort and heighten the pleasurable sensations that danced through her entire body. She had almost completely forgotten that she did not love the man who was making her feel these incredible things.

Tyrion could feel how wet she was, but was deliberately putting off the moment where he would have to do it. Seeing her writhing under his touch was so satisfying, he didn't want to turn the pleasure into pain. But this exercise would be fruitless without him spilling his seed inside her. So he slowly removed his breeches, revealing his swelled manhood to Sansa.

She gasped in surprise as she glimpsed his length. It throbbed red and purple and so big. How would he ever fit? Pleasure faded to nerves as he positioned himself at her entrance.

"Sansa," he said, breaking the silence for what seemed like the first time in hours. "Dear, sweet Sansa, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that this is going to hurt - a lot, I've been told."

She gulped, her arms dropping from his body to clutch the sheets.

"I will try to be gentle and control myself," he murmured, almost to himself. He pushed the tip inside her, and she fought the yelp that wanted to form in her throat. An intense pain settled itself between her legs, shooting painful sparks into her body. He forced himself deeper, causing tiny moans of pain to come from her lips.

She was so tight. Tyrion was struggling to get even half of his length inside her. It would be enough, as long as he could get himself to spill his seed inside of her. He pushed his hips down onto her, pushing slightly deeper within her before pulling out slightly. There was no sound of intense pain from Sansa, so he pushed in again, a little further this time. Her hips bucked involuntarily, almost causing him to lose control and pursue a faster rhythm, but he held firm, pulling out again.

The pain became slightly more bearable, as the pleasure began to return. Her body seemed to react to him impulsively, and she considered just how unladylike it was to move in this way. She had always heard of the pain that lying with a man would cause, but had never known that it would be a pleasurable experience. They always said that the marriage bed was a place for the male to satisfy himself. Tyrion seemed to care for her satisfaction more than his own. She was so glad, now, that it was Tyrion and not any other Lannister male, or female, for that matter (though that would be unnatural) who had taken her to the marriage bed.

Tyrion kept up a quickening pace, relaxing into it, hoping that he would finish quickly, though years of experience taught him that this could take some time. She bucked her hips from time to time, a clear indicator that she was enjoying it really, despite their reasons for doing it. He stared up into her beautiful eyes, and then down, at her flushed cheeks and then at her perfect tits, trying to trick himself into spilling his seed. He rested his head between her breasts, sensing their warmth, smelling their sugary scent and he felt it working. He pushed in and pulled out a few more times, at a pace which caused squeals of pain to come from Sansa, but this close to coming, he forgot to care.

As his pace quickened, Sansa knew he had lost the control he had promised to her. Though it hurt, the earlier, insistent pain had subsided into a dull ache which she assumed would continue for a few days regardless of his speed. She also felt fire in her core, a deep pleasure radiating from her sex, coursing through her entire body. She wanted to let out the most unladylike scream she could muster. This felt so good.

Sansa's body was convulsing with what Tyrion hoped was pleasure and the beauty of her instinctual movement. He knew he was close. He quickened the pace as much as he dared until he felt himself explode into her. His messy seed spilled into her, filling her cavern. He hoped, desperately, that this one event would start the growth of a child in her delicate young body. He pushed in and pulled out once again, to ensure that as much of him as possible stayed deep inside her.

Suddenly, she felt his pace slacken, and he pulled out completely, rolling off of her, panting heavily into her ear. As the daze of the event wore off, she began to feel embarrassed that she lay naked, exposed, in front of a man, even if it was her husband, whom she had just shared the most intimate of experiences with. She pulled the crumpled sheets over her, as Tyrion, still breathing heavily shuffled over, to allow her some space.

"Is it done, my lord? Am I with child now?" she whimpered, her voice unsteady as she spoke.

"Please, Sansa, call me Tyrion," he said, interrupting her naïve questions. "I'm afraid it's not that simple, sweetling. You could be, but it is unlikely. We will have to do this again, I am sorry; until you are sure you are with child."


A/N If you liked, please take a few moments to tell me - reviews make my day. And it is my birthday...