Sansa sighed into the darkness and sat up. For three nights she had been unable to sleep, three nights she had lain awake thinking about Sandor's kiss. It had started gently, so like the songs of gallant knights kissing their ladies fair. But as he had deepened it with his tongue, as she had reciprocated, a pressure had grown between her legs. That was never sung about. And she had wanted more. Not just more of the kissing, but… something she wasn't sure of, something connected to that pressure. She threw back the covers and rose. Perhaps a bit of fresh air would help clear her mind, she decided. After pulling on her slippers and throwing her cloak over her nightgown, she slipped out into the night.

This was the first time in a while she was not being guarded or watched by the Kingsguard or the court. A sudden urge to flee took her and she quietly dashed out of the tower. Once in the yard, however, she hesitated. She had no clothes, no provisions, and a horse would be faster than running on foot. If she returned to her room for clothes, she might never get another opportunity again. The kitchens seemed to always be occupied, either preparing for or cleaning up after one of Joffery's feasts. That just left her with stealing a horse and dealing with the others later. She looked across the yard towards the stables. It was just past the barracks and she worried about getting caught there as well. She glanced towards the last possible danger. Candles were lit, with shouting and laughter issuing from the open door. Perhaps they were too busy with their stories and drinking they wouldn't see her.

She slipped through the dark, attempting to skirt the light. After the door she hugged the wall, heart beating wildly. No alarm had been raised. No one had seemed to notice her at all. She looked onwards. There were some windows still to pass, but if she stayed low and to the wall she wouldn't be seen by anyone inside.

A barking laugh caught her attention and she instinctively looked towards the door. Though the cacophony drowned out individual words, the Hound's voice could still be heard. Praying to all the gods she knew not to get caught, Sansa leaned ever so slightly and glanced in. Sandor was sitting at a table, facing the door, though not looking towards her. He was in the midst of some story. She guessed it to be about a kill based on his violent hand movements. His burns stretched and contorted to his expression and his eyes shown. The glint reminded her of her father's eyes every time he looked at or talked about her mother. With a wave of homesickness, Sansa glanced back towards the stables, estimating how much further she had to go.

With a deep breath, she took one last look into the barracks and froze. Sandor was looking towards the door, right at her, ignoring the raucous around him. Their eyes met and he stood, snarling at the soldier next to him. Knowing she was caught, Sansa rose from her position and straightened her gown and robe. She hoped it didn't look like she was running, hoped her near escape didn't get back to Joffery.

"It's late, little bird," the Hound scowled down at her. "Best you be in bed, not wandering the training yard."

Sansa nodded, ashamed at being caught, and silently followed Sandor back to her bedchamber. Her stomach twisted in mixed embarrassment at not getting away, and something else, something happy at being in proximity to the Hound. He opened her door and held it for her to enter. Not wanting him to leave just yet, she found herself stammering.

"I, um, I couldn't sleep."

"I know." The bite was out of his voice and she looked up to his eyes. They were closed off, unreadable, not nearly as animated as when he was telling his story. She cautiously took his hand.

"Thank you for escorting me."

She looped her other hand behind his neck and pulled his head down as she stood up on her toes. She kissed his scarred cheek, then his lips. This time, he mimicked her actions, touching his lips to hers and delving no further. Curious, she tentatively slid her tongue to his lips, delighted when they opened for her. She dipped into his mouth, a brief taste of cheap wine before withdrawing again. His tongue did not follow hers, but neither did he pull away. Feeling bolder, Sansa dipped inside again, stroking, departing, and diving in again.

His free hand finally rose, resting at her waist before sliding to her lower back, and he pulled her closer. Feeling him hold her, the tickle of his beard, his own taste hidden beneath the wine, caused the unfamiliar pressure start to build again. A sigh, nearly a moan, escaped Sansa's throat as his own tongue finally joined the dance. With a start Sandor pulled away, standing above her, gently nudging her to arm's length. The arm around his neck dropped to the one around her waist and she held. He remained rigid as she tried to step in, pull him close, anything for another kiss.

"No, little bird. No more. Go to bed."

"Please, se- Sandor. One more kiss goodnight?"

He stood, impassive, watching her, studying her. She resisted the urge to pull away and tighten her cloak around her. The hand she held pulled away and slowly, hesitantly came to within a breath of her cheek. After another moment it closed the gap. His thumb stroked her cheekbone, the bridge of her nose. She took a shuddering breath as he touched her tender lip, and, wanting to taste him again, touched his thumb with the tip of her tongue. The pad was rough, salty, and still had that indescribable him-ness to it. His eyes widened, as if surprised or in pain, and he slipped the tip into her mouth. Unsure what was desired, Sansa closed her lips around him in a kiss that felt far more intimate.

With a growl, Sandor slipped his hand under her cloak, pulled her back to him, and dipped his head to her neck, planting rough kisses after bites and licks. A particularly sensitive point had Sansa gasp. Sandor released his thumb, only to be replaced by his first two fingers down to the knuckle. She tried not to choke on the large digits.

"Keep quiet, little bird, or I'll use more than my fingers to gag you."

Instinctively Sansa started to suck his fingers like one of the ice treats she had enjoyed in Winterfell. This time it was the Hound's turn to moan and he walked her backwards into the room, arm around her waist keeping her from falling. Once inside the doorway, he stopped her and kicked the door shut. At the click of the latch, Sandor pulled his fingers from her mouth and waist. He held her face still, studying her, wet fingertips brushing the shell of her ear, before dipping his head for another kiss. The small amount of delicacy and gentleness found in their first two kisses was gone and Sansa felt like she was being consumed, like the Hound was a starving man and she was his feast.

She raised her hands and, with nothing else available, placed them at his waist. Her fingers slid inside his belt and she stepped closer. The squeezing, the pressure between her thighs grew as she let him claim her. She wanted more. She didn't know what it was but knew the man devouring her could relieve it. She pressed into the kiss, hoping he understood.

One of his hands slid into her hair, holding her still, as the other slid down her cheek, her jaw, her neck, to the clasp of her cloak. Without breaking the kiss he unfastened it and the heavy wool dropped behind her. Sansa shivered as the cool night air suddenly filtered through her thin nightgown. The hand in her hair fisted slightly, holding her still as Sandor pulled away. His arm returned to her waist, hand resting on her bottom has he watched her.

"Cold, little bird?" His rough voice had grown deeper, breathless.

She thought it over. Was it chill she felt, or something else? A throb between her legs caused her to shiver again and she shook her head. He lifted her so their faces were level, her legs dangling, slippers falling off. Something hard poked at her. She ignored it as she wrapped her arms back around his neck.

"Don't let me hurt you," he said softly. When she nodded and tried to dip in for another kiss, her pulled her back again. "Promise me. Promise you'll tell me to stop if I hurt you."

Fear briefly gripped her. What could he do to hurt her? "I promise. I won't let you hurt me."

He let her kiss him then as he carried her to the bed. He climbed onto the mattress and laid her amongst the strewn covers and pillows. The hand in her hair slid down, whispering past her shoulders, grazing her tiny breast, down her narrow hip. At her thigh, he lifted her gown, exposing the skin, then slid his had back up the same path, holding her hip in place. The rough calluses of his hand scratched her sensitive skin and she pushed into his touch, wanting to feel more. He broke off and rested his forehead to hers.

"Are you a maid, little bird?" Sansa's head was foggy from the new sensations and she blinked at him, confused. "Have you taken another man into your bed?"

She felt her cheeks heat. "N-no, my lord."

His next kiss was soft, quick, reassuring. "No one has touched you? Joffery hasn't tried to shame you when I wasn't around?"

"No, I am a maid. No man has touched me before you," she whispered.

Another kiss, slow and lazy this time. "And a maid you'll stay."

Sandor started to pull away but she clutched at him, wanting him over her, blanketing her, devouring her. No words came to her other than "Please." Her courtesies failed and she could only beg.

"Steady, little bird," he chuckled. "I promised not to hurt you, but I didn't promise not to taste you."

Sansa watched as he sat back and pulled her nightgown high up her hips. With his guidance, she sat up and let it be pulled over her head. Her mind swam, unable to latch onto a single thought. It was as though she had been reduced to little more than sensation. When his large, clothed form came back over her, every fiber in her rejoiced. She wrapped her arms around him, threaded her fingers through his hair, fisted his shirt, desperate to keep him close to her. The throbbing between her legs intensified and she bucked against him, finding the same hardness as before. As her juncture brushed it, the throbbing changed and she tried again, hoping for relief.

The Hound groaned where he'd been sucking on her neck. "Don't." He pinned her hips with one hand. "That's to be saved for Joff."

"But," she panted. "I need…" What? She didn't have the words to articulate it. "It feels good."

"Keep still and quiet. I'll make it better."

Sansa did as she was told as he trailed his kisses down her body. The hand at her hip shifted, slid across and down amongst her dusting of curls. When a finger slid in between, she covered her mouth with a hand, trying to muffle her cry. Lightning coursed through her with each caress of his finger until it slid further, slid inside. Oh, this! This was what the throbbing was, this was what she needed. The finger stroked in and out, his thumb still caressing the sensitive point, pleasure shooting through her with each rub. She could almost weep for joy at this!

And suddenly, Sandor pulled away. She cried out and sat up, bewildered that he should stop. In the darkness, a wet pop assaulted her ears before the Hound's voice came to her. "You taste delicious, little bird." She flushed when she realized he had been licking his finger. "Will you let me taste more of you?"

Not knowing how to answer, she reached her hand out and found his face. The scars were smooth, uneven, and where his jaw poked through was hard and rough. As his head dipped down to kiss her belly, her hand slid back into his hair, holding him but still letting him wander her body. Another gentle kiss landed just above her curls, and then she was flat on her back. His rough hand slid up her body until it landed at her breast, squeezing the tissue and pinching the nipple.

A wet lick took her attention away from his other ministrations. Another had both her hands closing in his hair, holding him in place. Sandor growled like his namesake and nipped at her folds before licking and sucking at her in earnest. Sansa bit her lip, desperate to keep quiet, needing him to keep going, and arched into him. The hand that had given her so much pleasure before slipped back inside of her, rubbed and stroked. She bucked into him, unable to understand why he was doing or why she needed so much more than this.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to drown out the blackness of her room and only feel. Feel his hands squeezing and rubbing, his whiskers tickling the insides of her thighs. Feel his tongue lapping at her, his hooked nose nuzzling her open. His teeth nipping at her folds, his lips sucking, the lightning shooting threw her.

In one explosive moment, Sansa's back arched, toes curled, body sang, and she barely caught the cry as it escaped. After just a few more gentle rubs, Sandor was above her again, finger at her mouth. She obediently sucked on it, tasting the salt and tang of her pleasure. He replaced it with his own mouth and tongue and she thrilled to taste him underneath all the layers of her. She held him close until there was nothing left but himself and she pulled away.

"What must I do now?" Her voice was huskier and breathy.

He buried his face in her neck. "Nothing, little bird. You did perfectly."

"But mustn't a woman let a man seek his pleasure on her?"

He groaned and nipped at the corner of her jaw. "If any man seeks his pleasure on you, I'll kill him." He rose from the bed and tossed the covers over her. "Go to sleep, little bird. It's late."

Grogginess over took her and Sansa barely heard the door shut behind her Hound as she finally fell asleep.