Sandor hadn't decided which was more stupid of him: taking the Stark girl to bed and eating her pussy, or the following morning telling the Kingslayer she was not being properly guarded. He had almost flipped her over and taken her up the arse like a true dog. On the other hand, ever so courteous, she would have let him, told him she enjoyed it, and he would have believed her, could have kept coming back and kept fucking her. Now, she had two red cloaks or Kingsguard on her night and day for the past month, and he had his hand or a whore's mouth around his cock more often than not. He knew she was trying to run and he should have just let her. Then he wouldn't have touched her, wouldn't have drunken memories of her soft skin and tight gash, wouldn't hear her little whimpers and muffled cries every time he came. When he hadn't drunk enough he even wondered what "brave" and "gallant" knight she had imagined was lapping at her cunt. So he drank more.

Now he sat in the barracks' dining hall, trying to drown those thoughts and memories. He blocked out every voice, no interest tonight in battles, killing, or whores. Through the haze of rue wine he saw two red cloaks saunter in, laughing. Let them laugh, the joke was on him. Amidst the noise, he heard one of the red cloaks declare "all redheads are whores, even highborn!" Sandor perked up his ears.

"Bet she screams for more on the weddin' night!" his partner chimed in.

"Man on guard that night will be polishin' his sword for a month after!"

A round of laughter had his blood boiling. They couldn't be talking about…

"I'd love a taste of her highborn twat beforehand. Bet I could make the little wolf bitch howl before I'm done with her."

"We all deserve a piece for guardin' that little tart."

That's when their faces clicked for Sandor. These were the men meant to be standing outside her bedchamber now, keeping her in and men out. He jumped from the bench and staggered towards them. They were disobeying orders, talking of having something they had no rights to. In a blink, he had unsheathed his dagger and slit one of their throats before turning to the other.

"She's a lord's get, you whoreson," he snarled. "And betrothed to your king!" He stabbed under the second soldier's arm, killing him as well. "Who else wants to fuck your future queen? Who else wants to die?"

The rest of the men had fallen silent and averted their eyes. No one spoke, no one looked at him. With another angry growl, Sandor stormed out and into the night. Those fucking bastards had left the girl unwatched. Any fucking whore hopper could be riding her. He stumbled up the tower steps and down the hall. Images flashed through his mind of knights, common soldiers, lords, servants, smallfolk all in her chamber, taking her in every way, treating her like a common whore. The door was locked from inside and he pounded on it, slamming his shoulder against it.

"Get off her, you fucking bastard," he roared. "Open this door or I'll shove your rod down your throat before I kill you!"

The door opened a crack. "Sandor?" the little bird chirped.

He pushed the door open and strode past her. "Where is he? I'll fucking kill him!"

"Where's who?" Her voice was soft and dreamy with sleep. The door sounded with a soft click as she closed it. "There's no one here. It's just me."

He continued searching, sure her hidden captor was forcing her to lie. The room began to brighten as she lit candles from the dying embers of the fire.

"Sandor, look. There's no one here. I'm alone. I'm safe."

She gasped as he turned to her. "Not as safe as you thought, little bird?" he snapped.

"You're covered in blood. What happened? Are you hurt?"

Before he knew, she had him sitting at her dressing table and she was using a wet cloth to mop the blood of the dead red cloaks from his face. The candle was behind her, casting her face in shadow but her tiny fingers positioned him into the light. He flinched, waiting for some sign of her revulsion. Instead, his hair was pushed back, uncovering his scars.

"Please tell me what happened. Why are you here so late? Whose blood is this?"

"Your guards were failing in their duties." He looked back around the room, still believing a rapist was there.

She turned his face back to her silhouette. Sandor felt her blue eyes watching him, studying him, and then the shadow slowly bent, kissed him softly on his forehead, paused, and pressed to his lips. She was still hesitant, ready to flutter off at the first provocation, but more skilled than the first time their lips met. He pressed his lips back, waiting for her to realize she was alone with the Hound, realize she was no safer than with a knight. When her tongue darted out, he opened his mouth readily, dueling with her. He felt her fingers tangle in his hair as she sighed, all but melting into him. He growled into her mouth and pulled her down onto his leg, deepening and dominating the kiss.

She wriggled against him, breasts brushing against his chest, leg grazing his cock and he pulled her closer, trying to keep her still. Her tiny body leaned into him, demanding more than she would understand. With a last vestige of control he broke away, cursing his hardening prick. From his lap, her face was fully in the candle light. A flush colored her cheeks, full lips swollen, and the surrounding skin red and tender from his beard. She was breathing heavily, her tiny breasts rising and falling in the thin nightgown. Her eyes opened and her flush deepened.

"Sandor," she whispered, leaning in for another kiss.

He turned away quickly and her lips landed near the exposed bone. Rather than pulling away, she simply continued her kisses down to his throat. Though her kisses were artless, she clearly had remembered his actions from that night. Her hands slid from his neck to his shoulders to his chest and back again, clearly not knowing what to do. His eyes slid shut at her eagerness, his groin getting painful and heavy. The wine induced fog grew heavier from her attentions.

"Stop, little bird," he choked. Thinking was near impossible. If he didn't quit now, he never would. "Stop, we can't do this."

She kept her arms around his neck but pulled back. After a look at his face she blushed and dropped her gaze to his chest.

"I was, um," her voice stayed low. "I was hoping to… what you did, last time…" She glanced up at him through her lashes.

He snorted. "I shouldn't have done it 'last time' and I'm not doing it again." He pushed her from his lap and rose.

"No! I mean, I want to do it to you…"

He froze. His dick stood ready and it would take nothing to have her on her knees and swallowing him whole.

"Have you sucked a man's cock, little bird?" Her eyes widened at his language. "Have you even seen one?" Her face nearly matched her hair and she shook her head timidly. "Do you even know what to do with a man, beyond letting him at your cunt?" He leaned over her, hands on her dressing table, and she recoiled from him. "No, you can't even look at me, and you expect me to believe you want my cock?"

"No, it's not that," her hand came to her nose, "it's the smell. The blood and… other things. I'm sorry."

He barked a laugh. Of all the things for her to consider, she was offended by his smell? "Well then bathe me, little bird. Make me less offensive to your delicate nose."

He straightened and stood before her, waiting. They stared a moment before she began fumbling with his belt. Once it dropped to the floor, Sandor pulled his tunic off. In the dancing candle light, he knew Sansa could see every scar he'd earned as the Lannisters' Hound. Without a sound, she turned away, wetting her cloth in the basin. When she turned back, there was no expression but her eyes still darted across him, seeing everything.

The cold, wet cloth slid around his neck, across his shoulders, and down an arm. She dampened her cloth and turned back, scrubbing his hands and fingers then sliding it up the inside of his arm. She wet the cloth again and turned her attentions to his other arm. He remained still, impassively watching her face, waiting for some reaction beyond curiosity to color her expression. He watched as the water in her basin slowly darkened with dirt, dried sweat, and blood from himself and others. Each time she turned away, the water left by her cloth trickled down and dried on his chest, his stomach, the waist of his trousers. He turned his head to watch as she circled behind him, tried to suppress a shudder as she washed his back.

He turned his eyes forward again and waited. When she came back around, she soaked, wrung out, then soaked the cloth again. Turning back she glanced down at the bulge in his trousers, up at his face, and landed at his chest. Her face tinged pink again. Sandor grabbed her chin and lifted her to face him. He stared at her, daring her to look away as he unlaced and pulled his cock out. He stroked himself, waiting for any sign of fear or disgust. Instead she simply looked uncertain. He released her, rough enough that she caught a glimpse of his length before looking back at his face again.

"I thought you were going to bathe me." He pushed his trousers to his knees. "Have you changed your mind, little bird?"

Her eyes hovered at his navel as she washed his waist and hips. When the cloth dropped to his groin, he wrapped his hand around hers, and stroked. Her eyes timidly glanced down, then became riveted, watching the cloth slid along the shaft. An experimental squeeze of her hand had him bucking and groaning. With resolve he didn't know he had, Sandor pushed her hand away and snatched up the cloth. After reaching around her to rewet it, he quickly finished wiping down his balls and thighs, sparing a pass for his arse. He tossed the cloth into the basin and sat back down in the seat, bringing him just below her eyelevel.

"Do you still want this, little bird?" He slowly stroked his dick, squeezing out a drop. "Do you still want me to fuck your mouth?"

"Why must you talk like that? Why must you use those words?"

"What words would you have me use? What you've asked for isn't 'making love,' little bird. It isn't romantic, isn't part of songs fit to be sung in front of ladies. It's what men pay whores to do."

"You… you did it for me. I'm not a man and I won't pay you for it."

He smiled, chuckling deep in his chest. "No, little bird. You are not a man and I asked no payment. You are also no whore and I will pay you nothing."

"I don't want a payment."

"But you still want to do this?" She nodded. "Say it, little bird," he said perversely, hoping for a reason to stop. "Say you want to suck my cock."

Her face became enflamed and she fumbled with the words. "I-I want t-to suck your…" She glanced down, then back into his eyes. "Your cock," she squeaked.

"Get on your knees." She complied, watching him just as he watched her. "Touch my shaft. Wrap your hand around it and stroke it." She turned her attention to his prick, touching him delicately, sliding across him as if he was made of glass. "You won't break me, little bird." He silently cursed himself for sounding so strained. "Harder."

Her hands were soft as silk as she tightened her grip. Sandor allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight of her kneeling before him. As her arm worked, a bit of red hair shifted and obscured his view of her. He pushed the hair back behind her shoulder then threaded his fingers through the soft strands.

"Use your mouth," he ordered. Her hand froze and she looked back up, eyes wide. "If it please my lady," he mocked. She pursed her lips and pecked the tip, watching him the whole time. When she started to pull back he stopped her with the hand in her hair and pulled her close again. "More."

With her lips slightly parted, she kissed his cock again, flicking the tip of her tongue against him. He groaned at her perfect lips on him. She seemed to take it as an encouragement and opened her mouth a little further. "Relax your jaw," he said as her teeth grazed him. "I don't want bit." Once she did he slid the head inside and groaned again as she inexpertly lapped at him. "Suck."

Each of his commands were obeyed a little more quickly, her uncertainty fading just a little more. As she became less hesitant, Sandor slowly slid deeper into Sansa's mouth. When her lips met her hand, he pulled back again just as slowly. The next time she took him in on her own and the third he could not help but thrust. Her surprised squeak reverberated through him and he thrust again. This shouldn't be happening, he shouldn't be touching, shouldn't have her touching him. "Fuck, little bird. Tell me to stop, please," he begged. Instead the girl circled her tongue around him and sucked harder.

He found himself hunching over her, all coherent thought gone. With a grunt he released in her mouth. The suddenness of it had the girl pulling away, choking and coughing on his seed. Finishing across her face could not be helped when a drop of his cum glistened in the corner of her mouth. He pulled her hand away from his twitching cock, then took the cloth from her wash basin. After wringing it out, he gently mopped her face, removing all traces of his pleasure.

"Was I alright? Did I do it correctly?"

"You did perfectly, little bird." He carefully stepped away from her and dressed, back turned. "Keep your door locked at night. Don't even let me in." Without another word, Sandor stepped out of her chamber and back into the night.