Elia Martell Memorial Philharmonic Hall, Manchester, New Hampshire

First week of December, Friday night

"Ah, there they are!" Ned peered from one of the other doors to the lobby, Catelyn and Rickon in tow. "We went backstage but Sansa wasn't there. Hello, Sandor." He held out a hand to shake.

Introductions had just completed between everyone, and had to be done again. Sandor could tell that, while Bronn and Drogo were a-okay with standing around saying their names over and over— Drogo because he wanted in the little blonde's pants and Bronn because he thought it was funny- Ygritte and Gendry were feeling restless.

"Would you all like to join us? We're going to Ambrosia for Greek food." Ned looked quite genial, but Catelyn hadn't stopped staring at the collection of tattoos on the various exposed parts of Sandor's coworkers. He thought it might be Drogo's tribal scrollwork winding its way up his neck that might concern her the most.

Sandor wasn't eager to be part of a big group, the majority of whom were likely to spend the evening staring at him. But then Sansa squeezed Sandor's hand tightly.

"I missed you all day," she whispered.

"I'll go," he said, almost before his brain had processed the words.

Drogo hadn't dragged his eyes away from Dany once since she'd arrived with Sansa. "I'll go, too."

Dany blushed and didn't avert her eyes, boldly meeting his persistent gaze.

"Ouzo?" Bronn perked up, waggling his eyebrows at Margaery, who only quirked one of her own back at him. "Free ouzo? Yes."

"I think I'm gonna jet," said Gendry. He looked vaguely alarmed at the notion of taking a meal with two dozen strangers.

"Me, too," Ygritte added. There was a tense wildness about her eyes. She didn't like big groups, either. "But thanks."

Arya burst from a side door, dashing between a short, plump couple who looked like a matched set of salt and pepper shakers, almost knocking them both over.

"Dammit, Sansa. We looked all over the place for you, even the cellar, and you're all in the fucking lobby." She was wearing some stretchy little number in dark gray and towering heels in an effort to lengthen herself, and Sandor noted with surprise that she cleaned up well. Cobwebs clung to various parts of her, and dust lingered on various other parts.

Jon, following in Arya's wake, kept Salt and Pepper from tipping over and apologized politely for her recklessness before joining the rest of them.

"There you are," he said to no one in particular with a warm smile bestowed upon the whole group. "Hey, Sandor."

He wore one of those skinny suits that had become popular lately, and should have looked ridiculous, but instead he kind of pulled it off, looking more like an actor heading into an awards ceremony than an architect from a small city in the middle of East Buttfuck, Nowhere. Sandor contemplated getting a suit like that for himself before dismissing the idea as ludicrous.

Arya noticed the state of her attire and swatted at the cobwebs, then slapped at the dust, making her dress slide over her and various body parts jiggle in ways that had Sandor feeling a little guilty.

Gendry, too, had noticed the compelling way all that stretchy knit moved lovingly over Arya's small, fit body. He stared at her while she huffed and puffed, promising retribution for Robb for telling her to search downstairs for Sansa.

"…you know, I could go for some Greek," he said suddenly.

At that, Arya looked over at him, and her big gray eyes got bigger. A tide of pink rose and faded in her cheeks over the course of mere seconds.

"I'm going to find Bran and Robb outside we'll meet you at the restaurant bye," she yammered without any punctuation whatsoever, and then fled as if all the demons of hell were on her ass.

"Greek does sound good, now that you mention it," Ygritte added slowly, gaze traveling with leisurely and blatant interest over Jon. He looked confused, then alarmed, then intrigued, by turns.

"I'll cover our part of the bill," Sandor muttered in Ned's ear. "You weren't expecting five extra guests. Especially not guests that eat like we do."

Ned looked startled. "Ah, yeah, all that exercising makes you eat twice as much."

"Try three times as much."

Ned grinned. "No, it's fine, Sandor. We're happy to have more friends join us."

And he seemed to truly mean it, the crazy bastard— he wasn't just showing off false generosity to seem like a big shot. Sandor felt a spark of admiration for him down in the cockles of his heart… way in the back, on the bottom, in the sub-cockle region.

So off everyone trouped to the restaurant, the musicians arriving a few minutes later due to having to change into street clothes from their costumes. Sandor had insisted upon waiting for Sansa outside the stage door and ended up driving all four women to Ambrosia together.

Once there, they crowded into the private dining room Ned had arranged for the group and found seats around the immense table that had been formed by pushing together nine smaller ones. Others besides the Stark family had arrived, too— Margaery's two brothers, Brienne's father, even Dany's sour-faced brother.

Sandor wanted to take a chair next to Sansa, of course, but his friends stood around awkwardly, not quite knowing where to sit.

"Oh, that won't do," said Margaery when they all went to clump together in one corner. "You have to mix and mingle with the rest of us!"

And she took Bronn's hand, casually sauntering to the other side of the table with him. He didn't so much as glance back at Sandor. Clearly, he had no problem whatsoever at being abducted.

Dany caught Drogo's eye, then glanced at the empty chair at her side; in under three seconds he'd plunked his ass in it and continued his focused perusal of her exquisite little person.

Arya had an empty chair next to her, as well. She glanced once at Gendry and started mauling her napkin into tiny pleats. Ygritte looked at her, then cocked an eyebrow at Gendry.

"No guts, no glory, Bull," she told him. "Ya pussy."

He shot her a fulminating glance and went to take the empty seat. Arya saw him approaching, blushed the color of an eggplant, and looked away.

"Where are you going to sit, then?" Gendry muttered as he passed Ygritte, as with the arrival of three last guests— Tyrion, his wife Shae, and his brother Jaime, to Brienne's intense chagrin— all the seats now were taken except for one between Catelyn and Robb. Robb, sitting next to Jon, chose that moment to look up and run an assessing gaze over Ygritte. A slow curl of his mouth seemed to indicate that he liked what he saw.

"No guts, no glory," Sandor repeated with a smirk. Ygritte was the closest thing he'd ever had to a little sister and teasing her made him ridiculously happy.

"Badabing," she replied. It seemed to be a New York-ism that meant "you know it" or "YOLO" or possibly any of a thousand different things. She tossed a stray lock of carroty hair over her shoulder and moseyed over to the two handsome young men.

"Hey, Big Red," she said to Robb. "This seat empty?"

"Yep," he replied with an expression he probably felt was pretty seductive.

"Cool. Mind shifting over into it? I'd like to get to know the emo kid a little better." And the smile she aimed at Jon glinted like the honed edge of a knife.

"Emo?" said Jon, terror and confusion in equal quantities on his face while Robb just gaped in surprise before recovering and, with an injured sniff, sliding into the empty seat by his mother.

Ygritte plopped down onto the vacated chair. "You warmed it up for me! Thanks!"

Then she plunked an elbow on the table, her chin on her hand, and stared at Jon. "Hi. You're handsome."

"…thanks?" Jon seemed to be mentally groping for an appropriate response. "You're pretty?"

"Good answer."

"That sounded really funny," Sansa whispered in Sandor's ear.

"It was," he agreed.

She skooched her chair very close to his so he was 'forced' to put his arm around her so as to not knock her over with his shoulder. After a brief moment of flailing as he wondered what to do, he draped his arm over the back of her chair. That appeared to be the right move, because she snuggled into his body with a smile.

She'd changed out of one hideous dress into another. This one was a modern dress, made of silky gauze over a satin sheath, but it was the same hideous goose shit color. She still looked like a green pimiento olive. A really beautiful olive. Sandor wondered, not for the first time, if he were losing his mind.

Two wait staff made their way around the table, taking everyone's orders. The noise level was off the charts. Half of them started off a bit uneasy and stiff, but by the time the food arrived they'd relaxed. Various of the evening's guests were providing feedback, not always constructive, on the musicians' performances, and at one point Dany and Sansa had to have a sing-off because there was disagreement about which of them had soloed better. It was generally agreed that they were equally talented, mostly because to do otherwise was to invite injury.

At one point, after the entrées but before the desserts started rolling out, Brienne was coerced into fetching her guitar from her car, and she accompanied the singers— and Tyrion, who had a glorious baritone voice— to a rousing version of "All Fired Up" by Pat Benetar.

It was like nothing Sandor had ever experienced— nor any of his friends, if their amazed expressions were anything to go by— and yet, for the musicians' families, it was utterly normal behavior. Rickon used butter knives to play the drum beat on the table, pretending he couldn't hear his mother's hissed commands to stop. Ned was grinning and nodding, Jon sang along under his breath, Arya head-banged— just a little— and one of Margaery's brothers forgot himself enough to play air guitar with his cane.

When they were done and the baklava, rizogalo, and milopita had been distributed, Sansa nestled even closer so she could speak right into his ear.

"What do you think of all this? I hope it hasn't been too noisy or crowded for you."

He drew her a little more tightly to his side. "To be honest, I thought it would be, but I've enjoyed it."

Sandor didn't miss how his husky whisper was making her shiver. He touched the tip of his finger to the bare flesh of her upper arm, drawing a little figure eight, unable to keep from exploring and relishing the feel of her soft skin. Sansa gasped and glanced sideways at him.

"Something wrong?" he rumbled in her ear. He had exactly zero experience in seducing another person and desperately hoped he was doing it right.

Her answer was to drop her closest hand beneath the table and place it on his leg. Every time he swirled another figure eight on her arm, she slid her hand up his thigh another quarter-inch. He started thinking it might have been a bad idea to tease each other because her hand ended up basically buried between his legs all the way up to his groin, and his erection was starting to get painful.

"Sandor," Sansa whispered, "I need you to text something to Arya."

"Huh?"

She took a dainty bite of baklava, then repeated herself. "Here's my phone. Get her number from it. Text her that I need her to bring me to the ladies' room."

He did as instructed, watching as Arya dragged herself away from her conversation with Gendry to check her phone. She read the text and looked up at him, standing and making her way to Sansa's side.

"Thanks, Arya!" Sansa chirped, taking her sister's hand and letting her lead the way to the little hallway where the coatroom and restrooms were.

Arya returned almost immediately, but without Sansa, and bent low to speak into Sandor's ear.

"I'm going to run interference," she growled. "As soon as our parents are distracted, go to the bathrooms. She's waiting for you."

He blinked at her.

"Just be ready!"

He shot off a quick text to Bronn, telling him to find a way to pay the tip for the whole undertaking— if Ned was insisting on paying for the meal itself, Sandor would at least take care of the gratuity.

Sure, sucker! was Bronn's response, along with a rakish grin from across the table where he appeared to be making decent time with Margaery.

"No fucking way!" exclaimed Arya, with a sudden slap of a tiny hand on the table, making silverware and glasses rattle.

"Arya!" admonished Catelyn.

"No, Mom, seriously, Gendry is a blacksmith! You know how long I've wanted a custom foil made!"

Arya commenced making an unseemly amount of noise and fuss, even getting up to demonstrate a few fencing lunges, and Sandor realized this was the distraction she'd promised. He got up and, as stealthily as a six-foot-six man could, made his way to the restrooms.

Sansa stood there, hands clutching her tiny purse, looking beautiful despite the sallow lighting and the goose shit dress.

"Little bird," he said, meaning to take her hand but instead cupping her face. She burrowed her cheek into his big palm like a cat seeking another caress, and his heartbeat sped up exponentially.

"Arya got my coat for me," she murmured when he was by her side. "Let's leave before they notice we're gone."

He helped her on with her coat and guided her out of the restaurant and to his truck.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he got behind the wheel.

"Wherever you like," was her response. "I was hoping, after all that noise, we could go somewhere quieter."

"To talk?"

She just smiled mysteriously, looking a bit like the Mona Lisa. "There'll be talking, too, I'm sure." Then her smile faltered. "Unless you, uh, only want to talk."

She thought he might not want to spend the night kissing— or more— with her?

"Sansa, I've been half-hard since you walked out on stage tonight," he told her, "and then completely hard once you started touching my leg. I don't want to do any talking."

Her smile came back, and she reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. "Me, neither."

"…you're ready? It's only been a month. I can wait. I'll wait for you."

She brought his hand to her lips, kissing his rough, scarred knuckles gently. "But I can't wait, Sandor. I've wanted to be with you since our second date." She grinned. "Ever since you teased me with your deep, sexy voice. I've done a lot of thinking about your voice." She touched another kiss to him, this time the tip of his forefinger. "At night." Kiss to his middle finger. "In bed." Kiss to his ring finger. "Naked." Kiss to his pinky.

Sandor somehow managed to turn the key in the ignition with his free hand.

"Right," he said, his voice hoarse. "My place, then." He threw the truck into gear and took off.

After a mile, though, he started slowing as he spotted a convenience store ahead. "I'll… I'll need to get condoms."

"Um. I'm on birth control, and I'm clean." She laughed wryly. "I haven't had sex in four years."

He gave a little cough. "It's been three for me. I'm clean, too."

She 'looked' over at him, and he was once again struck by how her eyes were so clear and direct, yet sightless. It seemed terribly unjust. "Then it's settled."

He nodded, though she couldn't see it. "It's settled."

The rest of the drive to his apartment was fraught with tension, but it was delicious and sweet, heavy with the promise of pleasure.

"I've thought about you, too," he admitted. "At night. In bed. Naked." He'd gone through an entire bottle of hand lotion, in fact. And two boxes of tissues.

"Ahhh," she sighed. "I can't wait to rub myself all over you. Please tell me you have chest hair."

His dick felt like it was strangling in the confines of his jeans. He'd never guessed she'd be so sensual, and it delighted him.

"I do," he managed past the lump in his throat. "Quite a bit."

"Where else?" Sansa sounded a bit breathless.

"My forearms," he began. His mind was spinning at the idea that just thinking about his body was turning her on, but then the idea of all that smooth skin just waiting under her clothes made him a little breathless, too.

"Mmm. Where else?"

"My… my legs."

"Your long legs."

"…yes."

"And between your chest and your legs… how about there?" There was a whimpery tone to her voice, like she was on the edge of a moan.

She's talking about my pubic hair, he thought muzzily. And it's making her hot. The rush of hormones and endorphins through his system at that moment was almost making him dizzy.

"It's thick there," he rasped, and she did moan.

"How far away are we?" she demanded. "Please tell me we're almost there."

"I'm just pulling into the lot now." He careened into the parking lot behind the gym and was out of the truck like a shot, bolting around the bed of the truck to pull her down. Sandor slammed the door shut, then pressed her against it and kissed her like kissing her was the only thing that could save his life.

She responded so beautifully, yielding to him completely, gripping onto his shoulders and pushing back to meet him, tongue against tongue and hips against hips. He dragged himself from her and grabbed her hand, pulling her after him.

"I'm going to have to let the dogs out," he told her as he fumbled with the key.

"It's fine," she replied. "I'll get naked while I wait for you."

"Oh, god," he whispered, to himself, really, but she heard it and laughed. "Keep talking like that and I might not make it too long."

"We have all night," she countered. "If you, uh, go off half-cocked, we can just try again later."

Up the stairs they went.

"I only want to go off fully-cocked with you," said Sandor, grinning stupidly. Only with Sansa could he be insanely turned on and highly amused at the same time.

Ulysses, Stranger, and Tupelo Honey went insane with joy that their master and the soft, good-smelling person were there. Sansa gave each a cuddle and a skritch before Sandor tugged her down the hallway to his bedroom.

"Bathroom's to the left of the door. Bed's here. I'll be right back." He stole a kiss, one more to tide him over while he went back into the cold to watch three dogs crap.

While he was outside, Arya texted him. What's good?

Everything, he texted back. Especially your sister.

Gross, was her response. Broke it 2 parents that S not coming home 2nite. Dad's not happy about that trick w/ the tip.

Tough shit, he replied. Can't just bring 5 extra ppl & have him pay.

U r both stubborn asses.

W/e. The dogs were done and watching him expectantly. Going 2 have sex now. Don't text back.

Ew.

Sandor grinned and chivvied the dogs up the stairs. Once settled in with food and water, he yanked off his boots and padded down the hallway toward the bedroom. All of the lights were off, which felt odd until he realized there was no point to her having them on.

"Sandor?"

"I'm here, little bird."

The curtains were open and the blinking Sevenmas decorations outside illuminated her pale, nude form on the bed in green and red. He went to flip the light switch, wanting rather desperately to see her, but then figured there'd be plenty of opportunity for that later. For their first time, they could both be in the dark.

"You weren't joking about getting naked while I was gone," he murmured, and ran a hand over the curve where hip met waist.

"Nooo," she sighed. "I wouldn't joke about that." She stretched and shifted as his hand drifted higher. "When are you getting naked? I have plans, here. Let's get to them."

Sandor had to grin at that. He stripped off his clothes, his eyes on her the entire time.

"Nag, nag, nag," he teased.

It was amazing how light-hearted he felt. He'd never had an experience like this before; sex had always been either a drunken muddle, barely remembered the next day, or done in spite of seething anger because he knew the woman was doing it for ulterior motives instead of genuine desire.

But Sansa… truly wanted him. He could see the gleam of arousal on the soft inner flesh of her thighs in the streetlight pouring through the windows.

He slid his arms beneath her shoulders and butt and repositioned her in the middle of the bed as she squealed in surprise.

"I'm going to need plenty of room for what I plan to do to you," he said, and crawled over her to drop a kiss on her mouth.

"What do you plan to do to me?" she whispered shakily. They were only touching where his knees braced over her hips, and his hands over her shoulders, but those tiny areas of contact were like licks of flame against his skin.

"Everything," was his answer. "I'm going to do everything you want me to do, and if you like something more than the others, we'll do that twice."

She laughed again, bringing her arms up to circle his neck. "What if I like everything the same?"

"Then we'll just have to do all of it multiple times until you decide which is the best." Slowly, carefully, he lowered himself onto her, cognizant of how delicate she was and how heavy his body was.

"Ohhhh, god," Sansa moaned, and tangled her legs with his. She slid her torso back and forth, and he knew that she was enjoying the rasp and drag of the hair on his chest and legs against her skin. He kissed her face, her throat, starving for her.

"You feel amazing." She was wondrous, radiant, a fantasy come to life. He tugged and pulled on her nipples, making her gasp and arch against him, then trailed his hand down between her legs. There, he found her drenched with lust, his fingers sliding easily through the fragile folds and over the crown of her sex.

He concentrated on that last one quite a bit, circling and rubbing it until Sansa was bucking against him, her legs spread wide and her breathless gasps hot and damp in his ear. Her hand curled around his cock, trying to maneuver it into place.

"Now, Sandor," she whispered. "Don't make me wait any longer."

"I can't wait either." He helped her put him into position and then pressed forward.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh, god, that's good," she moaned as he slipped deep inside her. "Sandor, that's so good."

"Sansa," he gasped. His eyes closed and he lay very still, face buried in the silken cascade of her hair on his pillow, and battled the barrage of sentiment and sensation that threatened to overwhelm him.

This wasn't just sex.

He was offering himself to her, and she was accepting it, accepting him. He'd laid all of himself at her feet, like a worshiper bringing a sacrifice to a goddess, and she was benevolently receiving it. The difference between this and his empty experiences of before was shocking.

Then she flexed her inner muscles around him, thick and deep within her, and his eyes crossed.

"Is that your way of telling me you want me to move?"

"Did it work?"

"Very effectively." Sandor slid himself out. The furnace-hot interior of her body was even more evident compared to the coolness of the night air on his sex-slick erection, and when he plunged it back into her, the heat felt even more profound.

"Sandor," she whispered. "Sandor, this is…"

"It's what?"

"It's better than I have words for. There's music for it, but not words. Oh!"

He stroked particularly deep into her, then, and she clenched her legs around his waist, trying to press him even deeper.

"Sandor, yes, yes, oh, oh, ohhhhh! Ohhhhhh!" Sansa wailed, and thrashed under him. The feel of her, the knowledge that she was enjoying him so greatly, tossed Sandor into the same crisis, and he bucked and panted and poured out his soul into her.

"Love," he gasped.

"Yes," she answered. "Yes."

Yes.