Disclaimer: I do no own any part or parcel of The Song of Ice and Fire series. That right belongs to the talented George R.R. Martin. I am just using his skills as a muse for my own entertainment.

A/N: So this is my longest chapter yet and it pretty much wrote itself, which is nice. I am going to try to get as much of this story written this week as I can because they are going to be messing with my shifts at work again so my free time will be decreased. So please, bear with me and be patient. I will do my best to continue to update regularly. I hope you enjoy this chapter.


"Oh, you are magnificent, my giant of Lannister," Shae crooned as he rolled off of her.

"You do know how to please a man, my dear," Tyrion responded. He often forgot that she was a whore and as usual, it was she who reminded him.

"It is what you pay me for," she replied, walking to the basin to clean herself.

"Oh, yes. I had forgotten that point," he admitted, taking a drink from the goblet on the bedside table. "How are you enjoying being Sansa Starks handmaid?" he asked when it was clear she was not going to say anything further to him.

Shae shrugged, "she doesn't ask much of me and spends hours distracted with one thing or another, and it's the easiest money I have ever earned. And she doesn't cry all the time like that other, fat one did," she finished, referring to Lollys Stokeworth.

"And her lessons with the Hound? What do they do during these times?" Tyrion had a genuine curiosity. He saw how she was in court: her eyes would shoot daggers through Joffreys' chest if it was possible but the fear that used to be plainly there when she was in the Hounds shadow was gone. He already knew of Sandors affections towards Sansa. Even at Winterfell, he would watch the girl carefully from a distance. Now that he had the Kings permission and his command to fuck the girl senseless, it intrigued Tyrion to know why he hadn't.

Again, Shae shrugged as she crawled back into bed. "I'm not there when he is with her so I don't know," she lied. Sansa had confided in her many times about her hours with Sandor but she liked the young girl sincerely and knew Sansa wouldn't want the Imp to know her goings-on.

"Hmm," was Tyrions only reply. He had asked Varys about the girl and even his little birds and spiders had no knowledge of what went on. As for Shae, she was the only person whom he could not discern truth from lie.

Sansa sneaked along the dark hallway, making sure she stayed in the shadows. She was able to walk the common areas of the castle without raising suspicion but the farther she went from the courtyards and nobility's rooms, the more questions would be asked. Sandor had told her where his room was in case she ever needed him. It was hard to maintain her bearings in the failing dusk but there were enough torches that she didn't stumble. It seemed this part of the castle was all but deserted. She hadn't seen any sign nor heard any sound of anyone since she entered the tower. Despite this, she was sure someone would hear how loud her heart was beating. If she was caught, what could she say? When she finally made it to his room, she knocked as loudly as she dared, hoping he heard through the heavy wood.

The door was yanked open, startling Sansa who let out a gasp. "Sansa? Come in, come in," he said ushering her in quickly before closing the door behind her. "Are you alright? What's happened?" He was running his hands up and down her arms, gently grabbing her face, turning it one direction or another, looking for cuts or bleeding, terrified that she was hurt.

She put her hands on his chest to calm him. "I'm alright Sandor, nothing's happened," she said, trying to reassure him.

"Thank the Gods," he said, encircling her in his arms. "Why have you come here then? What if you were caught?" A thousand different scenarios were now running through his head. He couldn't protect her if he didn't know she was out of her cage. Not to mention, with the scum of the city being allowed to man the walls with free drink in the evening, it really wasn't safe for any female, be it maiden or old hag to be out after sundown.

"I just wanted to see you," she answered meekly after he let her go. "I-I missed you," she admitted.

"You wanted to see me? Why?" Only in his deepest thoughts had he allowed himself to think that Sansa would ever want to be with him in any way. This new open affection intimidated him more that any sword. It also made him skeptical and quickly on the defense. "I'm sure there are plenty of others in this castle who would be more than willing to spend time with you should you seek companionship." The sneer in which he said it was not Sandor, not the one she knew. She was facing the Hound.

Sansa stepped back from him. "Why are you being so mean?" she asked. She would not let the tears that were threatening fall to do so.

"LOOK AT ME!" he bellowed taking her by the shoulders and pulling her face close to her. He wanted to push her away. Her offering him such affectionate words, followed by a tone of such angst was something he couldn't bear.

She wrenched away from him and slapped him hard across his face. "I am looking at you Sandor! Just as I have looked upon you daily for months now. Maybe you should look at yourself now and again!" she responded in a voice much more calm than his.

The slap brought him back around and she could see his shoulders slump with defeat as the Hound slipped from his features. "You deserve to spend your hours with one of your handsome knights, not some scarred mutt." He was in foul mood before she had arrived tonight and seeing her didn't shake it. He had immediately regretted yelling at her and knew he deserved the slap he received and so much more. Sulking, he sat on the edge of his bed and put his head in his hands; wishing he could drink away this night.

He felt the bed give into her weight next to him and unexpectedly felt as though he was reliving a dream. He could feel her lips on his neck, teasing his hairline. "Sansa..."he breathed. Tonight, he couldn't have stopped her if it was his last wish, he hadn't the willpower.

"Shh," she cooed as she raked her hands into his hair, pulling it back away from his face to give her more access to his shoulders. He was only wearing his undershirt which was always loose fitting and so was able to push it aside easily and continue her administrations against his bare skin. Sandor rolled his head to one side. Sandor felt the coolness of the room and the absence of her lips before he felt her stand.

His eyes shot open. "Sansa?" he called, giving his eyes a moment to regain their focus. She had moved to stand directly in front of him she didn't move for a moment; instead she smiled shyly before moving to pull his shirt up and over his head. He gave her no resistance and even helped her remove it.

Sansa pushed on his shoulders lightly, gesturing for him to lie back. She knew full well she could not force him to do anything should he wish not to, which wasn't the case this night. He was compliant and lay back without hesitation. Sansa hitched her skirts enough to allow her enough movement to climb atop the bed, straddling his middle. Sandor couldn't help but close his eyes and release and audible groan. Between the feeling of her weight straddled across his groin and the heat he could feel emanating through the layers of clothing, he was undone, the Stranger himself would not have the power to take him from this room tonight.

Sansa smiled. For the first time in her entire life, she felt an odd sense of power. She had the fierce, violent Hound laying submissively under her legs. She remembered Cersei once telling her that a woman's most powerful weapon was between her legs. Sansa shook the thought out of her head. She was not a woman like Cersei and Sandor was not a man to be solely lead by his cock. He had to want it and not just from anyone. She knew he would not have allowed Cersei to do this to him. Regardless, that small sense of power gave her courage.

She leaned forward and nipped his collarbone gently before running her nose along the edge of his jaw. It surprised him that she chose the scarred side, which held very little feeling. It did give him some relief for her sake that because of the care she undertook on his weeping burns, they no longer itched or wept. That side of his face certainly wasn't handsome but it was as healed as it would ever be, with fresh new skin and scar tissue covering the once exposed bone on his jaw. Sansa kissed these new scars before forming a trail down his neck. As she was kissing his neck and collar, her fingers were lazily dancing along his sides, across his ribs.

Sandors muscles twitched and tightened reflexively under her touch. His hands went to her waist, both because of the need to be touching her as well as a want to reassure himself that this was not a cruel trick of his imagination.

Sansa was following the trail of scars that marred his chest, kissing each one lightly. Her hair was cascading over her shoulders enveloping her in a circle of auburn. She teased his nipples gently with her teeth as he had done to her, relishing in the hiss that he released. Her hands continued to roam over his ribs and abdomen before finally trying to hook under the waist of his breeches.

Sandors eyes shot open immediately as he reached for her wrists. "Not so fast, little bird," he gasped, using the last shred of resolve he possessed. As much as he would have enjoyed her actions, he wouldn't allow her to go to that length without him pleasing her in that way first, but the fact that she was so willing was reassuring. She looked hurt then confused. "We'll get there but not tonight," he promised. He pulled her arms forward and kissed her gently on the lips before flipping them both so he was on top now.

He released her arms and turned them towards the pillows where they would both be more comfortable before returning to kiss her again. Lying side by side, Sansa was able to snake one hand around his neck while the other roamed his back. Sandors hands roamed her body restlessly, taking her dress in fistfuls. She wore one of her last northern dresses. Catelyn had it made for her just before she left knowing she would grow taller so it still fit. As was the style of the north, the dress was much looser than the style of Kings Landing and simple ties kept it snug. Sandor was not fond of the endless laces that were the Queens preference. He made quick work of the simple ties and gradually worked the dress up. He ran his hands over the silk small clothes underneath and groaned into Sansas kiss.

Sansa felt the cool air of his rooms as he worked the dress up her legs, over her hips and stopped kissing him when it was bunched around her chest. She pulled away from him and boldly pulled the dress up and over her head, discarding it on the floor behind her before returning to kiss him.

"The wolf has come tonight, I see?" Sandor stated teasingly, watching her pull the dress off. She only smiled at him before taking his lips in her own. Sandor was enjoying the brazen side of the woman he was seeing now. This was how Sansa was supposed to be. Not the timid and caged little bird that Kings Landing had made her into. This never would have happened to her in the North. She let his hands roam freely over her without consternation or complaint. He fondled her breasts through the flimsy fabric before slipping his hand underneath and teasing her nipples between his thumb and forefinger. When he was satisfied with her reactions he slid his calloused hands across her smooth stomach to the laces of her small clothes.

Sansa could hardly breathe. She was overwhelmed at all the sensations that had taken over her body. His hands on her breasts, his lips on her skin, it was like nothing she had ever experienced before. When she felt him pulling at the laces of her small clothes, she froze. No man had seen her naked since she was a babe, but she knew it would have to happen sooner or later. The King commanded it. Besides, this was Sandor and everything he was doing felt so good. She didn't expect that he would pull away from her. Suddenly she felt very vulnerable, very exposed.

"Sandor..." she said meekly and he immediately stopped.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, taking her hand.

"Yes, it's just that I've never... I don't..." she didn't know how to explain herself and hated to sound so stupid. She was nervous.

"I know, little bird," he smiled. "We'll go slowly and if you ask me to stop, I will." He hoped to whatever Gods would listen that he was telling the truth. His cock was throbbing painfully against his breeches, the fabric straining visibly. This was new territory for him as well. He had fucked many a woman but foreplay had never been a concern of his. What did he care how it felt for a whore? He was paying for them to take him.

Sansa nodded at him and tried to relax as he felt him slide her under clothes down her legs, helping him by lifting her feet before discarding them with her dress. Sandor gulped to himself. She was watching him closely, he wondered if she could tell that he was unsure how to proceed. He moved his hands behind her calves and tenderly ran the pads of his fingers along the lengh of the smooth skin, subtly using these movements to coax her legs apart and help her relax. When they were far enough apart to expose her inner thighs, he moves his actions there and continued until here was enough space to settle himself in between.

Sansa could feel everything as though every nerve was actively making her feel each touch tenfold. He was barely touching her but still; the roughness of his hands and the grit of his beard along skin she never knew could be so sensitive made her take fistfuls of the bedding in her hand. Her heart was thrumming in her chest at the sensations, the anticipation and the unknown.

Sandor couldn't believe how she was responding to him, or how much he was enjoying something that offered no physical stimulation to himself. As soon as he had removed her smallclothes, he had wanted to bury his face in the red curls that spread between her legs. As it was, he was close enough to her womanhood that he could smell her and the scent was more enticing to him than the sweetest of wines. Against his marred jaw, he could only feel the heat of her inner thigh but on the other he could feel the warmth and the smoothness. He continued kissing his way up and closer to her.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, she could feel the coolness of his breath on her and felt an odd reflexive twitch in her groin. Afterwards the muscles there felt somehow tighter. She could feel his lips on her thighs, working their way higher until he kissed just below the mound of hair that grew there. His lips were momentarily replaced by his hand as he separated the moist pink folds and began running his tongue along the length of them, starting from the outermost folds. When his tongue found the small ball at the very top of her opening, Sansa forced herself not to arch her back but she couldn't prevent herself from whimpering.

Sandor knew she was trying to keep still and it was a battle she was losing. Burying his face in her hair was a sweet agony he would suffer always if he could, her scent one he would never forget. When he finally stretched his tongue out for his first taste of her, he felt as though he couldn't stop. She tasted tangy, almost salty. The closer he moved to her opening, the more intense was the taste. By this point, she was whimpering almost continuously, a noise he was certain would be his ultimate undoing. She was wet and delicious, he tried to reach his tongue into her, finding her too tight for him to get too far in, but he willingly took what was given. He moved back again to the small, tight bundle of nerves that she had reacted so severely to and experimented by suckling on it gently.

Sansa had been clenching her teeth so tightly her jaw began to hurt. When Sandor went back to her clitoris, she couldn't stop her hips from bucking in reaction. The endless stream of whimpers she was eliciting would have been embarrassing to her if she wasn't so distracted. The muscles in her legs, arms chest and groin were alternately flexing and relaxing no matter how much she tried to control them. The feelings were coming on her faster and faster, the sensations she was feeling amplifying with each reflex until it felt as though every muscle had seized. Her back arched into the sensations, her toes curling as waved of ecstasy rolled off her body in waves. She cried out his name as she orgasmed before letting her body relax back into the furs.

When Sandor began suckling on her clitoris, he felt her start to squirm above him. This was reassuring, as was the feeling of her thighs beginning to press against his head, as though she was trying to keep him from backing away. He could feel the muscles of her body and her core tightening continuously and he knew she was close to her release. He didn't relent in his actions even as she arched her back into her orgasm. Her juices began spilling out of her. He didn't know that happened to women as it did men, but he licked it up eagerly, savouring the taste. Sansa was panting heavily as he drew himself away from here. She could do nothing but watch him lazily as he pulled up a blanket from the bottom of the bed to cover her with as he tucked himself in next to her again.

Sandor had never cuddled before and found he was quite content to just lay there with Sansa enjoying the quiet. Eventually, they had to stir; Sansa had to be taken back to her rooms. Her absence would not go unnoticed for long. It was considerably later than Sansa should have been out and Sandor knew that the men would be well into their cups. As they made their way across the noisy court yard where the men were holding their festivities, a bold young squire who had too much to drink dared to brave the Hound and tried to reach for Sansa.

"Oy! Clegane! It's about time you share the traitor bitch. Let us have a go at her," the boy commented lewdly. Sandor grabbed the man by his collar, dragged him off his feet so they were face to face and uttered a feral, guttural sound that Sansa could only describe as a growl, before throwing the squire into the dirt. The other men who saw this interaction and knew the Hound didn't dare to try repeat the action.

Sandor grabbed Sansa harshly by the arm and pulled her closer to him. She knew the game he was trying to play so she acted as though she was being dragged forcibly. After they cleared that yard, the rest of the way was quiet. They kept to the shadows, just as she had on her way to his rooms that night and went undisturbed.