A/N: THANK YOU for the incredibly kind and helpful comments of the previous chapter. Things are going to get a little bit silly and complicated for a few chapters but I hope you will find this story going in a fun, work-through-the-discomfort character-growing direction.
Sansa awakened all scrunched up on the carpet of her dark room with Sandor snoring in her arms. Even with her window open, her room was still warm and stuffy, and it smelled like unwashed bodies and sex. She listened for voices or TV in the living room, but all she could hear was her breathing and Sandor's. That was a relief - it meant that Jeyne must still be at work and Margaery must have gone out with friends - and she didn't have the energy to make awkward introductions between Sandor and her roommates right now.
Sansa's neck ached and her arm tingled painfully where Sandor was using her as a pillow. Her teeth felt mossy and her face felt stiff with the morning's makeup still smeared on. She craved a cold glass of water. iAnd a healthy snack,/i she thought, remembering that she and Sandor had never quite gotten around to eating dinner. Her stomach gurgled. iOr maybe a burrito,/i she mentally corrected. iAnd a plate of nachos./i
As she moved her shoulder, Sandor snorted awake just enough to roll toward her and drag her back into his embrace. He brushed his lips against her cheek, and she couldn't help but laugh as his beard tickled her skin.
"Wanna go again?" he whispered in her ear, his voice still thick from sleep, and he ground up against her belly as he smoothed his hand along her side.
Sansa's cheeks flushed hot in the darkness, though really there was little reason for blushing now. She wanted to do more with Sandor, and soon, but what she needed at this moment was a shower. Gently shifting away from him, she replied truthfully, "We can't. There was only one condom, remember?"
Sandor grunted in response and grazed his fingertips across her hip, down the curve of her bottom. "There're still things we can do." Then, before Sansa had time to fully contemplate what he meant, he grabbed her around the waist and rolled onto his back and hitched her up past his face until his nose was rubbing against the soft skin below her bellybutton.
She was so surprised by the suddenness of Sandor's movement that by the time she found her voice, he had already pulled her legs apart and was working on getting her knees positioned on the floor on either side of his head. "Wait!" she cried, holding the edge of her bed for balance as she sat upright and tried to squirm away. "I'm not very, um - fresh right now -"
Sandor laughed and held her hips in place as he inhaled deeply. The air swirled cool around Sansa's thighs even as the rest of her body bloomed with the heat of embarrassment. "You smell like we just fucked," he declared with a chortle, and he licked her. "You taste like it, too."
Sansa cringed and was glad Sandor couldn't see her face in the darkness, though admittedly he would have only seen the bottom of her chin even if the light were on. It was humiliating to think that Sandor would do ithat/i to her for the first time when she was all sweaty and sticky from their lovemaking. She tried fruitlessly to twist away, but Sandor locked each of her thighs in his big arms and swiped his tongue right where she had been touching herself earlier, and she shuddered with the echo of her previous orgasm. But shame over the state of her cleanliness overpowered her increasing arousal, and she suggested reluctantly, "Maybe I should bathe first -"
"Not a chance. I like you like this. Now stop talking and start singing, little bird." He dug his fingers into her flesh and pressed her down onto his mouth, and Sansa quickly cast off her lingering discomfort over her circumstances.
Afterwards, Sansa flopped to the floor even stickier and sweatier, but at least the crick in her neck was gone. In fact, all of her muscles felt languid, mushy. She felt around the floor until she found Sandor's hand and grasped it. She was far too warm to hold him close, even though he certainly deserved it.
"Been thinking about doing that for a while," Sandor admitted, sounding smug. He released her hand and wiped his mouth with his forearm, then laced his fingers with hers.
"I'd be pleased to do the same to you," Sansa replied in a low voice, feeling bold. It was only polite to offer to return the favor, of course, but a newly awakened part of her wanted to make him writhe as helplessly as she had been doing just a few minutes earlier.
He chuckled hoarsely, and Sansa heard him thud his head against the carpet. "I am sorry to say that I'll have to take you up on that offer another night. Another night isoon/i," he added. "I should go home. I still have all my shit from the conference out in the car, and it's been too many days since I set foot in a real gym."
Sansa didn't really mind. She would have much to do tomorrow anyway, between getting her work samples together and setting up interviews and finding a way to stretch out whatever was left in her bank account.
Sandor released her hand and sat up, and Sansa heard him shuffling around on the floor. "Where's the light switch? I need to find my clothes."
Sansa summoned the energy to get up and flicked on the lamp on the nightstand. She sat on her bed, blinking the brightness out of her eyes. Sandor was standing a few feet away, pulling on his pants, but in the low light he looked a little fuzzy to her. She rubbed her eyes and put on the glasses she usually only wore for sewing, but was finding that she sometimes needed after a long day.
"Bloody hell," Sandor muttered, sounding pained. "Wear those next time." He pulled his undershirt on but just crumpled his button-down into a ball.
Sansa smiled as she removed her bathrobe from a peg on the wall and slipped it over her shoulders. "You like my glasses?" she asked, pleased, and adjusted the frames on the bridge of her nose.
"I like you with your glasses. Especially when you're not wearing anything else." He wrapped his arms around her and leaned in to give her a long, wet kiss.
Just as Sansa was starting to wonder if Sandor had changed his mind about leaving, he broke away and ran his big hand through his hair. He looked nervous, or maybe even shy. "Maybe you could come to my place tomorrow night. I can cook and you can -"
"Return your favor?" Sansa finished, realizing with mortification as she saw the surprise on his face that he was going to suggest something completely different.
He grinned and responded, "I was going to say that you could bring a bottle of wine, but fuck the booze, I'd much rather have your pretty pink lips wrapped around my -"
"Right, well," she coughed to cover her embarrassment. "Dinner sounds lovely."
Sandor looked away and rubbed the back of his neck in that way he did when he was being bashful. "You could stay over if you wanted," he mumbled out of the side of his mouth. "My mattress isn't exactly a feather bed, and I'll have to get up early to work out, but -"
Sansa cut off his excuses with a kiss. "Yes," she agreed, her eyes shining. "Yes, of course."
Sansa never imagined that two weeks of pure bliss could fly by so quickly. She saw Sandor nearly every night and they always seemed to find excuses to rush through any planned activity in order to get to the part of the evening that they anticipated the most. In so doing, they discovered many delightful new ways to please each other. Sansa grew more comfortable with Sandor's shamelessness over bringing her pleasure, and Sandor seemed to finally trust in the authenticity of Sansa's desire and tender feelings for him. When they lay back in bed, wrung out from a night of intimacy, they would stay up and talk and argue and tell stories and say sweet things and sometimes they would start kissing and the whole cycle would repeat itself. In the mornings, Sandor would pull himself out of bed after just a few hours of sleep with dark circles beneath his eyes and grouse that Sansa was turning him into an old man, and Sansa would tease him and tell him that if he wanted to go to bed earlier, he should start seducing her earlier in the evening. Then he would glare and tell her to get a job.
Unfortunately, that directive was proving more difficult to carry out than Sansa had anticipated. The high-end tailors wouldn't hire a former Baelish employee without Petyr's personal recommendation. The mid-level retailers were all staffed up. Petyr texted her a few times to tell her that his offer still stood if she were clever enough to take it, but she deleted his messages without answering them.
On the last day of the month, while Sansa slumped over her laptop perusing online classifieds advertising for seamstress positions at department stores and outlet malls, she received an email warning that she had nearly reached the limit on her credit card. iHow can that be?/i she thought anxiously, clicking over to review her recent purchases.
The last time she'd used her debit card was to buy a tank of fuel for her gas guzzling Mustang. Perhaps she should have replaced her stolen car with a sensible, high-efficiency subcompact like her mother had advised. It was too late for that, though.
Now quite concerned, Sansa tabbed over to check on her bank account balance. There was hardly enough there to pay her cell phone bill, much less her share of the rent.
She burst into tears.
Some time later, when Sansa got control of herself, she slunk out of her room and shamefacedly walked through the apartment over to Margaery's room. Margaery would understand, wouldn't she? The Tyrells owned the building they lived in, after all. Surely her friend could wait to be reimbursed until Sansa had a steady paycheck.
"Oh no, Sansa, I'm afraid I can't do that," Margaery replied to Sansa's entreaty as she sat like a queen on her rose-colored bedspread, placidly scrolling through the messages on her phone.
"Why not?" Sansa asked from the doorway in as calm a voice as she could manage. "You don't pay any rent at all." It was a mistake to say so; Sansa knew that Margaery prided herself on her startling success in all other areas of her life, and the Tyrell girl didn't like to be reminded that her independence was only possible because of the generosity of her family.
Margaery's eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure. "To be frank, Sansa, my sweet brother needs a place to live. I was going to see if Jeyne had some other options, since she barely makes rent with the three jobs she has -" here Margaery cleared her throat, and continued, "but it sounds as though you'll be moving on first."
Sansa's response caught in her throat as she felt the impact of the the betrayal of the person she had thought to be her friend. Margaery was one of the first people she'd met when she moved to King's Landing, and she had recently helped her, albeit rather indirectly, to win Sandor's heart. But then Margaery was always looking for the next thing or person to amuse her, and she seemed content to cast off those that no longer caught her attention. Perhaps Sansa should have been expecting to be shoved to the curb so that Margaery's handsome and fun-loving brother could also live rent-free.
"I'd be happy to give you a week to find a place," the brunette offered.
"I'm quite sure I won't need that much time," Sansa said coldly, and turned on her heel out of the room. She grabbed her car keys from the rack by the front door and ran down the stairs.
Sansa drove the Mustang around on wet, half-flooded city streets. The rain fell as heavily as the tears Sansa felt like shedding. The skies were as black as her mood. iNo,/i she thought, ias black as Margaery's poisoned, shrunken heart/i. The rapidly shrinking logical part of Sansa's brain reminded her that she was wasting her last tank of gas, but she couldn't stand to be in that apartment one moment longer.
As Sansa drove past one of Petyr's satellite stores, she ran down the meager options available to her absent any employment prospects. She couldn't - wouldn't - give up and move back home in the north. Her mother and father expected her to set an example for her younger siblings, and she hadn't even been able to bring herself to admit to her parents that she'd gotten fired, much less tell them that she had run out of money. But neither could she ask her parents to front a deposit on a new apartment. They were still paying for three college educations, not to mention Bran's costly medical bills and therapeutic treatments. Besides, it was simply too embarrassing to beg.
She found herself parked in front of Sandor's apartment. His Bronco was in its usual spot, seeming somehow less imposing without its gruff owner in the driver's seat.
Sansa loathed herself for coming here, for even considering asking him for help. Sandor had told her about the gambling addict who had feigned interest in him so she could spend his money, and she couldn't bear to let him think that she was using him similarly. She shut off the Mustang and buried her face in her hands, listening to the rain plopping on the windshield.
Someone rapped on her window and she looked up. It was Sandor in his gym clothes, looking surprised and a little grumpy at getting wet. He gestured for her to get out.
She popped out of the car and ran into the apartment behind him, the deluge making her clothes and hair surprisingly damp her in spite of the short distance to his front door.
After Sandor had gotten her settled on his couch with a glass of wine and a towel, he asked quietly, "Job search not going so well?"
"No, it's going horribly," Sansa admitted. She thought she would start tearing up again, but she swallowed back the sob. Sandor had seen her cry enough about this topic. She willed serenity into her features. "But something even worse has happened." She summarized her financial travails and her conversation with Margaery.
"Stay with me," he offered instantly, much faster than Sansa had expected him to. It made her a nervous. She believed wholeheartedly in the strength of her feelings for Sandor, but she wasn't so sure if their still-new relationship was ready for daily domesticity. She didn't know how to respond, so she said nothing.
He mistook her hesitation for distaste for his apartment. "I know it's not a gilded palace like your current building, but -"
"No, that's not it at all!" Sansa hurried to explain and scooted closer to him on the couch, though she was a bit put out that he believed she would cast aspersion on the state of his home when he was offering it up to her. "I just - I care for you, and I wouldn't want my desperate circumstances to cause you hardship."
"You're over here all the time. How much different could it be?" he muttered and flattened his lips, looking annoyed. Then he seemed to realize that it sounded like he was complaining about her frequent presence, for he added, "And I like it when you're here."
The corner of Sansa's lips turned up at the admission. She lowered her eyes leaned in to allow a sweet short kiss. She sighed and gently bumped her forehead against Sandor's. "Yes. If it is only temporary, and I promise to pay you back as soon as I can."
"If that's how you want it, little bird."
Sansa looked into Sandor's eyes and nodded. The agreement worked for her. But was it what Sandor wanted?
In spite of her initial reservations about staying with Sandor - she did not dare think of it as "moving in together" - she rather quickly warmed to the idea as she began boxing her belongings the next morning. The whole idea seemed rather romantic, really. While clearing her closet out, she allowed herself to imagine waking up in Sandor's arms each morning, cuddling with him on the couch after he got home from work, convincing him to skip the gym on the weekends and stay in bed with her. He could teach her more about cooking, and she could hang some of the watercolors that Bran had painted for her in the living room.
When she dropped off some of the small boxes at his - their - no, it was still his apartment - Sansa was pleased to see that Sandor seemed kind of excited as well. He presented her with a resident parking pass and showed her the dresser drawers he had cleared for her, and he demonstrated how they could fit her bedframe behind the couch for safekeeping. When she opened the medicine cabinet to store her toiletries, she found that he had purchased the biggest box of condoms she had ever seen.
By the time that moving day officially arrived, Sansa's whole body tingled with anticipation. Each time she passed Sandor in the hall to bring more of her things down to his car parked at the curb, he gave her a smirk that made her heart thump. She wondered if he would give her an hour to unpack when they got back to the apartment, or if he would just throw her over his shoulder and carry her inside like a wild man. She didn't think that she would mind if he did.
Sansa placed the last box in the back seat just as Sandor finished securing her mattress to the roof of the car. "That's the last one," she declared. "I don't even have to go back inside. I left the key on the fireplace mantle." She dusted her hands on her jeans and put her hands on her hips, feeling satisfied and hopeful.
Sandor rolled his massive shoulders and approached Sansa. He loomed over her in that way that might once have intimidated her, but now only enflamed her. "Ready to go home?" he asked, his voice low and filled with promise.
"Not yet," she said, smiling coyly and placing her hand on his chest. "First I need a kiss."
"So do I." He pulled her in close and leaned down. Sansa closed her eyes and lifted her face and waited for his lips to crash down hard on hers.
"Hey! Hey!"
Sansa's eyes fluttered open and she turned her head toward the distraught voice. It came from Jeyne, standing beneath the gilt building awning in her blue and white waitress uniform, her dark hair flying, with a stuffed duffel bag slung over one shoulder and her arms burdened by a box full of video game consoles and snarled cables.
Sandor released Sansa and straightened up. "What do you want, girl?" he growled, clearly miffed at having been interrupted, or perhaps for being caught in a tender moment.
Jeyne glared at Sansa. "Margaery kicked me out! She said that since Loras is coming to live with her, Renly should have a room too."
Sansa hung her head in shame. Jeyne's eviction was all her fault. She was Sansa's oldest friend, and her only friend here in the city who came from up north, and now she was suffering.
"What am I going to do? I can't afford any of the places close to my jobs." She didn't need to mention that she didn't have a car.
Sansa's eyes met Sandor's, and he gave her a look that clearly communicated, You've got to be shitting me.
Sansa gazed at her forlorn friend sweating in the sunlight, carrying most of her possessions with nowhere to take them. "Please, Sandor." Jeyne had had no reason to come south with Sansa, but she had done so out of friendship. Sansa couldn't abandon her.
Sandor groaned and gave Sansa a pained, longing look. Her heart sank. This was not how she had wanted to start her new adventure with him at all.
Sandor popped his neck and stalked over to Jeyne, and for a moment Sansa thought he was going to yell at her. But instead he roughly grabbed the box of electronics from her hands. He glanced over his shoulder at Sansa with an unreadable expression on his face, then turned back to Jeyne. "Come on, girl. Throw your shit in the car and let's go."
[to be continued]
A/N: Lots of fluff is left in this story, I promise. But first, more awkwardness!