Hi everyone! New chapter time! Please comment if you enjoy! :D
Sansa was lying in Sandor's bed with a sheet pulled up to her breasts, her head leaned on his chest. He had his upper body propped against a pile of pillows and an arm snaked around her, his fingers slowly stroking her upper arm. They were chatting, distractedly watching shadows moving over the ceiling as cars with their headlights on drove across the street below. Sandor had brought his beer as well as Sansa's drink in his bedroom not long after they had sex. He had placed both on the night table and they took sips from their respective beverage every now and then.
"You told me you played music when we spoke at the Strangerween party. What instruments exactly?" he inquired, his voice a low rumble in her ears.
Sansa was surprised that he remembered. As for herself, she didn't recall having mentioned her love of music at all, yet there were many things she had forgotten from that evening. She had been so drunk after all.
"I play a few," she started softly. "The traverse flute, a bit of classical guitar and lute, but mainly the piano. We have a grand piano at Winterfell – my parents' castle..." Sansa paused, glancing at Sandor shyly. She half-expected him to mock her for her origins again, yet he didn't and only kept gazing at her attentively. "I love practicing on it, its tone is so rich and resonant. I have a digital piano here in King's Landing. It's better than nothing, but still a thousand times less nice."
"What sorts of music do you play?" Sandor asked quietly. Stretching his arm to the night table, he brought his beer to his lips and took a long sip.
"Well, to say the truth, I'm pretty old-fashioned," Sansa admitted, a blush creeping on her cheeks. "I almost only ever play classical music, that and old traditional songs. Very old, folk songs about our land's legends and history."
"Like the bear and the maiden fair?"
Though Sansa had her stare to the ceiling, she could picture the smirk which she knew curved Sandor's lips. She rolled her eyes, glad that he couldn't see her doing something so little graceful. "I do know that one, of course. But it's not my favourite. Not at all even! Sadly, it seems it's the only one everyone ever remembers, because of the... subject matter. It's a bit vulgar. I prefer those which tell stories about those times long gone. About ladies, knights, fools, kings and queens."
"I don't know any of those songs. You should educate me. Why don't you sing one for me now? I'm sure you have a beautiful singing voice," Sandor suggested, his fingers tracing circles over her shoulder.
"Oh, I would rather not... Not like this!" Sansa replied, her pulse hastening at the very idea. "I need my piano… I'm too shy to sing unaccompanied!
"You have a piano at your place, don't you? You just told me so."
"I have my digital piano..." she admitted reluctantly, afraid of where he was going with this.
"I'd like you to sing for me. Will you do it, at some other time? I'm sure you sing as prettily as a little singing bird."
Sansa wavered for a few seconds. Although they had had sex twice already, she still knew very little about him. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to know where she lived, but she was raised too well to flat out refuse. Besides, he wasn't asking for them to head to her apartment right away, so she would have time to really think it through before that had to happen. "I'll sing for you gladly, yet I have to admit I find singing for one person alone far more intimidating than to do so for a group of people. Just thinking about it makes me nervous! As you've probably noticed, I'm actually very shy. It's probably my biggest flaw..."
"Of course you are, little bird. But it's no flaw. That's just how you are and certainly part of your charm."
"Little bird?" Sansa repeated, jerking her head to look at him. His grey eyes were on her, watching her with a faintly amused spark shining in them. "I thought I was a princess?"
"You are indeed. But why couldn't you be more than one thing at once? A princess and a little bird both." He laughed then, a low, lazy laugh. "The more I think about it, the more I feel like 'little bird' is a perfect nickname for you. Just suits you so well. You're always so poised and mannerly, very obviously well-bred, and you keep peeping those nice and proper, little words to me. I once saw one of those very pretty, singing birds from the Summer Isles in a pet shop when I was just a kid. I was very impressed by it. It could whistle many tunes and speak a few words. It said 'thank you' when you fed it and saluted the customers and passersby. Fuck I swear it, it had better manners than me and by far! Its plumage was a dark shade of red and very thick, like your hair. I would probably buy it for you if I saw it again..."
Sansa frowned. "Shouldn't I be insulted by what you've just said? A little bird... oh... that doesn't sound very flattering."
"Don't take it like this. I told you I was impressed by that bird, didn't I?" he said, his teeth bared in a roguish grin. Then, his tone more serious, he added: "And anyhow, animals are smarter than we humans give them credit for. Being compared to one is no insult as far as I'm concerned. I often think of myself as an old dog..."
"A hound? I noticed that, on your van," Sansa remarked. "Why did you call your company Hound Electrical Services? I was curious about it when I saw it."
"You were?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at her.
"Yeah," Sansa admitted a bit timidly.
"Well if you want to know, it's because it was my moniker when I did ultimate fighting."
Sansa jumped in place. "When you did what?" she cried out, her eyes wide.
"You heard right. But why are you so surprised? Do I look like a bloody choirboy to you?"
"Oh, of course not!" Sansa exclaimed with a bit too much conviction, she realised once the words had escaped her lips.
Her sincerity made Sandor chuckle. "Well that's good to know. I was worried for a moment," he teased her.
Blushing, Sansa propped herself on her elbow to face him completely, laying her other arm over his torso for balance. "I'll admit you do have the right... looks to do any sort of combat sport," she started, eager to explain herself. "But I was taken aback because I've never known anyone who did ultimate fighting before - or anything similar for that matter. And to be honest, I don't know the first thing about the sport! By its name it sounds... very rough."
"It is," Sandor agreed, caressing the hand she had over his stomach with his fingers. "And I can't pretend I had expected you'd be familiar with it either. There weren't many girls like you in the crowd I used to hang in. None at all even."
Sansa wondered what he meant by 'girls like her'. He must think her terribly sheltered and privileged, though in the end, he'd probably be right if he did. "How did you get into ultimate fighting?" she asked.
"I started as a teenager. Around sixteen," he answered. "I used to hang out at a boxing club and got recruited by an older member. I preferred it to boxing from the moment I started. Less rules, more underground and most of all, way more violent."
"More violent?" Sansa repeated, stiffening. "This sounds horrible! How could anything be better for it?" she demanded, her brow knitted in incomprehension.
The burnt corner of his mouth twitching just once, Sandor exhaled through his nose and smiled wryly. With his hands, he stroked her waist, his touch gentle yet strong. "It may be hard for you to understand, but I used to be pretty wild and troubled when I was younger. I really needed an outlet like this, one that allowed me to let my anger out. At least it meant I fought guys who were trained for this and knew what they were getting into. I still got into brawls every now and then, I'm not going to lie about it, yet I swear the buggers always asked for it first. I was never the one to initiate a fight outside of the cage. Or at least, I very rarely did."
Sansa kept silent, her lips pulled in a thin line and eyes lowered to Sandor's hairy chest. He was so muscular, so huge, really the fact that he had practiced ultimate fighting shouldn't be that surprising to her. People didn't get that brawny for no reason. You had to be on quite an intense training regimen to achieve this sort of physique. Still, Sansa was overwhelmed by his admission to having been attracted to the violence of the sport. There was something worrying about this, even a bit scary! What sort of person could enjoy violence? These revelations reminded her all too well of just how much he was a stranger to her. Sleeping with him had perhaps been a big mistake! Who knew in what she had gotten herself into?
Sandor seemed to sense her unease. "I've quietened down since then you know and stopped fighting a few years ago. You don't have to worry, little bird. I'm certainly no danger to you."
"Oh, that's not what I was thinking," Sansa lied.
Their nude bodies were still flush, but hers was as taut as a bow. It was so strange to be in such an intimate position with this man who was perhaps not who she had thought he was. No, that's not true. I've always known there had to be something murky about him, she admitted to herself. Yet in all honesty, she'd most certainly never have agreed to follow him to his apartment had they had this conversation at the Strangerween party. Though he had assured her he had changed, the idea that he had once genuinely taken pleasure in hurting other people was still not very nice.
"Is this why you have so many scars?" Sansa asked in a will to take the attention away from how obviously uncomfortable she had grown. She gazed down at his torso. There was a really large scar marring it with no hair growing all along its length.
"Yes, most I got in the cage."
"In the cage? You've said that before, what does it mean?" she inquired softly.
"That's how the ring is called in ultimate fighting," he explained lowly. "Because it's enclosed in high metal fencing. You get a lot of your injuries from being shoved into it."
Wincing, Sansa averted her eyes from him. "Well, you did well to stop. It truly sounds awful!"
"I'm glad I stopped, because I'd have had a hard time convincing you to see me again if I was still active. I can feel it," he told her, closing his hands around her waist as if he feared she might recoil from him at any moment. "And even now, you're wondering what you're doing in bed with me."
Sansa hesitated. He was right, but she couldn't very well tell him that! What if it made him angry?
"You don't have to lie. I'd rather you tell me the truth. But this is just a sport I did. I'm not a killer, Sansa. And I never hurt a woman in my life either."
"I never thought as much!" Sansa hurried to retort. "It's just that... well, it's true that I'm... I'm unsure what to think. We come from very different background... it's a bit unsettling to be honest."
"I'm outside your comfort zone, am I?" he said. Removing a hand from her waist, he caressed her cheek with his knuckle. "I think you shouldn't let it intimidate you. I've never met a girl like you either, but that doesn't stop me from wanting to get to know you better. To the contrary. It's even one of the reasons why I'm so attracted to you. That and that pretty face and smashing body of yours."
With that, he trailed his hand down her neck, seizing the sheet she had over her and throwing it away to uncover her curves. His gaze travelled down her body lustfully, his palm rising to her breasts to mould them. Sansa let out a groan. Sandor's calloused fingers felt good on her breasts and soon, he was bowing over her to suck and lick her nipples, his hand finding its way between her legs. While she wasn't sure what to make of what she had just learned about him, Sansa still couldn't deny how delicious his touch on her was. She kissed him back when he pressed his lips on hers, reasoning that he was probably right - that she shouldn't judge him for a sport he had practiced, no matter how awful it may seem to her. And anyhow even if she was wrong, they had already had sex. Doing it again wouldn't make the situation any worse.
Still, when she looked upon the scars he had on his torso and arms as she later straddled him, Sansa kept trying to picture in her mind's eye how he had gotten them even as she restlessly rocked her hips against his. Her eyes half-closed, she could almost see him: in the cage, his opponent thrusting him into the fence and he, getting back at him a moment later, his body covered with sweat and blood as he hit him in the face with all of his strength. Sandor's features were contorted in pleasure, but he also looked very fierce and she was sure the expression he bore at seeing an opponent about to lose would have been similar to this. Gods, why were these thoughts getting her off? Sansa was bucking her pelvis frenetically now, moaning with no restraint whatsoever, as Sandor held her hips with his giant claws and powerfully shoved himself into her. Oh gods, it was so freaking good! Her centre was pulsing, her folds so very sensitive... Oh by the Seven, Sansa mused as her climax unexpectedly hit her. After having let out many long, lascivious whimpers, she collapsed onto Sandor's rock solid torso, exhausted but fulfilled.
"It's not over yet, Sansa. I'm not done with you," he breathed, his voice extremely hoarse and giving her shivers. As he spoke, he flipped her onto her back and plunged his hardened cock in her.
Sansa groaned, still dizzy from her previous peak. She could feel just how wet she was for him, more than she'd ever believed possible.
"Undo your braid, princess. Wanna fuck you in all your glory," Sandor bade her, moving his dick ever so slightly in her.
Sansa did as he asked and placed her long locks around her head over the pillow it rested on. Sandor grunted in approval and resumed taking her just as energetically as he had before. Sansa had her arms wrapped around his shoulders and was moaning and sighing with each of his comings and goings. She still couldn't believe she had actually come. And it had been such a good orgasm, she wouldn't say no to another one like that.
But it would be for later, for Sandor reached completion a few moments later. He didn't stay on her very long this time around and rolled onto his back instead, pulling her against him once he had rid himself of his soiled condom.
"Are you hungry?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.
"Hungry?" Sansa repeated with disbelief. "But we only just ate!"
"It's been a few hours already. And with what we've been up too, I feel a bit peckish now."
"Well I don't, but don't let it stop you."
"I'll fix myself something," Sandor rasped, removing his arms from around her and sitting up. "We could watch a movie afterwards, if you'd like. Or if you'd rather go out again, there's a bar two minutes from here."
"No, I think I prefer staying here," Sansa replied. A part of her feared to come across Margaery or Loras as they climbed down the stairs and another was just too comfortable in Sandor's bed to wish to venture very far. The aftermath of her climax, added to the effect of the drinks she had consumed earlier had rendered her languorous and lazy.
"Alright then. Anything you want, princess," Sandor rasped, rising to his feet.
As he put on his boxers, jeans and tank top, Sansa sat at the edge of the bed and swept her gaze over the floor. She easily spotted her bra and panties, but remembered her dress was in the kitchen where it had all started. She slid on her panties, but left her bra on the ground and headed out of the bedroom to retrieve her dress. On her way, Sandor followed her with his stare, his eyes filled with desire. He stepped into the kitchen right after her, his eyes never leaving her. Sansa blushed madly and hurriedly put her dress and denim jacket back on, feeling nervous in a thrilling sort of way.
As Sandor cooked himself a grilled cheese, Sansa watched him from her place on the nearest chair, astonished that he had enough appetite to intend to eat what could easily have been a whole meal for her. Yet at his size, it was probably normal. He wasn't fat at all, was obviously as fit as anyone could be.
Sandor asked her questions about the North again and then, they both started commenting the news. From what they shared, Sansa was surprised to see that he actually seemed very aware of everything that was happening in the world, from the war which raged in Lhazar to the famine in the Red Waste, the upcoming elections in Westeros and the recent floods in the Summer Isles. While he didn't come across as being very educated with the way he spoke and presented himself, he was nevertheless apparently interested in more than body-building and ultimate fighting. She wondered if he liked to read, but there didn't seem to be a lot of books in his library. Curious, Sansa stood up and headed to it to have a look.
"Do you like to read, Sandor?" she asked him.
"I have a subscription to The King's Landing Time and I read it every day, or at least flip through it. I like to keep informed," he replied, pressing on his grilled cheese with his spatula.
Sansa had guessed as much from their previous conversation. She looked through the books on the shelves. There were a few big tomes about electrical circuits and other stuff related to Sandor's job, his van's manual, a BBQ cook book, a couple of dictionaries and an Atlas. Nothing that interesting as far as Sansa was concerned. Herself, she liked to read novels, her favourite being period novels.
Soon, Sandor's grilled cheesed was ready and he installed himself on a chair by the table, chewing on it and drinking what was left of his beer bottle. Sansa rejoined him and as she walked near him, he pulled her onto his lap. She squeaked, but then stayed there until he had engulfed his grilled cheese completely. He convinced her to take a bite of it even though she was not hungry. It was good, she had to admit, made with cheddar cheese with a lot of pepper and very greasy.
Once the grilled cheese was over, they both headed to the couch. Neither of them brought another drink or beer with them, though Sandor fetched his sport water bottle from his bedroom and placed it on the coffee table. After having sat down, he turned on the television with the remote control and opened Hotflix. There were many movies available which interested Sansa, but she wasn't sure if any of those were his type. What sort of films did a man like him liked to watch? Probably action movies, like those Bran and Rickon like, Sansa surmised.
"Depends. Needs to have a good plot and the actors to be at least descent," Sandor answered when she asked him about it. "Not always the case with action movies. What I like is a good film. I can enjoy pretty much any genre, so long as it's well made."
Sansa wondered if that was truly the case. Would he really not mind it if she picked that romantic costume drama which she'd heard was really good? She doubted it and didn't feel like trying him out either. In the end, she told him she'd like to watch that new mafia movie all the guys in her circle kept raving about. Sandor would probably love it as well. He nodded when she proposed it to him, though he didn't seem to care all that much.
They started watching the movie, each sitting side by side over the couch. Sandor had his arm around Sansa's shoulders and she gradually leaned her weight into him, her legs folded under her. Even though his muscles were extremely toned and hard, she was comfy against him and she pressed the side of her face against his broad chest. His scent was strong; very masculine and musky but certainly not unpleasant.
The movie's plot was overly complicated and the protagonists kept yelling and cursing at each other. After more than thirty minutes, there had only been one female character, a prostitute seducing everyone, which had spent half of her screen time naked. Sansa wasn't certain it was her kind of movie at all, but she didn't comment on it. There were a lot of very violent and graphic scenes, one of the worst being when a guy began repetitively punching another in the face even though he had him already immobilised against a wall. Blood flew all around them and you could hear bones crushing very distinctively. Sansa shrieked in revulsion, hiding her face against Sandor's shoulder. Her reaction amused him and as she listened to his rough laughter, she remembered about his ultimate fighting. He had probably done very similar stuff while in the cage, as he called it, and her stomach pulled in a tight knot at the notion. Still, she was not troubled enough that she felt like taking her distances from him and stayed right where she was even though her pulse had hastened slightly.
Sandor didn't seem very attentive to the film either. He was too busy stroking Sansa's hair, a gesture which she enjoyed very much. At one point, he let himself fall over his back sideway onto the couch and pulled her over him, inducing a squeak from her. His hands were on her ass almost immediately, cupping its cheeks firmly, and he began kissing her on the mouth hungrily. Sansa was glad for the distraction from the film and moved her lips with his just as eagerly. She ran her hands over his chest, touching him over his tank top. Soon, she could feel his erection poke at her through his jeans and she lowered her palm over it to rub it, heat rising to her face as she heard him groan. Sliding a hand under her skirt, Sandor pushed the crotch of her panties aside to finger her with one, then two fingers. Sansa whimpered softly, her touch on Sandor's shaft growing more vigorous.
"We should both undress," he muttered after a couple of minutes of that, panting.
Sansa nodded, her lips opened breathlessly. She rose to her knees to remove her denim jacket and dress and Sandor used the occasion to stand up and strip down. Then, he strode to his bedroom before coming back just a split second later with a condom.
Grasping both her thighs, he yanked Sansa to him until her butt hung in the air. Without missing a beat, he got on his knees over the floor and plunged his hardened cock into her, his comings and goings strong and fast from the get go. A rain of gunshots as well as many curses resounded in the room as the movie's protagonists went on a killing spree, Sandor's thrusts following the same crazy cadence. With one hand, he held her hip even as he stroked her clit with the fingers of the other. Sansa liked their position; it gave her a nice view of his heavily-built torso and the angle his penis entered her was simply perfect. Her hands clutched after the couch, she bucked her hips with him wildly, letting out many little cries of pleasure. If she had thought her folds to be responsive before, now they were twice as much, the fact that they had already had sex earlier no doubt helping in the matter. The bliss Sansa was experiencing was exceedingly intense and soon, she reached completion again, totally bewildered that it could happen twice in the same evening.
Sandor took her on all four after that, still over the couch. That was really good also, though Sansa was a bit unsteady on her knees and giddy after the emotions she had just experienced. His dick went so deeply into her that it hurt a little, yet for some reason, she didn't want him to stop and didn't utter a single word of complaint until he had come as well.
They both stayed nestled against each other after that, naked over the couch. In the movie, a group of men in impeccable suits were digging a grave for a body they had carried out of an expensive looking car's trunk, cursing and yelling at each other as they did.
"You're enjoying this so far?" Sandor asked her, his voice low and gravelly.
Sansa hesitated but she decided to go for the truth. "I've not been able to follow the plotline so well. It's not really my kind of film, I think..."
"I'm glad you're saying so. It sucks big time as far as I'm concerned."
"Really? You don't like mafia movies?" Sansa demanded, gazing at him with wide eyes. She had been sure it would be right up his alley.
"I've nothing against the subject matter in general, but this is simply not good. There's been too many movies going along those lines in recent years and this one's bringing nothing new to the table. It's full of clichés and of scenes I'm sure I've seen at least a dozen times before. We can watch something else, more to your taste."
Sansa agreed, sort of relieved to be truthful, but then as they searched for another movie on Hotflix, she realised it was already almost 1AM. "Oh, it's getting late!" she exclaimed, yawning, as if the mere fact of learning of the time had rendered her sleepy. "I should probably dress up and leave soon."
"Go? But where?" Sandor grunted, his brow creased in a frown. From the look of him, he seemed just as puzzled as displeased by her proposition.
"Home, of course," Sansa answered, unsure why he had to ask.
"You don't want to stay here for the night? I'm not throwing you out, you know. Besides, it's too dangerous for you to walk the streets alone at this hour of the night. I won't let you go," he stated, closing his hands more tightly around her waist.
Blushing, Sansa gazed back at him, her belly fluttering. While he had sounded sort of threatening, there was also something undeniably flattering about his response. From the instant they had met, Sandor had made his interest in her very clear and never tried to pretend like he was less into her than he actually was, as some other guys did. There was no misplaced male pride here and Sansa appreciated it. It made her feel wanted and which woman didn't like that? She would stay. She had already slept here last week anyway and besides, was too comfortable against him to truly wish to leave.
"Okay, I'll sleep here, but I need to text my roommate. I don't want her to worry about me."
"Of course, go ahead. I'd rather she don't call the cops on me too."
Sansa giggled. Yeah, it'd be best if it didn't happen indeed! Or then, Sandor might end up on Westeros' most wanted in truth! Oh! She would rather not prove Jeyne right on that!
Grinning, she stood up and slid into her dress again, though she didn't bother to put on any underwear at all this time around. Her handbag was on the kitchen table where she had left it. After having retrieved her phone from it, Sansa texted Jeyne to warn her she wouldn't come back home at all tonight and went to the bathroom.
When she came back to the living room, Sandor had put his tank top back on as well as a pair of black sweat pants. He was reclined over the couch and gestured for her to lie down with him. Sansa did as he bade and installed herself before him. With the remote control, he was zapping from channel to channel, staying a few seconds on each. Eventually, he paused on an old black and white movie, the sort with very slow plot, elegant men and women and beautiful images that Sansa liked to watch sometimes.
"Oh, I love this kind of old movies," she whispered.
Sandor tossed the remote control over the coffee table and wrapped his arm around her.
"So, you've a roommate?" he asked after a moment.
"Yes. Her name is Jeyne. She was at the Strangerween party in fact, dressed up as a pirate. Perhaps you've seen her?"
Sandor uttered a noncommittal grunt that probably meant he did not remember her.
"She's from the North also and we both came here together before this semester," Sansa continued softly. "We've been friends since even before we started elementary school. She's like a sister to me."
A snort escaped Sandor's lips. "You don't have enough siblings as it is?" he japed.
Sansa giggled. "I only have one sister and though I do love her very much, we're utterly different. Jeyne and I are more alike, we've always had very similar interests." Then, after a moment of silence, she returned the question: "What about you? You didn't tell me anything about your family yet."
Sandor stayed silent for a moment, the arm he had around her grown motionless and stiff. "It's because there's not much to tell. I have no family," he rasped flatly.
"No family?" Sansa repeated, twisting into herself to look at him with rounded eyes. "What do you mean?"
"My parents died when I was young. I've been in foster care from the time I was twelve," he went on in the same detached tone.
"Oh, this is horrible!" Sansa let out, her eyes prickling like they always did just before they got teary.
"It's alright, Sansa. I've accepted it a long time ago and didn't turn out that bad either. No need to be sad for me."
Looking down, Sansa breathed in deeply and nodded. "Do you have siblings at least?"
Sandor snorted, the sound both derisive and bitter. "I've a brother, but he's not even worth mentioning. Trust me."
"Oh," Sansa said.
Sandor may have asked her not to be sad for him, she still couldn't help but be shaken by what he'd just revealed about himself. It was all so heartbreaking! Apart from Jon, she'd never known anyone with such a tragic story. Yet while her cousin had lost his parents as an infant, he had been raised in a loving family along herself, her sister and brothers. He had not found himself alone like Sandor had. It was hard for her to imagine how his life had been, almost impossible to be honest!
"Don't look so distraught. I don't want you to pity me, Sansa. I told you I was fine," Sandor reminded her with a hint of irritation in his voice.
Sansa nodded and retrieved her previous position with her head leaned against his chest. "Okay," she whispered as she returned her gaze on the television screen.
While she was itching to question him more about his past, she kept her curiosity to herself. He didn't seem inclined to pursue the conversation and the last thing Sansa wanted was to press him. It wouldn't be delicate of her, especially since in spite of what he pretended, she was convinced Sandor had to be more affected by his past than he let on. She could tell it by how tense he had grown for a moment, by his comment about his brother. There was still resentment there. What in the Mother's name could have happened that he had lost both his parents and feel so poorly about his own brother?
Whatever that might be, the little she knew about him did make more sense now. Sansa had been appalled when he referred to his attraction to the violence of ultimate fighting as a teenager earlier this evening. She hadn't understood it at all then, had even been a little frightened, yet with these new information, everything fell into place. Who wouldn't have rage in them after having become an orphan at twelve and lived in foster care from that time on till they came of age? That he had needed an outlet for his anger was only natural after what he'd been through.
Sandor had assured her that he was fine and told her he didn't want her to pity him and while she believed him and wouldn't do such a thing either, Sansa nevertheless couldn't help but see him in a different light. Though it might seem absurd looking at this hulking man, she now understood that as everyone else, there was a vulnerable side to him. She would respect him and not ask him to expose it if he didn't wish to, however, the realisation brought her to feel more at ease with him. He may be a formidable man, he was a man first and foremost. His scars and muscles lent him a fearsome look, yet she should let neither intimidate her.
I won't, Sansa resolved. It was the least she could do after all. And with that, she shifted over the couch and kissed him.
