~Tyrion~

Tyrion and Sansa excused themselves from Bronn once they got situated into the cabin, heading to one of the bedrooms to talk.

Sansa walks to the far side of the room and stares out the window, her back to him.

"What was it doing here?" she asks. "How did it get past the wall?"

"Like I told Bronn, it was a scout. It was probably sent to observe, and gather information. They're a lot cleverer than one would expect, being reanimated corpses and all. Perhaps it climbed the wall, or found a hidden pass."

"Things are about to get a lot worse, aren't they?" she questions, glancing nervously over her shoulder at him.

"I could lie to you, and tell you that everything is going to be just fine, but I won't. This is not the time for pretty falsehoods. Yes, things are about to get a lot worse."

"Are we?"

"About to get a lot worse?" he tries to clarify, confused.

"Yes."

"Why would you ask that?"

"Aren't you mad at me for running off with Lord Baelish?"

"I want to be," he says honestly, "but no, I'm not mad. I understand why you did it. You thought he had your sister… and you were— are mad at me."

"Were. I'm not mad any more," she says, turning around.

"You aren't?"

"No, of course not. I'm frustrated you didn't tell me about my mother and brother right away, but I understand it. If I were in your place, I might have done the same." She sighs, "besides, anger can never lead to anything good. Look at Petyr… he spent his whole life angry at my mother for not loving him, and look what it got him."

Tyrion crosses the room and takes Sansa's hands.

"I've missed you," he says quietly.

"I've missed you, too."

Sansa kneels down to give Tyrion a kiss. Her lips are warm and soft against his, and he wants nothing more than to forget everything but those lips for the next few hours, but he turns his head away and stares at the ground.

"You are mad at me," she accuses, pulling her hands away.

She leaves him standing there and she slumps down on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, looking hurt.

"No, I'm not. It's just… you killed that white walker!"

"Was that a bad thing?" she scoffs. "Would you rather I had let it kill you?"

"That's not what I meant. I am so very thankful of what you did. You were amazing and more courageous than most men I've ever met. I meant… just… that you shouldn't had to have done that! I'm your husband! I should have saved your life. I will never be the heroic savior you deserve."

Sansa stares at him, her lips parted, confusion and annoyance clouding her features.

"You stupid man," she finally says.

I've been called a lot of things, but I honestly think that is the first time I've been called stupid.

"You must be blind," she continues, climbing off the bed and coming to kneel in front of him again. "You have already saved my life."

"In what way?"

"Every way."

"Sansa—"

"I mean it," she interrupts. "Remember, this is no time for pretty falsehoods. You are everything to me, and have saved my life just by being in it."

This time Tyrion kisses her. He places his hands gently on her face and pulls her lips down to meet his. He parts open his mouth and darts his tongue out to trace her bottom lip.

The flickering flame always lapping away at him when in Sansa's presence bursts into a roar, claiming and consuming him.

"Please," she whispers against his lips, her hand now grasping at his shirt.

Tyrion needs no more encouragement. His fingers are quick from years of practice, undoing the fastenings of her gown in mere seconds.

Sansa grins at him, pulls back to shrug her gown off, and tugs her slip over her head. Then it is her turn to undo the buttons and clasps on the clothing concealing her husband.

Tyrion's heart races; there were so many moments during his search that he feared he'd never see Sansa again, and yet her she is, standing before him in all her glory, beckoning him forward.

Sansa pulls him onto the bed with her, and unlike the first night they gave themselves to each other, tonight it is he who is urged to lie flat on his back.

Tyrion obliges, moving to the center of the bed, and sucks in a breath through his teeth when he feels her fingers teasing along his thigh. Sansa lies next to him and runs her hands slowly across his chest.

He watches her face, framed by glowing hair, the torchlight playing off of her red locks making it her blaze like the sun. Her eyes are fixed on the patterns she's tracing on his body, wearing an expression of wonder and contentment.

Tyrion has never felt so complete.

Sansa bows her head down over his, her hair falling and tickling his face, and kisses him. She is all teeth and playfulness, nipping at his bottom lip and then shifting to nibble his ear.

Tyrion's hand comes up of its own accord and wraps in her beautiful hair, pulling her closer. Sansa grabs his wrist and pushes his hand away, moving her attention downward.

She kisses and nips the hollow of his throat, then traces her tongue and hands along his torso, as if she is trying to memorize every inch of him. Again he reaches out for her and she steers his hand away.

It is then that he realizes she wants to be in complete control. So he lets her. He stops reaching for her and he glances up, catching her eye, and gives her a look that says, "I am completely yours."

Sansa smiles mischievously, and Tyrion loses all coherent thought as her delicate fingers wrap firmly around his protruding manhood.

Her movements are taunting at first, eliciting murmured pleading and stifled groans from his lips. Then she slides down on the bed and hovers her angelic mouth just centimeters above his tip. Tyrion can feel her breath washing over him.

He groans louder and bucks his hips upward, unable to resist.

She giggles and closes the distance. Licking her lips Sansa then takes him into her mouth. She traces her tongue along his shaft and displays the technique she worked hard on perfecting during their time spent in the carriage.

Tyrion's hands twist the fabric of the bedspread beneath him. He longs to reach out and touch her, but resists, wanting to give her the control she is craving.

He feels himself getting closer and closer to completion, and his whole body starts to stiffen.

Sansa stops. She gives him a moment cool down, and then she climbs on top of him.

Sansa bends down to give him a lingering kiss, but then sits back up and focuses on what she is doing. She grabs hold of his member and positions him at her entrance, then, ever so slowly, she lowers herself down on top of him.

Tyrion can feel her stretching to accommodate him. She's biting her lower lip and he can't tell if it is in pain or concentration.

She pauses once he is completely in, letting her body get used to this new position. Tyrion has to remind himself this is only her second time ever, and he's heard that it can be just as uncomfortable as the first.

He doesn't say anything, letting her adjust. Instead he just enjoys the silky warmth enveloping him.

Eventually she starts to move, slowly and experimentally at first. She slides up and down, and then tries rocking her hips back and forth, all of it drawing moans and gasps from Tyrion.

There is something undeniably sexy in her uncertainty and novice method.

Sansa leans down a bit, her breasts tantalizingly close to his face, as she rocks forward.

"Oh!" she gasps, pausing.

She tries the movement again and sucks in a sharp breath.

Seven hells, this woman is going to kill me, he thinks, focusing on lasting.

Faster and harder she rocks her hips forward. Her hand seeks his out and pulls it up to place it on her breast. Tyrion's fingers knead the supple flesh, and trace circles around her nipple, glad to have permission to touch her at last.

Sansa's breathing is coming in faster, shallow gasps, her thrusts becoming more haphazard, losing their rhythm.

"T-Tyrion!" she moans.

He feels himself come undone as her walls tighten around him, and he gives a guttural cry as he spills himself inside her.

Sansa collapses on top of him, her skin glistening with sweat and sticking to his own slick torso. After a few moments she manages to roll to the side, and fumbles to hold his hand, her breathing still sharp and uneven.

~Sansa~

She's not sure how long she lies there, clutching Tyrion's hand, waiting to catch her breath. What Sansa does know, though, is that she truly needed that.

Not just the release, which was spectacular, but the control.

Ever since she first arrived in King's Landing she's had people pawing at her, demanding her charms. Joffrey, those men from the angry mob, Lord Baelish… all of them demanding what she didn't want to give.

Then there was Tyrion, her gentle, patient, husband.

He's never made any demands of her. Tyrion has always been clear that every aspect of their physical relationship has been up to her. And tonight she really needed to test that… to feel that control. To remind herself that it is her body to do with as she pleases.

When her breathing finally returns to normal, Sansa feels like a new person. Like a weight has been lifted.

She rolls on her side and kisses Tyrion on the cheek.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"I really didn't do anything," he says, humor in his tone.

"I know. Thank you."

Author's Note: Sorry the update was a bit late. Sunday was the 7th anniversary of my first date with my husband and I was a bit sidetracked all day :) Hope the wait was worth it! Thank you for all your lovely reviews last chapter, I was very nervous about the white walker part because it is a bit out there, but I really wanted to show Sansa taking down what is essentially the boogeyman of Westeros and not thinking twice about it because it meant protecting Tyrion. (and I just love getting to say little-bird-proper-lady-Sansa killed a white walker with a hair comb)

As always, please let me know what you think!