Author Note:
I rewrote this chapter about five times. I found this particular sequence extremely challenging. I would love to hear your thoughts. Mature content awaits you...
Sansa woke to the sound of water. For a split second she thought she was still in the tub. Panic rose in her chest at the thought of having fallen asleep while sitting in the steaming water, slowly slipping beneath the surface. When her eyes opened she was looking at a dark ceiling, not water, and her body was strewn across the soft straw mattress. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so clean. Then she heard it again. A gentle splash of water, the sound of something shifting in a bath. Her face became hot at the memories stirring in her mind. I'm at an inn with the Hound. He ordered two baths. I fell asleep. Sansa hesitated as she wiggled her fingers and toes, allowing her body to fully awaken. The more awake she became the more the sounds of sloshing water became evident. Slowly Sansa rose to rest on her elbows, her eyes darting to the hearth. The flames were still bright, the fire crackling and emitting waves of heat. But a silhouette was in front of the flames. The Hound was sitting in the bath water, his chest exposed, his arms resting on the sides of the tub, a wineskin clutched in one of his large hands. His eyes appeared to be closed. Sansa watched as his chest rose and fell, the dark hair wet and matted against his skin. The hair on his head was wet as well, dripping steadily onto the wooden floor. The burned side of his face wasn't facing her, but she could see the jagged outline of his one cheek facing the fire. The skin rippled and uneven, the corner of his mouth rough instead of smooth. His beard glistened with water, the droplets reflecting like diamonds through the thick hair covering half of his face.
Sansa observed him for a long time, him shifting every so often, causing her to lay down quickly to avoid any eye contact, even though she was nearly certain his was sleeping. She wasn't sure she could handle the weight of his stare. She vaguely remembered being in a sleepy state earlier and not caring about what was said or where she looked. Her worries were far away when she was tired to the bone. Now she was awake and completely aware of the circumstances she found herself in. The tension in the air was returning, even if he didn't know it was there yet, she felt it. The weight of it was beginning to press on her chest. She realized how much she hated the feeling of tiptoeing around the Hound. She desired him. That much was obvious. His desire for her was there, clearly buried somewhere, only ever brought to the surface when he set aside his hesitations. His true feelings flickered through every so often. Once and a while Sansa was reminded of how he looked at her in King's Landing. She was reminded of how he spoke to her that night in the forest, his hands between her legs, his fingers working her like an instrument. Her body began to heat up at the mere thought of it. Then the memory of him walking away and the rejection came crawling back. This journey through the wilderness with him was beginning to change her attitude towards being proper. Her desire for him was at the forefront of her mind. Her desire to be a lady and be accepted was being pushed further and further back. And finally, her reactions to the Hound's treatment of her were becoming more numbed to his crudeness. She was starting to care less about his outbursts and his cruel words. She saw how he watched fire. The fear was apparent behind his eyes. It was written across his face, quite literally. He had been burned alive.
Sansa stared up at the ceiling, falling back to rest her head on one of the pillows filled with feathers that poked through the fabric. She imagined having a brother who purposely tortured her. She imagined Robb pushing her into open flames or hurting her to the point of bleeding and screaming. She imagined Bran or Rickon holding her down while she begged and pleaded. The thoughts disturbed her. How would I be if I was kissed by fire as a child by my own brother? Sansa began to wonder. She could feel a deep sense of sympathy waft up to the surface of her mind. The pain and torment would have been excruciating. The healing process would have been long and humiliating. And now, everyone knew his name. Everyone knew his face. The Hound. The man kissed by fire by the Mountain, his own brother.
Water loudly splashed onto the wooden floor of their room as the Hound stood in the bath, carelessly tossing the wineskin onto the table where Sansa had eaten her dinner hours before. She glanced down through her lashes and watched his body, shadowed by the dying fire, as he pulled on his breeches and loosely tied them. She caught a quick glance at the trail of dark hair that stuck to his body from the water and went beneath his clothing, to somewhere Sansa suddenly had an urge to touch and see. His hands were unsteady as he tied his breeches and he kept swaying as if off balance. He's drunk, Sansa realized as he stumbled to the table. He shook his head, sending water droplets through the air. A few rained down over Sansa, one landing high on her exposed leg. She shivered and rolled over to turn away from him. The room grew silent at her sudden movement. She could feel his stare. He's watching me, Sansa thought while she concentrated on the blackness behind her eyes. She had them squeezed shut. It wasn't from fear, it was from the growing desire in her stomach. The burning sensation was coming back.
Regardless of the rejections, regardless of how confused she felt, of one thing she was certain. She wanted him. Her body responded with simply a look, her mind wandered involuntarily to impure thoughts of his hands, his body, and his husky voice. She was beginning to understand why he had always called her a little bird who did nothing but chirp. She was raised to be proper, to marry well, to have children and be a dutiful wife. Despite the torture she endured, she had remained a chirping bird, refusing to be rude or inappropriate even when she had every reason to be. She knew no other way to be. Now, she was a bird set free. Now she was flying through the sky. And to Sansa's disbelief, being free of her courtesies was growing on her. Especially when the feeling she got between her legs began to take hold of her.
The bed sank as the Hound laid down next to her, the groaning of the bed making Sansa suck in a deep breath of the hot air. She heard and felt him shift for several minutes before settling into a light slumber, his snores ripping through the air. Sansa almost laughed at how comical it sounded, but after a few minutes the amusement faded into annoyance. Sansa turned to face him and felt her breath escape her lungs.
His chest was moving up and down, not concealed by his usual tunic. His chest hair had dried and covered the scarred flesh. The trail of dark hair she had seen earlier was much closer to her now, almost within reach. She followed it with her eyes. She looked from his chest, down to his toned stomach to his belly button, then further, where his breeches rested low on his lips, the ties done sloppily. His mouth was slightly open, the snores exploding from his nose as he breathed. Despite having had poor experiences touching the Hound while he has slept, Sansa didn't hesitate to gently shove his arm in an effort to be rid of the noise. His snores immediately stopped but Sansa was also pinned to the mattress, her neck gripped by one of his strong hands, the other resting next to her head. He was hovering over her, his eyes staring into hers. His pupils were so large that the storminess of his irises was just a sliver. Sansa gasped each breath. Her hands instinctively gripped the hand pushing on her throat.
"What did I tell you about a drunk dog?" his words slurred together a bit, but his voice was menacing. Sansa actually felt a small twinge of fear mixed with an overwhelming heat that seemed to be transferring from his body to hers.
Sansa swallowed and tried to speak, but nothing came out. She simply kept staring into his eyes. He eased his grip on her throat, letting her take a deep breath. "That you're dangerous," Sansa replied, her voice steady. The fear began to fade as she held his stare. "But I know you won't hurt me."
The Hound smirked at that. His hair was still damp and dangling around his face, grazing the burned skin on his cheek. "Aye," he muttered, his eyes drooping a bit as he let go of her throat entirely. "Don't bloody wake me again." He collapsed back onto his side of the bed, the wood creaking in protest.
Sansa sat up and watched his bare back. Silver scars ran along his spine, an especially large one ran across his right shoulder. "I can't sleep with you snoring," Sansa said. "You shouldn't have drank so much." Days ago, Sansa would have regretted saying such a thing. Now she expected the anger that came spilling out of him as he sat up in the bed, swaying slightly from the drink, and looked at her.
"I have you to thank for that, girl." The words sounded so sloppy that Sansa took a moment to understand them. "Plugs your ears and sleep." He was asleep again in an instant.
The snores were quiet at first, but grew louder over the next hour. Sansa was on her back staring at the ceiling as the room began to plunge into darkness. The fire was burning out and the only other light was a small amount of moonlight spilling through a small window next to her side of the bed. Every time she closed her eyes the snoring made her eyes snap open. So, she took his advice. She plunged her fingers as deep into her ears as she could, curled onto her side and tried to sleep.
Sleep came, but with dreams that stirred Sansa's desire and her fears to the surface. The combination made for vivid and horrifying images to play behind her eyelids. Several of the dream sequences were of the Hound. His hands, rough with calluses, caressing and stroking her. An ache had begun between her legs while the dream played. Then she dreamed of a forest and running from wolves. Then the wolves turned to lions, to Lannisters. Right before she woke the dreams were bouncing back and forth. One moment she was on a lush patch of grass with the Hound between her legs and his mouth on hers, and the next a lion had her pinned to the dirty forest floor, ripping her bowels open and feasting on her while she was still alive.
The scream that came from her mouth as she woke scared her into a fit of shaking as the Hound sat up in the bed next to her. The darkness was surrounding them both, the moonlight offering very little silver light to see by. "Bloody hells, girl." The Hound didn't sound as angry as Sansa expected. She looked up at him sitting straight up, rubbing his hand over his face, the other hand gripping the sword he had laid next to the bed. She heard it thud on the floor as he dropped it.
Sansa couldn't stop shaking. Her entire body felt like she was in the frozen water from days ago. Yet her body was wet with sweat. The room was still stifling from the bath waters and the fire that died long ago. "I'm s-s-s-sorry," Sansa stammered while her teeth chattered together. A tear slipped from her eye.
The Hound turned and looked down on her. She was shocked to see his face look blank. "What scared the bird tonight?"
Sansa tried to sit up, but was pushed down by one of his hands. He had barely touched her, but it was enough to send her shaking body back down onto the mattress. "The Lannisters," Sansa responded controlling her chattering teeth this time.
"There's no Lannisters here. Just me." His voice was still slightly slurred. "I told you I'd keep you safe, little bird. Stop your shaking and sleep."
Sansa watched him carefully as her body continued to tremble. His gaze was cold, but he laid down next to her and pulled her to his body after several moments when it became apparent that Sansa was not able to stop shaking or even speak. Sansa felt the heat radiating off of him like a flame. He brought her close, curled her into the front of his body, her back molding perfectly to his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly to him. Sansa shivered once, then twice and then was still. Nothing could be heard but their breathing and Sansa's heartbeat in her ears. The smell of wine entered Sansa' nose. That's why he's holding me. He's still drunk. His hesitation often diminished when he had been drinking. Sansa swallowed the lump forming in her throat and wriggled her body tighter into his. She felt his arms tighten around her and his breath stop for a moment. His fingers that had been clasped over her stomach now moved to her waist and gripped firmly. It almost felt like he was preparing to push her away. Sansa took one of her hands and gently place it over one resting on her hip. She felt him flinch, his breath stopped for another moment.
Without a word his hand moved beneath hers, bringing both of their hands up to her breast. It was almost as if he brought her hand with him so she could stop him. Sansa remembered how many times he asked her to make him stop. This time her heart was beating so quickly and her mind so fogged that she knew, just like before, she wasn't going to protest. The heat was warming her belly. His thumb ran over her nipple as it hardened beneath the fabric of her dress. Sansa let out a sigh as she felt his manhood press into her back, suddenly becoming firm. His breath was tickling the back of her neck as he rested his forehead on the back of her head, against her red hair. His hand moved from her chest down to the edge of her dress near her knee. Sansa's hand was still overtop of his, the desire to bring it to her core beginning to tingle her fingertips. He began to pull her dress up her leg, exposing her thigh. The calluses on his hand were rough against the soft skin of her inner thigh. Her own fingers brushed against her center as he brought their hands higher and higher.
"Little bird, you should-
"I'm not going to tell you to stop." Sansa blurted the words out in a sigh mixed with growing desire and surprising sternness. The Hound paused, his fingers in the crease of her thigh where the hair that covered her woman's place began. Her own hand was still on top of his, her knuckles almost grazing her aching nub. Sansa was surprised by her own boldness, but more than anything she was tired of walking on eggshells around the Hound. Her body was screaming for him and her conscious knew he was not to be feared. He had already had several chances to kill her, rape her, or give her away. He wanted her. Sansa was becoming more certain by the moment. The stiffness pressing into her back as his hand plunged into her folds was answer enough.
She took her hand away as his ran down to her entrance, dipping a single finger into her wet core. She gripped his forearm, her nails digging into the skin. His finger moved eagerly, not hesitating as he had before. She moaned, turning her face into the pillow trying to mask the sound. He immediately took his hand away from her woman's place and wrapped it loosely around her neck. His finger was wet and chilled the skin of her neck as he pulled her face away from the pillow.
"I want to hear you, little bird." His hand went back down to her folds and this time he took two fingers and entered her with only the slightest bit of resistance as her body adjusted to the intrusion again. She didn't hold back the noises this time. She moaned and whimpered as he rubbed her bud with his thumb and pumped into her with his fingers. She felt him stiffen even more behind her as she began to move her body in time with his.
He didn't speak as he slipped out of her and moved her body to lay on her back as his hovered over her. Sansa immediately remembered the night beneath the tree. The way he had bunched her dress up to her waist and used his fingers to make her sing. This time he looked down on her with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. The darkness consumed them both, but Sansa's eyes had adjusted. She could see with the help of the silver moonlight the way his chest heaved and could feel his hands curl into the mattress beside her head. He's hesitating again. Sansa laid still for another moment, watching him watching her until her heart began to slow and the ache began to dull. She moved quickly, for fear of making him recoil, as she put a hand on either side of his face, her hands cupping his cheeks, even the ugly scarred side of his face and sitting up to meet his mouth with hers. She felt him try to move away, her hand being somewhere he never let anyone's eyes linger, let alone their hands. But Sansa persisted. She moved her thumbs in circles on his cheeks, the burned flesh tickled her palm as she pressed her mouth eagerly to his. He was tense beneath her mouth, but once it was made clear she wasn't going to back away he opened his mouth and claimed her.
Sansa was shoved roughly down to the mattress and his body aligned with hers, pressing her into the sheet covering the straw almost painfully. She could feel his knee part her legs and his manhood press to her core, the scratchy fabric of his breeches being the only barrier between them. Their teeth rubbed together, their jaws opened and closed around one another. Their tongues danced, his tasting of wine and hers tasting of the North. His hands greedily grabbed her breasts and traveled down to her legs, pulling the fabric of her dress higher and higher until her stomach was exposed. Then he pulled it higher yet until their mouths had to part for him to roughly pull it over her head. Sansa gasped and moved her hands to her breasts, suddenly naked beneath him. He didn't speak as he pulled her hands away and brought his mouth to her right nipple. He sucked it with his mouth, his teeth grinding it roughly, her mouth hanging open with shock and pleasure. Sansa had never been touched like this, never dreamed of it. She was naked and the Hound was ravishing her. Her heart could hardly handle it. The feeling in her chest was like her lungs were going to burst.
Sansa closed her eyes and moaned as his mouth moved to her other breast, paying it close attention as well. His teeth gripped it and she cried out, her eyes opening and looking down at his face. He was smirking, the burnt corner of his mouth twitching. "I've always wondered how you taste," he said as he moved his body down so his head was between her legs. He parted her thighs and held them firmly with his hands.
Sansa had no idea what his intention was, but it never was for his tongue to run along her folds. Sansa cried out and took both of her hands and placed them on his head, unknowingly pushing him away. His reaction to that was to laugh into her center and roughly grab her wrists and pin them to the mattress as his mouth returned to her core. Sansa wriggled beneath him as his tongue lapped at her like the wolf once had in her dreams. Only this felt better. Sansa could no longer prevent the noises escaping her throat. She tugged at her wrists locked in his grip to no avail. She only wanted to grab something as her body tried to twist and turn in time with his tongue.
Without warning his mouth was no longer on her. Sansa opened her eyes and saw him standing next to the bed, the strain in his breeches more apparent than ever. His body was directly in the moonlight as he untied his breeches. "Are you sure, little bird?" he asked as he began to pull them down. Sansa just stared as his manhood stood erect in the moonlight. Her heart hammered. Am I sure about what?
Sansa opened her mouth only to close it just as quickly. She had no answer. He stood in the moonlight for several heartbeats, his body large and his manhood intimidating. Sansa took a deep breath. He's waiting for me to say something, she realized. Sansa sat up and leaned against the wooden headboard of the bed. The wood creaked beneath her. She looked down at herself. Her one breast had a bite mark, her nipples were hard and her pubic hair was glistening with her wetness. Several days ago she would have been more shy, but his touch left her feeling foggy. Her mind was unable to feel scared, embarrassed or unsure. The only thing she felt was certain desire.
"Are you going to touch me again?" Sansa asked, the question all too familiar. Her words coming out slightly slurred. She was drunk on ecstasy.
The Hound moved over to the bed, his naked body towering over her. He kneeled in front of her on the mattress and gripped her calves. His hands could wrap around her legs easily. He pulled and Sansa slid down the headboard to the feather pillows. He pulled again and she slid further down the mattress towards him. When her legs were propped on his hips and his knees were between her legs he placed his hands on her thighs and gripped them hard, making Sansa bite her lip.
"Aye," he responded as he moved over her and took her mouth with his.
Sansa lost track of everything after that moment. Suddenly his body was on top of hers, pressing her into the mattress. He was between her legs, his manhood grazing her entrance. Sansa sucked in a breath as they continued to kiss, her mind swimming in the feeling of his erection rubbing against her and the groan he let escape into the crook of her neck as he moved against her. Sansa cupped his burnt cheek again and he didn't flinch or pause this time. Her thumb moved over the rippled surface as his tongue danced with hers. Sansa paused and almost recoiled as he took his hand from by her head and brought it down to his manhood. She pulled back from him and watched as he stroked himself once, then twice. Sansa bit her lip as he watched her and ran his hand up and down over himself between her legs. When he moved towards her, his manhood touching her entrance Sansa gasped.
"I'm not going to stop, little bird." His voice was ragged, his breathing heavy. She watched as his hand moved up and down again, his fingers grazing her as they ran over the top of his manhood. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you," he let out a growl as his fingers found her entrance and slipped in with ease, "but I'm about to." He pumped in her several times before running his hand up and down his shaft again, her wetness coating him. Sansa bit her lip and looked into his eyes. She had heard stories of losing a maidenhead, but her stories were no help now. I'm not going to stop. Sansa realized that she didn't want him to stop.
He positioned himself so he was right at her entrance. Sansa parted her legs as much as she could and took a shaky breath as he guided himself into her. One hand gripped the mattress next to Sansa's head, the other gripped her thigh so tightly she was certain it would bruise as he tore her open. Sansa's eyes had been closed in preparation, but now they snapped open. She bit her lip so hard that she reopened the bite mark, tasting metallic blood. Her hands found his shoulders and she dug her nails into his skin. He groaned as he slowly pushed deeper, his eyes on her face. Sansa could feel his eyes on her as she stared at the ceiling, tears threatening to spill from hers. The pain was sharp, but not completely unbearable. She could tell by the grip he had on her and the shaking of his arm that it was taking a lot of effort for him not to completely lose himself inside of her. Sansa whimpered as he continued to push forward, his hand pushing down on her leg even harder. When he was completely inside of her Sansa wasn't sure which hurt more, his hand on her thigh or the feeling of her core widening to accommodate him. Sansa looked in his eyes at that moment and he looked into hers. While staying inside of her, the Hound leaned down, releasing her leg from his grip. He aligned their bodies and took his thumb and pulled her lower lip from the grip of her teeth.
Sansa felt the initial pain begin to dull as he leaned down and captured her mouth with his. She tasted the blood from her lip on his tongue. She must have bit hard because the taste was overwhelming. He kept her mouth occupied while he shifted, pulling out of her center, causing a sharp pain. Sansa furrowed her brow and gripped his forearms as she kissed him roughly. When he was nearly out of her Sansa could think of nothing but how empty she would feel without him. She moved her hips slightly, almost asking him to come back. And of course he obliged. She began to feel numb to the pain. Her body was growing used to the Hound inside of her. Each thrust came faster than the last. He parted from her mouth and rested his forehead on hers as he moved in and out of her. Sansa let out another whimper. One of his hands found her face and cupped her cheek and the other dug into the mattress next to her head. Sansa began to cry out each time he fully immersed himself in her, and he began to grunt with each movement. Sansa discovered that his grunts became more primal the more she moved her own body with his. Once the pain had nearly vanished, Sansa moved her hips with his and held the back of his neck with one of her hands while the other curled at her side, gripping the sheets. His movements became faster and less careful. Sansa bit her lip as he thrusted into her harder than he had before. She felt like her stomach was on fire. With a primal growl from his throat he left her core, causing a sudden ache to sweep over her. And then she felt a hot pool of his seed spread across her stomach as he growled into her throat.
"Your turn, little bird," he muttered into her neck as he took the hand that had been on her cheek and began rubbing her sensitive nub between her legs.
Sansa cried out in surprise as he moved his hand quickly while resting on her body. She felt a pain from him having entered her, but after a few heartbeats the fire began to ignite in her stomach. The pain was pushed aside to make room for the feeling she had felt that night in the forest beneath the tree. He made no movement to enter her with his fingers, only to rub her almost violently. Sansa squirmed beneath him as much as she could with his body holding her down. His mouth sucked at her throat, then her breast as she felt his fingers pick up speed and rub in a circle around her most sensitive parts. When she began to moan with each breath he pressed harder and moved slower. Sansa opened her eyes and watched as he came down and rested his forehead on hers. Sansa squeezed her eyes shut as he slowed to a painfully slow pace between her legs. She breathed hard as he licked her lower lip. She opened her mouth and let him occupy her lips while he quickened his pace. The sudden change in speed was enough to send Sansa back to the edge and to throw her over it. She cried into his mouth as her release washed over her. He rubbed slowly around her for a few moments more before parting from her lips and removing his hand from her woman's place.
Sansa kept her eyes closed as she felt the mattress shift from the Hound leaving the bed. She heard the splash of the bath water and opened her eyes slightly. She saw the Hound splashing his face with the water and stumble over to the table where he had tossed his wineskin. He opened it and took a long drink. Sansa sat up, her naked body slick with sweat from both her and the Hound. He turned and watched her. His eyes were moving up and down her body. In the moment, she couldn't care less. Her eyes were heavy, her limbs limp and her core aching from pleasure and being torn open.
"Drink then sleep," he muttered as he held out the wineskin to Sansa. She clumsily took it from him and drank deeply. The wine was sour but she gulped it down regardless. When she handed it back to him he was handing her his cloak.
Sansa took the cloak from him and wrapped it around herself as she nestled down onto the pillow. "Sandor?" Sansa said his real name like a question. She wasn't sure what she wanted to ask, her eyes were so heavy, but she liked the feeling of his name on her tongue.
The Hound paused as he pulled on his breeches. He began to tie them loosely while watching her with a furrowed brow. "Sleep," he grunted as he laid on the bed next to her. Sansa didn't need much convincing. Her eyes closed and she was in darkness, her body heavy with the aftermath of pure bliss.
Well, there you have it. What does everyone think? Was it believable? Reviews are delicious.