Tyrion headed for the training yards, where he was sure to find Jaime at that time of day. The butterflies in his stomach seemed to carry him flying to the outside grounds. It was ridiculous. He wasn't a naive teenager anymore, but he couldn't care less. He felt like one. He wanted to throw up and run several leagues crying out his love to the rooftops all at once.

He resorted to his first instinct, which hadn't ever faded entirely since he was a small boy: going to tell Jaime. Tyrion needed his point of view, his bad jokes, his snarky tongue and his advice. Not that his big brother had a vast experience with women, having been with just two, and one of them had been a twisted wicked bitch. But somehow Jaime had managed to win the heart of an amazing woman like Brienne, so he must be doing something right.

Jaime was out there, practicing with the sword. His opponent was one of the Stark's soldiers. Brienne on her part was doing exercises for stretching her muscles next to some half mashed dummies. She was mindful of her already advanced state of pregnancy and performed the moves carefully. Pod was also around there, clashing swords with another soldier. His skill at fighting had improved considerably and Tyrion felt a bubbling pride for him.

Jaime saw him from afar and turned around. His face was pure mischief as he watched his approach.

"You look as you did as a toddler, when the maidservants caught you stealing cakes from the kitchen. Your face was pure sneaky bliss," Jaime recalled. "Does it have to do with a certain redhead?"

"You mean Tormund? I was under the impression he drooled over your wife. I don't think he'll be much interested in someone much shorter," Tyrion teased. "How is he, by the way? Hasn't come back to check if Brienne has changed her mind?"

Jaime snorted. "I haven't seen his furry ass in a long time, thanks. Don't speak of the devil or he'll materialize any moment and there's only so much of his drooling I can tolerate over my wife. Just to be clear, I want him as far as the lowest level of the seven hells. And don't change the topic. You've been with Sansa and I surmise it hasn't been simply a courtesy meeting."

"She's kissed me," Tyrion blurted out, flushed.

Jaime's eyes widened. "No shit! Seems like she's missed you so much she couldn't wait."

Tyrion rolled his eyes, a little exasperated. "I told her previously that I love her."

Jaime looked impressed, what pleased Tyrion. "Well done, brother. You've grown a pair. Not anyone would be able to melt her ice. That girl was through hell and back."

Tyrion's face grimaced in hatred. "I would have given that rapist a much less merciful death than the one Sansa gave him, I assure you. I can't stomach torture by principle, but with that monster I'd have made an exception gladly."

Jaime nodded in agreement. "And I would have helped you."

Both brothers smiled at each other in mutual understanding. "So what now?," Jaime asked.

Tyrion shrugged. "I don't know. I told her I don't expect anything in return. I won't put pressure on her. She seemed to appreciate that and she felt more at ease. She didn't look regretful," he recounted in awe.

Jaime patted his back in appreciation. "Of course she didn't. She has developed a good taste in men. The proof is that she considers me practically a sibling after putting up with me for months on end. She likes annoying pests like us."

Tyrion shoved him playfully. "You're such a fool. You're lucky I'm not half as strong as your wife is or you'd have a nasty bruise right now."

Jaime feigned offense. "Ouch. I was complimenting you. Brienne has rubbed off on you, I see. Why are you both so intent on manhandling my poor body?"

"We wouldn't feel so tempted if you weren't such a prick all the time," Tyrion retorted, laughing.

Jaime smiled sarcastically. "Definitely I love being the object of your amusement. Anything else you'd like to laugh at me or insult me about?"

The pair went on bickering for a while, until Tyrion retired to his assigned chambers in order to rest and wash himself up for dinner.


The main hall was exactly as he always remembered it, warm, smelling of firewood, food, wine and ale, and resounding with loud chatter and laughter from the usual residents and guests. He had a pleasant dinner with his closest ones. He and Sansa didn't mention anything about their private affairs in front of the others and conducted themselves as normally as they could. But from time to time, they shared a glance and a shy smile. Of course, and no matter how discreet they were, Jaime and Brienne noticed the brief exchanges anyway.

But Tyrion didn't care much, and Sansa looked the same. That contributed to calm his slight restlessness about the fact that she might backpedal, to which she was perfectly entitled and what he would accept stoically, at least on the surface.

Eventually they retired for the night, to Tyrion's disappointment. He didn't wish that enjoyable night to end. The next morning he would depart for the Wall and he would be far from his loved ones for several days.

He undressed, changed into his night shirt and breeches and climbed on the bed. A fond smile stretched his lips. One of his favourite books was waiting for him on the bedside table.

He loved Sansa even more for small gestures like that.

He had started to read and his mind was relaxing enough for sleep to claim him soon, when some discreets knocks on the door broke the silence. He got startled. He wasn't waiting for anyone at that late hour. Was it Jaime? What would he want of him instead of remaining in his warm chambers with his warm wife?

He jumped down from the bed and stomped to the door, grumbling. "Bloody hell, Jaime. What the fuck are you doing here and leaving your wife alone so late at night?" He opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks, dumbstruck.

"I think it's not him, but if you prefer his company, I might come back another time," Sansa teased. A hint of nervousness touched her voice, but she grinned bravely. She was wearing a silky robe, tied at the waist, over what he presumed were her nightclothes, and her feet were into a pair of comfortable looking slippers.

Tyrion closed his mouth, suddenly aware that it was agape, and forced himself to recover from his astonishment at seeing her at his door. Well, technically it's her door, he thought absurdly, and felt the impulse to laugh out of nerves, fear and he held back. The last thing he wanted was to look like a total ass before her.

He resorted to tease her back. "Oh, it's not necessary, my lady. I like your face loads more than his." He gestured toward the interior of the chamber. "But come in, please. I don't know about you, but I prefer fireplaces to freezing corridors."

Sansa laughed softly and stepped into the room, staring around in appraisal, as if making sure that the chamber was comfortable enough for its occupant. Tyrion hastened to close the door, to keep the heat from escaping the room.

"Shall we sit?," Tyrion asked, pointing at the chairs next to a small table.

"Of course," she nodded. They sat and there was an awkward silence before she spoke. "Tyrion, I've had a great day." She hesitated. "I... I don't want to be alone in my bedroom. Can I stay here?"

He was rendered speechless for a while, until finally he nodded and his voice came back. "Are you sure?"

"I am. Sleep wouldn't come to me anyway and I missed you. But if this makes you uncomfortable..." She trailed off, looking down awkwardly.

"No," he rushed to assure her. "You'd never nake me feel uncomfortable, Sansa. I'd very much like for you to stay."

"All right then," she turned her eyes to the book he had dropped on the bed. "Oh, you were reading. Would you be pleased to know that title has become one of my favourites too?"

He beamed. "I'd be very pleased, indeed. I like sharing things with you."

"Me too," she agreed. Then hesitated again. "Would you lie down in bed with me? And don't ask me again if I'm sure, because I am, " she hurried to clarify.

The string of surprises hadn't stopped yet, it seemed. "Oh...Alright. Be my guest. I was feeling a bit lonely without you as well. It's a waste for both of us to feel lonely separately when we can find an easy solution for that, don't you think?," he teased.

"Exactly," she agreed, walking close to the bed. "Which side do you usually lie on?," she inquired.

He shrugged. "I don't have any preferences, and besides, I've slept alone for years. Suit yourself, my lady," he offered, with the usual humorous lilt in his voice. Seven hells, I'm as nervous as a boy of two and ten with his first crush. This woman will be the death of me. God of tits and wine, thank you so much. Fuck the other gods. You're the only one who's ever cared for me. However now we'll have to go on making do without the wine, he thought with a secret smile.

"Very well, my lord."She chose the left side and sat down on the edge, grabbing the book and placing it on the nightstand. He laughed softly at their shared joke. Addressing one another with formalities was a too rooted habit to discard it at a stroke.

He followed suit on the right side and they both moved to rest their backs and heads on the pillows and headboard and covered thempselves to their waists with the furs. He then timidly reached for her hand between them. Earlier that day in her solar she had implied half jokingly that she expected him to take the initiative in their interactions as much as she did as well, so he thought he could start with taking her hand. He grazed tentatively her fingers and she intertwined hers with his. It felt wonderful.

They both turned their heads to gaze at each other, grinning. "This works. I don't feel lonely anymore," she confessed.

He squeezed their joined fingers slightly. "Me neither. We sentient beings complicate our lives so much when it should be so much easier."

She nodded. "Indeed. You feel lonely, you search for someone to help you get rid of it. As easy as that," she joked. "I might have spared myself years of loneliness. Sometimes I envy you men and the women of lower status. Society doesn't condemn you as badly as us highborn women if you commit certain indiscretions."

"You're right, and it's unfair. I truly believe men and women should be afforded the same treatment and judgement from society," he defended.

"You're a rare specimen. That's one of the reasons why I like you," she praised, grinning.

He feigned a grimace. "Are you going to pierce me with a needle and stick me to a board along with other rare specimens of your collection, like some entomologists do?"

Sansa laughed and the whole bed shook with her mirth. "I prefer other uses for my needles, thanks. Insects have never been my thing." She scrunched her brow and nose in mocking disgust.

They remained in comfortable silence for some moments. "I think we should try so sleep, Sansa. Morning won't come later just for us and our duties won't vanish in thin air," he jested with a sigh.

"Yes, unluckily," she nodded sadly in agreement.

They turned to blow out the candles on their respective nightstands and Sansa took off her robe and put it away. Then they lied down, facing each other. The only remaining light came faintly from the fireplace.

He sensed her hesitation even in the shadows and waited for her to speak.

"Tyrion... Can I ask you for something?"

"Of course, Sansa. Whatever."

"I... I've never been touched properly. I mean... I don't know how a man's tender touch feels. For so long I've been so scared of any man laying his hands on me. I felt so repulsed. But with you it's completely different. I... I don't want you to go without knowing how your touch feels. I'd regret not having asked you when you're hundreds of leagues away again." Her voice was trembling with shyness and uncertainty.

He was rendered speechless and astonished once more. Gods. This beautiful creature is asking me what I wouldn't have believed possible in a thousand lifetimes? He cleared his throat, which felt constricted with an overwhelming surge of love and desire. He looked at her intensely. "I'm so sorry you've only known brutality, my beloved Sansa. You've been made to be worshipped. You're so beautiful." He sought confirmation in her eyes and then kissed her. They instantly grabbed each other's faces and deepened the contact, opening their mouths and seeking the other's tongue. Shared moans started to fill the room. Tyrion stopped and looked at her eyes once more. "My love, let me try something to make you feel good. Tonight it's about your pleasure." She nodded silently and then their lips fused again. He slipped his hand from her cheek down to her chest and cupped her breast over her clothes, squeezing the sweet mounds. Gods, she is divine. She seemed to like that very much, as her moans intensified. He then kissed her neck and she tilted her head back to give him more room and arched her back. Her whole body was wiggling sensually under his and he felt about to explode with want, but he restrained himself with a great effort. Focus on her pleasure. It's only her what matters, not you, naughty cock.

He kept kissing her neck and then back to her mouth. His fingers teased relentlessly her stiff nipples, clearly outlined under the fabric. These tits must be a vision when bare. But that will have to wait for the proper moment.

When he felt her practically turning to mush under his caresses, he slid his hand to her waist and further down tentatively.

He let go of her lower lip with an erotic pop. "Do you want me to touch you down there, my love?"

She nodded eagerly, what elicited a smile from him. "Yes. I want you to."

He then lifted her nightgown under the furs of the bed, all the while watching her face to study her reactions, and carefully placed his hand on her clothed pubis. "Is this all right, Sansa?"

"Yes. Please, go on," she pleaded and his cock gave a great lurch. Down, little boy. You're not showing up today, he chastised himself for his delirious desire.

He began to trace the contours of her sex slowly. Her undergarments were delightfully wet already. She moaned and spread her legs, throwing her head back on the pillow. Her long red hair was splayed and shining on the dim light.

He found her small nub and proceeded to rub it rhythmically, observing attentively her reactions until he set the right pace. At the same time, his mouth descended on her breast and he teased it over the gown, careful not to dampen the fabric. He practically could taste her skin, as she wasn't wearing a breastband. Her hand came to rest on his head and she tangled her fingers in his curls.

It was one of the most erotic things he had ever experienced, and that was a feat, considering that he had very ample experience. It's because it's her. Everything seems new with her.

By then, she was almost crying out and she tried to muffle her sounds placing her forearm on her mouth. He smiled at her attempt at not awakening half the castle.

His hand went on teasing her sex and his lips did the same to her breasts until he felt her body go rigid and a muffled cry pierced the night air.

Her climax was glorious to watch and feel. Her whole body shook and bucked and she was grasping his hair almost painfully. He loved every minute of the act they had just performed together.

When her body went limp, she grabbed his face and kissed him languidly. "Wow," she uttered in awe.

"I take it you enjoyed it, my love?," he inquired playfully.

She snorted in a very unladylike manner. "Enjoyed it? That's an understatement, honey." They laughed, staring at each other.

They yawned almost simultaneously. Surprisingly, sleep was claiming him. Her completion had felt nearly like his own and his body was relaxed now.

Just before they succumbed to sleep, Sansa whispered. "You better don't linger on the Wall if you want me to return the favour soon."

He shook his head, denying. "There's no need. You don't have to return anything, my love."

"I want to touch you too," she assured firmly.

Tyrion relented without more resistance, happily defeated. "As you wish." And he realized something. "Did you just call me honey?"