New chapter! This was faster than the previous two. Hopefully I can keep this up. Once more, special thanks to Athena-Noctua-Bubo for betaying this chapter!
"Oh, gods, yes… yes! Yes!" Sansa moaned urgently. On her back, she clung to the sheet beneath her with both hands and incessantly wiggled, her climax so very close.
"You're mistaken, little bird. I'm no god. I'm much better than that," the Hound muttered against her folds.
Even as she was on the brink of coming, Sansa burst into a fit of giggles. But then she gasped and arched her back as he resumed licking her with renewed fervour.
Looking between her parted legs, Sansa was met by the sight of a huge dark horned beast gazing up at her from where he was, his head repetitively tilting up and down as he kept working on her. His animalistic eyes were gleaming in the dimness of the room and by the rhythmic movement of his large muscled body, she could tell he was jerking off.
The Hound's large bat-like wings were open over him, dark and delectably terrifying. Sansa loved it when he opened them. It sent her heart racing as she was reminded what a ferocious creature of the night he was. She wanted to touch them, and she tried, but they were too far and her fingers landed on his long pointy horns instead. The texture of them was as solid as stone and while their surface was smooth, there were some indentions in them. Sansa caressed each with her fingertips when the Hound pressed his tongue harder on her clitoris. She shivered and by reflex, closed both of her palms around them. As she did, Sandor growled in satisfaction and increased the strength of his spell on her. She whimpered, taken aback by the surge of her arousal and tightened her fists around his horns. With all of her strength, she pulled them to her, same as if she wished his face would merge with her crotch.
"Oh, yes!" she let out even as his gigantic clawed hands circled her hips and his tongue lapped at her frantically.
Sansa came right then, moaning her lover's name many times over in the most languorous manner imaginable. "Sandor! Sandor… Oh, Sandor…!"
When several long seconds later she was done riding her pleasure, the Hound did not grant her an instant of rest. Climbing on top of her, he plunged his huge member in her, his whole length filling her at once. Sansa gasped, yet even before she could utter a single word, he started pounding himself in her. With each of his powerful comings and goings, she jolted into the mattress beneath her and groaned. Hooking her legs around his waist, she eagerly followed his movement, enjoying his vigorous claiming of her.
As if they had a will of their own, her hands rose over his body to touch him everywhere in their reach: his dark lank hair, his wings, his muscular arm. By the Seven, but he was such a beast! Sansa couldn't get enough of all of his demon attributes. She was just so turned on by him…
Then, all of a sudden, he brought a large palm over her neck to circle it, his fingers not tight enough to choke, but enough to give their lovemaking a sense of danger which was really thrilling. This was too much for Sansa and she peaked again right then and there. The Hound followed her instantly and spilled himself in her, his sperms as warm as molten lava.
For a long time afterwards it seemed, they lay on their backs on the mattress, both catching their breath. Sansa was pleasantly giddy and sated to the point of being sleepy, nevertheless, as she remembered the extent to which she had moaned and wailed all through her orgasm, she guffawed, hiding her burning face behind her hands. Chuckling, Sandor rolled onto his side and drew her to him. He kissed her neck and hair and gently fondled her breasts.
"That wasn't so bad now, wasn't it?" he breathed, obviously satisfied by his performance.
"Not so bad indeed," Sansa replied happily.
The Hound pulled back from her to consider her in silence for a time.
"You did so well today, little bird," he rasped lowly. "I'm so proud of you. It was about time you made those stupid boys pay."
Losing her smile, Sansa averted her gaze. "I don't know how I feel about it though…or no, I do know. I feel horrible. I'm not sure I should have done it -"
"Stop it, Sansa," the Hound cut her. Seizing her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he lifted her face so that she looked at him. "You did what you had to. They deserved it. They asked for it."
Sighing deeply, Sansa bit at her lip. "Yes… they did deserve it, I'll admit it. But I wished I hadn't broken witch law in the process."
"Don't start again with that stupid witch law of yours," Sandor snapped, rolling his eyes. "Why the fuck should you let anyone tell you what's good or evil? You should decide for yourself, make your own damned law." He paused and tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowed at her. "Do you think it was wrong of you to defend yourself?"
"Of course not," Sansa admitted.
"Well then, fuck witch law – it's as simple as that. Besides, you needed vengeance."
"Vengeance," she repeated uneasily. "It's not something I'm used to. It's not something I'd ever thought I'd want one day either."
"People change, little bird. They learn," he murmured, tracing the line of her jaw with a long, pointy claw. "And you, are one hells of a fast learner."
Sansa forced herself to smile, adamant about not letting her uneasiness ruin their time together.
That seemed to please him. "Say, I have an idea. We should celebrate this victory of yours, do something special. What do you think about that?"
"A celebration?" Sansa asked, surprised. "Well… why not. What do you have in mind?"
The Hound bared his teeth in a devilish grin. "What about wine? Do you have any? We should get drunk."
"Get drunk?" Sansa repeated, her eyes widening in shock. "I don't know. I'm not used to drinking. Besides, I'm too young, it's not even legal for me!"
The Hound laughed. "Legal? What's that even supposed to mean? Another bloody nonsensical man law?"
Men did have a lot of laws, Sansa had to agree. For some reason, this got her to thinking back on her time as Joffrey's girlfriend. He had often reproached her of being such a goody two shoes. Once, he stole a vodka bottle from his father and Sansa had not been able to drink more than two tiny sips. Her unwillingness to participate in his fun was one of the many reasons he had dumped her. While Sansa certainly did not regret Joff, it was probably true she should loosen up a bit. Arya often told her as much also. She might be the younger sister, but she already had more experience with alcohol than her.
"You may be right," Sansa agreed after a while.
"That, I am. You should give it a try at least. You have any?"
Sansa hesitated. "My father does, he has hundreds of wine bottles in the basement in fact, but I'm not allowed to touch them."
At hearing her words, the Hound's eyes sparkled with interest. "You think he'll miss one if he has hundreds of them? I'll be happy with just one – one or two perhaps. It's hard to create good wine, yet once you have some, you can always increase the level of a bottle's contents. Very easy to do, you'll see."
That this was not a good idea made no doubt to Sansa - she was well aware of it in fact. However, she sensed how much Sandor wanted it and besides, a part of her was tempted also. She gave in.
"Alright. I'll go to the cellar then," she agreed, a rush of excitement and nervousness flowing over her.
The Hound grinned and sat up, leaning his back against the head of the bed and crossing his ankles at the end of the mattress. "Good girl. That sounds excellent, Sansa! And remember: the older the wine, the better. Go ahead now. I'll wait for you here and we can resume fucking when you get back," he rasped, distractedly playing with his half-hard dick.
Glancing at the imposing thing, Sansa nodded. "Alright," she replied, a deep blush spreading over her cheeks. Standing up, she found her robe and wrapped it around her naked body. Then, shutting the door behind herself, she headed down the stairs barefoot.
More than anything, Sansa dreaded her father or mother catching her entering or exiting the cellar, but as she reached its door, she reassured herself. They would not: what reason would they have to venture in the basement in the middle of the night? On top of that, as Sandor had said, who would miss a bottle or two amidst hundreds? There was no reason they would find out about this at all.
For a few long minutes, Sansa searched through the cellar. It was quite cold in there and she quickly regretted not wearing her slippers. It was too dark to read the bottles' labels, so she ended up picking two by the amount of dust there was on them, surmising it most likely meant they were as old as Sandor had asked. The cellar went directly into the family room and Sansa brought them to the bar to better inspect them. There was a small lamp there which she turned on and she started reading one of the bottle's label.
"Seems nice," a raspy voice commented from just behind her.
Jumping in place, Sansa spun around to see the Hound, standing in her freaking family room as if there was nothing to it! To see him outside of her bedroom, in a reasonably well-lit environment, a place where she often spent time with her parents and siblings, sent her head swimming with anxiety. At the very least, he had put his pants back on, yet still! What in the Seven was he doing here? He really did not fit in with the décor and the contrast granted his devil attributes an even more blood-curling quality. For a moment, Sansa was just as scared of him as she had been the first time she saw him.
"What are you doing here?" she asked in a not so subtle whisper.
He chuckled. "Just making sure the wine you pick is to my liking."
"But you should've stayed in my room!" Sansa continued, looking around with apprehension. Nobody was there, right? "You told me you'd wait for me there!"
"Changed my mind," the Hound replied, shrugging like it was nothing.
"But, Sandor! What if someone saw you? Did you not think about that?!" Sansa exclaimed. Her heart was beating so fast, she feared it might jump out of her chest.
"No one did, stop fretting, little bird," he rasped dismissively. "Now stop complaining and show me what you've got." With that, he snatched the wine bottle from Sansa's hands and turned away from her. "Harbor Gold, not young at all from the look of it. Let's give it a try." Using one of his claws as a corkscrew, he popped out the cork and took a long, noisy swig directly from the bottle.
"Mmmm. Delicious. It's been so long since I had some wine… hundreds of years in fact. Was getting thirsty…" He took another lengthy swig and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Here, have some," the Hound told her, handing her the bottle. "This wine is to celebrate your victory, remember?"
Sansa almost refused, yet at this point, there'd really be no sense in changing her mind. Grudgingly, she accepted the bottle and sipped at it daintily. "Ugh, that wine is too strong!" she commented with a grimace. Still, she forced herself to take another little sip.
The bottle was already half empty, she realised, yet even as she gazed down upon it, a faint scent of metal began floating around them and the wine level rose until it was completely full again.
"See, little bird? This is what you call a bottomless bottle. Very handy for a thirsty bastard like me. They'll never be an end to it so long as it's mine."
"Huh, that's nice," Sansa said, forcing a smile on her lips. "Let's go back to my room now please," she added, pulling him by the hand.
"Not so fast. Let me have a look around first," Sandor hissed, the corner of his mouth twitching just once. Yanking his hand free, he plucked the wine bottle from her grip and turned his back to her. "Very cozy, this place. We didn't have great rooms like that in my time, I bloody tell you that."
Strolling about the family room, he looked around and inspected everything from the carpeted floor to the ceiling and furniture. Then, all of a sudden, he let himself fall down heavily into the large sectional couch, his wings opening above him so as not to crush them. "Comfy. Not like those buggering wood benches we had. It's even better than a fucking featherbed!"
Sansa stood as stiff as a bow, waiting impatiently. "Are you coming now?"
The Hound shook his head. "No. Relax, Sansa, and have some wine." With that, he got to his feet and threw the bottle at her. Sansa caught it easily, the subtle copper scent that reached her nose in the same breath confirming her suspicion that a dash a magic had been used. She normally couldn't catch a ball to save her life!
"What in the Seven buggering hells is that?" Sandor asked, gazing down at Mum's treadmill in the corner of the room. He strolled in its direction, clearly intrigued.
"It's to exercise. Don't touch it," Sansa told him. Striding to it, she put herself before the treadmill and spread her arms. "Arya broke it once and ever since, Mum won't let anyone touch it, ever!"
Arching his lone eyebrow, Sandor let the treadmill be and turned his interest to the library instead. "Nice picture," he commented after picking up the most recent family portrait taken last summer. He whistled. "Look at your mother - she's your splitting image… Well, the older version of course, but she still looks pretty damned good, I'll bloody tell you that," he said, a wicked smile spreading on his lips.
"Put it down, Sandor! We need to go back, now!"
With that, Sansa attempted to snatch the frame from his hands, but the Hound twisted around and lifted it away from her reach. As he did, one of his wings bumped into the collection of picture frames that decorated the library and many fell to the ground.
"So many fucking baubles!" he complained, turning around to look down angrily at what he had done.
"Oh gods! Careful!" Sansa cried, lifting her free hand to her mouth in horror.
Getting on her knees, she put the wine bottle on a shelf and picked the frames from the floor, one after the other. One had its glass broken and another's frame was crooked. The sound had not been that bad at least, or so she hoped. Her parents couldn't have overheard it of course, could they?
"I'll… I'll take care of that later," Sansa said in a trembling voice. With her eyes, she scanned the room in search of a place to hide the frames. "You should head upstairs at once! Can't you just teleport or something?" There was a drawer at the bottom of the library. Sansa opened it and dumped everything inside of it.
As relaxed as ever, the Hound grabbed the wine bottle from where Sansa had left it on a shelf and took another swig. "This is good stuff. Where did you leave the other one? I'll grab it as well. Ah, I see it." With that, he walked towards the bar.
Sansa was scanning the floor to make sure she had not forgotten any debris when a creak was heard coming from the stairs. She jerked her head at once and was absolutely shellshocked to see her father standing there in his robe and pyjamas.
"Sansa, what in the Seven Hells are you doing here in the middle of the night?" he asked sternly.
But then, his attention got caught by the large and sinister dark shape a little further, near the bar. At that same instant, the Hound spun around to peer at him.
Ned's lifted a hand to his heart, his face blanching and eyes growing bigger than Sansa had ever seen them. "Seven help me…" he breathed.
As for Sandor, his eyes flashed oddly and he titled his head to the side, a little like dogs did sometimes. He opened his wings, an action which Sansa suspected was intended to intimidate her father even further.
"You're the father, aren't you? I saw you in that picture over there," the Hound rasped, nodding at the library. He smirked and slowly walked in Dad's direction. "It's Eddard, isn't it? Ned to your friends…"
Sansa felt as if she would faint. Nevertheless, she ran to her father before Sandor had a chance to get too near and put herself between them with her back to the Hound.
"Dad…this… this is Sandor. He… he wanted wine," she blurted out without thinking.
"You have good stuff in that cellar of yours," Sandor commented, taking a swallow. "It's been centuries since I had something so nice. They don't give us wine in the Seven Hells, the bloody bastards… Good thing I left that shithole."
As he spoke, he got near Sansa enough that she could sense his bodily heat radiating behind her. He put a heavy hand on her shoulder and she tensed, very aware of her father's gaze darting to his fingers. The Hound had such long and pointy claws, pitch back at their extremities. Sansa remembered well enough how repulsed she had been the first time she saw them. She could only guess how her father must feel…
And judging by the way Dad was trembling, he was just as horror-struck as she had been. Sweat was pearling on his face and neck and his chest heaved visibly, yet apart from that, it was as if he had turned to stone.
As for Sandor, he was studying him with great interest - and a hint of mirth as well. He was clearly enjoying himself, Sansa could tell. Once more, she chided herself for not having chosen the wine bottles faster, before the Hound had a chance to leave her room and join her. This face-off should never have happened!
But then, at long last, Ned shook himself. Gulping, he shifted ever so slightly and opened his mouth to speak. "High Lord, I didn't expect to find you in my house, outside of my daughter's room…"
Snorting, the Hound lowered his head over Sansa to have a better look at her father, his hand closing firmly over her shoulder. "High Lord? You're just like your daughter, aren't you? So bloody proper and polite. She used to call me that too, you know. I told her not to. I fucking piss on titles."
Sansa knitted her brow and craned her neck to gaze up at him. "Sandor, don't be mad. My father didn't know..."
"Maybe you should've told him. That could've been an idea, don't you think? My hatred of all that bullshit's no secret to you," he rasped, caressing the side of her neck with the tip of his fingers. Sansa didn't miss her father's expression of revulsion at the sight and she tried to discreetly shrug the Hound's hand away, yet he only tightened his clutches on her. "Call me Hound, if you have to. I'll only allow your sweet little daughter to call me by my given name. We're intimate enough for that, she and I. Aren't we, little bird?"
Sansa looked down at the floor and remained silent. He didn't really expect her to reply, did he?
"Hound it is then," Dad said, same as if he had not heard Sandor's last comment.
"Good. Well, we should probably head back up now, what do you say, Sansa? We've only got a couple of hours left before daybreak. Gotta make the most of it." With that, he grabbed her ass hard enough to make her squeak.
"You're gonna move now? You're blocking the way," the Hound told Ned. He gave Sansa a little push and her father stepped aside just in time to let her pass. Then, just as he was about to follow her, Sandor halted and turned around.
"Oh wait, just a second," he said, walking to the bar. "Forgot the other wine bottle."
Holding both bottles in one huge paw, he gave Dad a pat on the shoulder as he passed by him again. "See you some other time, Ned."
Her father flinched under his touch, a reaction which pleased Sandor judging by the smirk that pulled at her lips.
Oh, gods, that went horribly wrong, Sansa mused in utter despair as she climbed up the stairs with her demon in tow. But how else could it have gone, really? None of this should ever have happened…
"You should have disappeared when my father arrived!" Sansa reproached him after closing her bedroom door. She put her hands on her hips and frowned. "Why didn't you? Did you see his face? I never saw him look so frightened! You did it on purpose, didn't you?" she exclaimed.
The Hound's smirk turned to a deep scowl in a split second and his eyes flashed angrily. "You wanted to hide me forever?" he started, his voice low and calm yet as sharp as a razor blade. "Like some stupid little pet you could keep hidden away in your chamber forever, only to be let out of its cage when it's convenient to you?"
Though Sansa kept her back as straight as an arrow and didn't look away, she shivered, unsettled by the sudden darkening of his mood. "No, of course not," she breathed.
He took a step towards her and narrowed his eyes. "Good, because that's not how it's gonna work, Sansa. Sooner or later, this had to happen. Better sooner then."
The corner of his mouth twitching, Sandor studied her in silence for an instant. Then, finally, he relaxed and gave her a faint smile. "Let's forget about this now, what do you say? Your father, he'll get over it. There's nothing he can do to chase me from your life anyhow. Give him a few days, a week at the most, and it'll be as if nothing had ever happened."
Chewing at her lip, Sansa stared back at him doubtfully.
"Come on in bed now, little bird," the Hound prompted, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her against him. "Let's not waste any more of the time we have left tonight," he murmured. "I still have quite a tension, you know. I told you I was not done with you, didn't I?"
Though she was still annoyed with him, Sansa didn't have it in her to resist his advances - her mind was already elsewhere anyway. She could sense his tension against her stomach indeed and the feel of it was arousing her own hunger.
Sandor has to be right, Sansa mused. There was nothing her father could do. Nothing at all.
On the following day, Sansa's assurance was put to the test. The morning started off surprisingly well. She was not scolded by her parents as expected, which in hindsight should have tipped her off that something was wrong. The dreaded talk never came. Not even a reproach about the wine she had stolen was spoken.
However, in the late afternoon, an announcement was made: her parent would both be visiting Nan at the Wall next weekend. They didn't tell any of the children why they were going, but Sansa knew. She knew it was a last desperate attempt to chase the Hound from her life. There was no postponing this trip anymore. Not after Dad had came face to fact with the devil.