Author Note:

And so we march forth into the realm of mature content. Enjoy.

A small fire cooked the hares the Hound had trapped in the forest. Sansa had waited patiently after bathing until dark settled over their small camp. She thought about getting a fire started while she waited, but thought better of it. And besides, she had no knowledge of how to start a fire. Instead she had stayed in the cave, her knees tucked under her chin, watching the moon rise and shimmer across the water. When he had returned, she watched as he started a fire and began skinning the rabbits. Her heart twisted and her stomach threatened to turn as he ripped the skin from the pink bodies, but she kept her nose wrinkled and her eyes staring at his steady hands. Now the smell wafted through their small camp and made Sansa's mouth water. She hadn't eaten since before the battle. She had been too uneasy and they had been riding too long to stop. And of course there was the day or so she had been unconscious, in a dream somewhere far away.

"That's good enough," he muttered as he handed a spit with a hare on it to Sansa. She flinched, but then accepted. She was unsure of what to do with it. She had never had to eat in the wilderness before. The meat was a bit charred, but there was noticeable grease dripping onto the ground. Despite having been disturbed watching the Hound prepare the rabbits, Sansa couldn't help but lick her lips in anticipation of food. And hot food at that.

The Hound took his hare off of the fire and then threw dirt over the flames until they died away. "It's cold," Sansa said suddenly, watching the small wisps of smoke vanish into the air from the dead fire. Without the fire to warm her, the air had a definite chill in it. The first hints of winter. "Why did you do that?" her voice felt small and her regret for asking the question was immediate as the Hound took a bite of hare and looked at her with an eyebrow raised.

He didn't look terribly mad, but she could tell he was thinking of calling her stupid. "A fire was risky," he started while grease dripped down his chin, "so why keep it any longer than we need it?" she shivered and held her arms close as she took a tentative bite of meat. It melted in her mouth. "I'll keep you warm, girl," he said roughly, not looking at her while he spoke. His concentration was entirely on the meat he was devouring. Sansa paused and watched him, unsure if she had heard him right. When he didn't make any hint of elaborating, Sansa returned to the meat, greedily eating it, her stomach thanking her for every chew and swallow.

After the Hound had finished eating he went and washed the grease from his face with the cool water. Then Stranger was checked and he went to the cave, laying his armor beside the entrance. His sword glimmered in the moonlight as he brought it into the cave, next to his side of the blankets. Sansa followed his lead. Washed the mess from her face with the chilly water, then went a brushed Windstorm, whispering soft words while the horse nuzzled into her neck. When she followed the Hound into the cave her heart started to hammer in her chest. He was laying down, his arm holding up his large cloak, inviting her to climb underneath with him. Suddenly her dress felt very tight on her chest. She hesitated long enough for him to grunt and drop the cloak, leaving her to have to let herself underneath for warmth, if she so desired.

"Aren't you going to keep watch?" she asked in a small voice as she dropped onto her knees on the blankets.

He snorted. "Keep watch?"

"Well, yes. What if Lannister men come for us in the night?"

"You think I won't hear the armor of Lannister men?"

She stopped and thought. "I suppose you would…"

"Aye," he said, "I would. Stranger will stir if someone comes near. He'll even attack if they get too close. I can't stay awake forever, girl."

Sansa nodded. "Alright," she said. "Apologies, s-

He sat up and looked straight into her eyes causing her to stop mid-word. "What did I tell you about that?"

Her lip trembled. "This is no place for fancy words," she said quietly, staring straight back into his eyes.

He leaned in close to her. "Aye, little bird." He opened the cloak again and Sansa bit her lip while crawling underneath. The shelter of the cave made it difficult to see. Everything was fuzzy and black. But she could still see the outline of him, the whites of his eyes, his hair still damp around his face.

She hadn't realized how cold she was until the cloak surrounded her on the hard cave floor. His body was hot, she realized. Heat was radiating from his form. She suddenly felt wide awake. The sweet smell of sweat and man filled her nose. Uncomfortably, Sansa shifted so her back was facing the Hound. Somehow this felt more tolerable than facing him. Her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She had never been this close to him, in such an intimate setting. He had interrogated her momentarily in her chambers at King's Landing, but never after the sun had set. Never had he intruded her private space in an environment that was solely theirs. There were no witnesses, except the horses.

He grunted and shifted beneath the cloak, then he was completely still. Sansa didn't realize that she had been holding her breath. A long breath escaped her lips and her body began to relax. He's going to sleep. You wouldn't mind if he didn't, but he's the Hound. Her mind began to race. Her body had always betrayed the truth of the Hound. His hands on her body, his burned flesh beneath her fingertips, his lips closing in on hers, his body overlapping with hers. These thoughts never drifted far from the front of her mind. As improper as they were, they were there. As real as the day and the night, as sure as the blood that ran through her veins, and often raced at thoughts of him, she thought of him. She should feel ashamed. She should feel sickened. Yet, despite it all, she didn't care. She had meant what she said when she told him about not caring if Joffrey saw. Maybe she had been foolish to utter such a thing, but in all her time at King's Landing, only one thing, one person, had remained the same. The Hound, as vicious as he was, had never betrayed her trust. He terrified her at times, but she knew what he was. He was a fearful man. The fire terrified him as much as his harshness scared her. They were the same, really. The only difference was that he feared nothing but fire, and she feared everything. The balance was impossible to not notice. He was the sense of reality she required. He was the bravery she desperately needed. And she was the softness, the innocence that reminded him of life before being burned. She was the bird. He was the Hound.

Sansa fell asleep despite the thoughts that bounced around her mind for what felt like hours. And when she did wake again, the sun had not risen. It felt like only a few moments later, but it must have been late. The moon had lightened where the horses lay, resting. They looked peaceful, even Stranger. She shifted until she felt a form pressed into her back. She immediately stiffened at the feeling of a hand gripping her waist. It was an automatic response to bite her lip and hold her breath. The hand reached down her thigh, pulling her dress up, higher and higher until her entire leg was exposed. She had been holding her breath for so long that her body threatened to plunge her into darkness. A shaky breath escaped her lips as his large hand ran from her hip to rest over her taut stomach. With a trembling hand, she moved her hand to rest overtop of his. She felt the reaction behind her. His body stiffened. He obviously thought she had been sleeping. When he went to pull his hand away she held it, lacing her fingers through his.

A wave of bravery passed over her. "Remember what I said in King's Landing?" her voice shook.

For a few moments she thought he would never answer, until he pressed into her, his body completely flush to hers. She felt him stiff behind her, his manhood pressing into the back of her thigh. "Aye," he murmured into her ear, his breath sending a chill down her spine. "I remember you said a lot of things, girl. A lot of it pretty words."

The jab was not unexpected, but she still felt the sting. His hand began to roam up, towards her ribs. "I said I didn't care if Joffrey saw me watching you," her breath hitched as his hand, surprisingly gently, trailed over her ribcage and grazed under her breast, "or you watching me." She finished letting out a sigh. A surge of heat began in her abdomen.

His hand stopped beneath her breast. "Don't say that cunt's name," he growled in her ear.

She shuddered at his foul mouth. She almost apologized, then thought better of it. You aren't in a castle anymore. She didn't know what to say next. Her mind started to blur as his hand found its way up to take her whole breast in his grip. She bit her lip until she tasted blood as his thumb rubbed her nipple. The bud was hard beneath his thumb as he circled slowly, causing the heat she felt to travel like wildfire through her limbs. When her hips moved involuntarily to lean into his touch he growled in his throat, gripping her breast almost painfully. She began to ache as his hand ventured away from her breast, no longer under her clothing at all. Without warning it was suddenly at her throat, his fingers wrapped around her pale flesh. She stiffened and felt him hard against her. She felt like she was suffering from a fever as his grip began to tighten.

"Tell me I'm hurting you," he muttered as his grip began to tighten. She began to feel her breathing become more difficult. Her throat was tight, his hand firm around her neck, yet she didn't speak, just shifted beneath him, her body rubbing into his. "Tell me to stop," he sounded almost desperate, his voice primal and filled with need.

Sansa opened her mouth to speak, but a small moan escaped at the feeling of her body shifting until his manhood was between her legs, pressing the fabric of her dress to her core. "Why…" she choked out as his grip began to loosen.

His mouth hovered over her neck. She felt not his lips, but his teeth against her skin. He bit her, and not lightly. She hissed as she felt him clamp down on the skin where her neck and shoulder joined. It felt like what she imagined being bit by a dog would feel like. How appropriate that it's the Hound. "I shouldn't be touching you, girl," he said after his teeth left her skin. She was certain there was a mark. His mark. "A dog shouldn't touch a bird."

With courage she didn't know she possessed, Sansa responded, "We're not in a castle anymore. A dog can touch a bird if desired. And I desire it."

Is it cruel to end it there? I assure you authors love to hear from their readers. Reviews are inspiring.