Chapter 18: Like Honey
"I've done it," Sansa thought to herself. She had married Tyrion Lannister, by choice. Now, they had retired to their marriage bed. If she could have seen the future, she never would have predicted this. But here she was, in bed with "the imp." He was touching her now. His hands travelling across her body as if it were an unexplored terrain. Her heart beat fast in her chest. Her body felt like it was on fire. It seemed like everything around them had disappeared and all that existed, and all that ever would be was there, alone with them and inside these rooms. To Sansa in that moment, everything fell away and the world outside their rooms ceased to exist, she had never allowed herself to let go before.
She lay on her stomach now, her hair swept to one side, and her head propped up on her folded arms as if they were a pillow. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears. Her skin prickled with excitement and nervousness and gooseflesh rose on her bare skin, as she lay as naked as the Gods had made her. She could feel the eyes of her husband watching her, caressing her. She could sense his warmth as he moved closer to her on their bed. She felt the bed sink underneath his weight, as he lay next to her, the weight of him feeling as sacred as a prayer. They shared no words, but she could tell that he was looking at the scars she bore. Since gaining these scars, she had taken to wearing high collars and long sleeves to hide them, but now she was laid bare, her secrets on full view before the eyes of the old gods, the new, and the man who was now laying beside her.
"Sansa," he said, "You seem far away."
He is not wrong. She thought to herself. I am far, far away.
He rubbed her back softly, his hands gently caressing her skin, and tracing the outlines of her scars. Soon, he brushed her hair aside, and the feel of it, silky and soft, grazing her back made her shudder. She heard him laugh softly, as he heard this, and then he kissed a trail down her back, as if he were drawing a map of his desire for her. Wherever he encountered a cut, he would kiss it, softly, his lips as soft against her skin as a whisper. He kissed her at the nape of her neck, tracing along the edges of her ear with his tongue before gently sucking on her earlobe as if it were the most delicious sweet. The sound of him breathing hard in her ear made her shiver. She felt as if she was about to sink into the bed. He began to kiss his way from the nape of her neck, to the small of her back, and soon, Sansa felt small kisses trailing along the curve of her butt and skimming the tops of her thighs. As she felt his tongue graze the inside of her thigh, a small moan escaped her lips. His hands started to part her thighs, and she felt the stubble of his beard grazing against her inner thigh as he kissed her there, and she buried her hands in his hair. It felt like he was inhaling her, for a moment, she wondered if she should be more modest, but she didn't want it to stop. His voice sounded as thick as honey to her when he said, "Turn over."
As Sansa turned to face him, she wondered how she had ever thought him hideous. As she looked into his face she was overcome with the desire to grab him, and pull him closer to her. She reached out and tangled her fingers in his golden curls and pulled his face closer to kiss him. He groaned slightly as she began to let her hands explore his body, and soon he was on top of her, her legs wrapped around him tightly as if she meant to keep him, to lock him in place forever. But she knew that she could not. She felt the wetness between her thighs welcoming him and he bent down his head and took her nipple into his mouth like a greedy child and cupped her other breast in his strong hand as he slipped into her finally, her body cradling and welcoming him, a moan of satisfaction escaping her lips. Her body hungered for him, and every thrust that he gave her teased that hunger. Where their bodies met she felt a throbbing, pulsing desperation-as if she were chasing something, she knew not what, and as she reached out her hands to catch it, each moment the thing that she was chasing slipped further and further away from her. She knew that if she could hold out her hands a little further, a little longer, she would catch it. If she could push her body a little further, a little longer, she would grasp it for a moment, and it would feel as sweet as a drop of honey tastes on the tongue. Their bodies moved together, in desperation, chasing, and hungering until finally, Sansa caught it, she caught desire in her hands like a firefly, and it shined, like a flame, and they collapsed in each others arms before drifting off into a dreamy sleep.