A/N: So uh...here's just some straight smut for you guys. Inspired by an online description of the "bathroom attendant" sex position, and the matching caption: "great for a quickie at a party!" Minimal "plot" added as a frame just so you aren't dropped right in. If this isn't your thing, just don't read it. If it is, by all means, head on down and get to it.

Thanks to magnus374 and Mari88 for reviewing ch. 11.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to George R. R. Martin.

Rating: M for sex, language, and references to drugs and alcohol.

Generally, Sansa preferred to spend her Friday nights at home, reading or studying or watching TV snuggled in Sandor's lap. But, when Myranda Royce refused to give up her attempts to lure the couple to her upcoming party, she had finally conceded, and Sandor agreed with a noncommittal shrug.

Knowing what her friend was like, Sansa anticipated a party that would go well into the morning, with alcohol and drugs for those who wanted them. Myranda's parties were infamous, and many a college girl had woken up the morning after in one of the many bedrooms of the Royce mansion next to a total stranger. They weren't exactly Sansa's scene.

"What do you want me to wear?" Sandor asked as he riffled absently through his clothes. Sansa shrugged and then called out from the bathroom when she remembered that he couldn't see her.

"Just a dress shirt and jeans. But not the ones I like so much. I don't want anyone else but me checking out your ass tonight."

Sandor chuckled and put on her second favorite pair before pulling on his shoes, taking two shirts from the closet, and wandering to the bathroom.

"Yellow or—fuck...ing hell, little bird."

Sansa glanced over her shoulder at her boyfriend and smirked at the expression on his face. She was wearing a tight red dress for the occasion that barely covered the curve of her ass, and a matching pair of stilettos that lessened their ten inch height difference to a more manageable six.

"Grey," she answered, laying a hand against his bare chest and giving him a kiss. "It'll go better with my dress."

Sandor nodded dumbly and watched the sway of her hips as she sauntered back into the bedroom.

"Are you sure we have to go to this?" he asked. "Cause...I really just want to fuck you."

Sansa laughed and nodded, moving back to his side and removing the grey dress shirt from its hanger. "Randa's expecting us. And we don't have to stay long."

Sandor grudgingly shoved his arms into the sleeves and dragged his eyes up the length of Sansa's legs as she fastened the buttons. "Fine. But I'm holding you to that. Quick in 'n' out." He winked exaggeratedly when she rolled her eyes and grabbed his car keys, giving her ass a resounding smack on their way out the door.

The party was well underway when they arrived, and Myranda met them at the door with a bottle of beer in each hand.

"You came!" She squealed, and Sandor eagerly accepted one of the drinks. "And god, you look hot, Sans." Their hostess looked up at Sandor and cocked an eyebrow. "You let her out of the house looking like that?"

He nodded and took a long drink, his free arm wrapped around Sansa's hips. "Sure. Now everyone here gets to look at her and know that I'm the lucky bastard that gets to fuck her."

Sansa blushed as Myranda laughed and she took her own drink before leading Sandor into the throngs of people. The music was loud and the guests had turned the Royce dining room into a makeshift club, dancing drunkenly in time. A few stood in clouds of smoke, their expressions vacant, and most had a drink in hand.

"Thank you for agreeing to come," Sansa said as they settled along the outer edge of the impromptu dance floor. Sandor shrugged and smiled down at her. "I'm with you aren't I?"

Although Sandor downed four beers without any trouble, Sansa was only halfway through a second when she started to feel tipsy, and she dragged her reluctant boyfriend into the middle of the room. "Come dance with me, Sandor!" she yelled over the music, and when she pressed her back flush against his chest and rolled her hips, his complaints died on his lips.

Nearly everyone was drunk or high, or on their way, and Sansa wasn't the only one emboldened by the alcohol. In the corner of the room, her friend Margaery's brother and his boyfriend were sprawled on a couch, Loras' head bobbing as Renly's hands tangled in his hair. They seemed unconcerned with the people around them, and so Sansa tried to be too, ignoring everything but the feel of Sandor's hands on her hips and lips on her neck.

She grinded against him rhythmically, her skin hot and flushed from the alcohol and the feel of his growing erection against her ass.

When the song changed, she turned to face him, her smile coy and her eyes below his belt. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Sandor nodded, swallowing thickly as she bit her lip. "I keep thinking about what you might have on under that dress of yours."

"Hmm." Sansa hummed in reply and then leaned up to whisper beside his ear. "Who says I'm wearing anything under it at all?"

His grip on her waist tightened almost painfully and his voice was little more than a growl when he spoke again, his breath released in a shuddering sigh. "Fuck me, little bird."

She smirked, the beer and the effect she had on him sending her inhibitions out the window. "Is that an order?"

When she looked up at him his eyes were black in the dim light of the room and his mouth was slack, chest heaving with every labored breath. The evidence of his arousal made her own stomach tighten and she reached up to loop her arms around his neck and kiss him soundly. When she pulled away, she whispered against his lips.

"When we get back I'd be more than happy to oblige."

Sandor shook his head and her eyebrows were halfway to surprise when he responded.

"Now."

"Now?" she echoed. She looked around and though no one seemed to be paying them any mind, she felt like they all knew what he was suggesting. The thought was strangely exciting.

She bit her lip and twined her fingers through his. "There's a bathroom upstairs..."

Ordinarily the thought of doing anything more than the usual in a restroom would make her feel uncomfortable, but the mental image of being bent over a sink and watching Sandor in the mirror above made her feel things that were far from discomfort.

Sandor nodded without speaking and let her lead him away through the crowd. When Sansa teasingly brushed their joined hands across the front of his jeans he nearly took her right there on the stairs, only barely managing to control himself.

There was someone washing their hands in the bathroom when they approached but they made a hasty exit when Sandor flicked a thumb over his shoulder and he shoved open the swinging door, yanking Sansa after him.

The moment it shut, his fingers found the lock and she was pressed against it, his lips on her throat and hands gripping the curve of her ass.

"Fuck, Sansa," he panted, his teeth nipping at the tender skin of her neck. "I want you so fucking bad."

She pulled his mouth up to hers and dragged her teeth along his bottom lip before retreating and moving to stand before the sink, pressing her palms against the marble counter as she arched her back and balanced on her stiletto heels.

"Then take me."

His pupils were wide and dark as she met his gaze in the mirror, and she felt a thrill run through her at the sound of his belt buckle and the soft thud that followed. She arched further into his touch as his hands moved to her hips and when he pushed her dress up beneath her breasts, he swore under his breath.

Though she had anticipated waiting until they returned home from the party, she had certainly imagined a similar scenario for the night, and had indeed decided to forgo anything under the short dress, giving her boyfriend an unhindered view of what lay beneath.

"God, the things you do to me, Sansa Stark," he growled. She let out a shaky breath as he stepped out of his discarded jeans and pressed against her. His fingers dragged across the juncture of her thighs and when he withdrew them dripping and slipped them between his ruined lips she shivered and met the reflection of his eyes once more.

"Don't tease me, Sandor. Just—"

Her command died in a gasp as her hips struck the edge of the counter and she cried out sharply as Sandor smirked. She knew she would have bruises come morning, but at the moment, she reveled in the unrestrained feel of it. The sense of urgency and danger was exhilarating, and her whole body thrummed with pleasure as Sandor's hips met hers again, his pace rough and uncontrolled.

Her hands trembled as they clutched at the marble edge, and she lifted her head, looking at their reflection in the mirror. She took in the way that Sandor's eyes roamed her figure, the way his dress shirt clung to his chest as it heaved with every breath, the bruising grip of his hands, one on her waist and the other firmly palming her ass. She loved watching them move in unison and felt strangely empowered by the sight of her own reflection, her body flushed and open before him.

Sansa shifted to relieve the pressure of her heels and as her hips rose to accommodate the new position, Sandor slid in deeper, his chin lolling to meet his chest as she moaned.

"God, Sandor," she breathed. "Yes…" Her words dissolved into a whine as his cock struck a spot deep within her and he responded to her cue, drawing away before slamming back against her. A strangled cry tore from her throat as he repeated the motion, and her knuckles went white as she gripped the counter, her legs trembling as a wave of pleasure rolled through her.

Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as Sandor continued his merciless pace, and when she raised her eyes they met his, wide and dark. A second wave crashed over her as she held his gaze, and he let out an unintelligible snarl as her walls fluttered around him.

"Oh, fuck."

One of his strong arms moved to support her as she slumped to the counter, and for a moment, he stilled. When she looked back at him in confusion he ran a hand absently down the curve of her spine, making her shiver.

"I'm not done with you yet," he murmured lowly. "Let me know when you're good to stand."

She nodded, slowing her breathing in an attempt to regain her strength and then straightening up when she was confident enough that her legs had regained their function. The moment she was on her feet, Sandor spun her around and hefted her into his arms, pressing her up against the wall.

"Been keeping up with your yoga?" he asked cheekily, releasing one of her legs and hitching the other high around his waist. She laughed breathlessly, then gasped when he slammed back into her.

"Sandor!"

He cocked his eyebrow, punctuating each stroke with a flick to one of her nipples or the graze of his teeth against her throat. "Yes?"

She gripped the towel rack with one hand and braced the other against the door, moaning when the sharp snap of his hips sent her head crashing against the wall. "You're...you're gonna...gonna make me..."

Her words dissolved into a wail and he grinned. With the amount of noise she was making, he assumed someone downstairs had figured out where they had disappeared to; or so he hoped. He wanted to make her scream so loud they all heard his name on her lips.

"Gonna make you what, little bird?" he teased her, tightening his hold around her thigh with one hand as the other found her clit.

She kissed him soundly, sucking his tongue between her lips and reveling in the resulting tremor that shook his body. "Come."

"Good," Sandor rasped, increasing the pressure of his thumb and making her shudder helplessly. "I was counting on it."

When he quickened his pace, her eyes fell once again to the mirror on the opposite wall. The sight that greeted her sent her spinning headlong toward her release and Sandor noted the change, growling lowly beside her ear.

"Tell me how it feels."

"Perfect," she gasped. Her quivering nerves sent every sensation to new heights, and she felt the coil in the pit of her stomach wind tighter with each jerk of his hips. "It feels so good, Sandor," she moaned, basking in the sound of his uneven breathing against her throat and the feel of his chest flush against her own. "I love it."

She felt him shudder and his rhythm faltered momentarily as he spoke again. "Love what, little bird?"

Shakily raising one of her hands, she lifted his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes. There was only a sliver of grey visible around his engorged pupils and his nostrils flared as she whispered against his open mouth. "I love it when you fuck me."

Sandor's jaw went slack as the word left her lips and he pressed against her, driving her hard against the wall as his eyes screwed shut and he pulsed deep within her. She shuddered in unison, his name tearing from her throat in a ragged sob of pleasure that carried far beyond the bathroom door.

When he could breathe again he pulled away and fell heavily back against the counter, his arm moving to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

"Fucking hell, Sansa." He groaned and she saw him twitch at the sight of her dress still bunched beneath her breasts. "Goddamn."

She laughed breathlessly and slowly pushed herself away from the wall, teetering for a moment on her heels before rolling her dress back down and kissing him soundly.

"Was that what you wanted?" she whispered, and her swollen lips curved into a grin when he let out a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, his head bobbing in an emphatic nod.

"Fuck yes."

Slowly, he bent to retrieve his jeans and adjusted his boxers before pulling them back on. Sansa watched appreciatively and leaned against his side as he fumbled with his belt.

"Are you ready to go home now?" she asked, a smirk tugging at her lips. "I wouldn't mind getting out of this dress."

Sandor's tongue flicked out to wet his lips and he gave her a thorough once-over before replying. "Would you keep on the heels?"

Sansa laughed and leaned up to kiss him before unlocking the door and twining her fingers through his. "I think that could be arranged..."