Masks and Maiden are sort of merging into the same story.
Masks is an alternative history, going off rails straight from the first episode, but it also ends with Arya and Sandor on their way to completing a dangerous mission. The difference here is how they deal with their proximity and their intense mutual desire. It goes toward the "idiots in love" trope, and it will have a different outcome than Maiden
Maiden takes on the story after the end of season 7, but it's also about Arya and Sandor on their way to completing a dangerous mission. They act on their sexual attraction, but the end will be different than Masks.
Unfortunately, I'm running out of time, and the final fic in my Arya/Sandor obsession, Marriage, might be a (probably very long) one-shot.
Arya
She got lost in thought waiting for the food. On their ride over, Sandor had told her about his training to become a Faceless Man. He had mentioned in passing that he thought she was married and had children. She wondered if their paths would have crossed if she was lady Arya of House Frey. If she was someone's wife and someone's mother.
When she had joined the Night's Watch, Arya had thought about him in Joffrey's service. That odious little king who had spurned Sansa in favor of a richer family. News of Joffrey's death had made it late to the Night's Watch. Only when she got to King's Landing she had found out that Sansa and her husband, Tyrion Lannister had been accused of the murder and fled. When she had asked about the Hound, she got a dozen different stories, which in her mind added up to Cersei having him killed for not saving her son's life.
But it wasn't Cersei who got him killed. She had done it herself, by sending him after the Night King.
When she saw the meal in front of her, she realized that she hadn't paid any attention to her surroundings. She glanced at the man across the table from her. She trusted him. Enough not to be hypervigilant in a strange room. Enough to go with him over the Shivering Sea. Enough to take him to her brother.
She started at the thought. Jon. Jon knew the Hound. Another secret Jon would have to keep for her sake. Sandor could wear another face, but she didn't want him to. She didn't want him to ever have to hide his face from anyone, but most of all from her.
"Does it hurt?" he asked quietly.
Her lips twitched when she shook her head. The question amused her. She'd been in far worse shape after some encounters with the wildlings. The pain didn't bother her, but the wound was deep enough to constrain some of her movements. She needed it to be healed by the time she got to the wall, and riding would impede that.
She looked into his brown earnest eyes. Maybe she was going mad, but she beginning to believe he was Sandor Clegane. And she would always trust Sandor Clegane.
In that inn, far from the vicious winter weather, far from the White Walkers and the Watch, she felt her hardened heart begin to mellow.
The next day, they boarded the ship that would take them all the way to the easternmost castle along the Wall. They were given a room that had previously been used for storage. The gold they had paid made it worth sacrificing that cargo space.
Gold had bought them not just passage to the Wall, but also a great deal of privacy. Whatever the captain thought about the man and the boy who wanted to get to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, he didn't comment.
"Did it open again?" he asked, pointing at her back.
"Don't think so. It stings a little, but that just means it's healing."
"Let me see."
He said it so matter-of-factly, it didn't occur to Arya to say no until she felt his fingers on her skin. Fortunately, she had her back to him, so he didn't see the expression of on her face at the delicate touch.
Her young body was already mending itself, but, at the same time, it demanded things that Arya couldn't afford. It demanded to be touched, caressed, kissed. It demanded to be held. And loved.
She dug her nails in the heel of her palms to keep her breathing normal. She almost wished the wound hurt more so she didn't have such a hard time controlling her reactions.
"You're right," he said. "It's healing very nicely. I'll spread some balm, then it's better to leave the bandages off. It will heal better without them."
"All right," she said, nodding.
'That balm better sting.'
It didn't, but she hissed anyway.
"Sorry," he said. "I'll be gentler."
'Fuck, no!'
She gritted her teeth, hoping that he would take it as a sign of her dealing with pain, instead of the humiliating truth. He was touching her like a concerned older brother, but she enjoyed his touch in a way she never did Jon's.
The first night Arya spent in that tiny room, sharing a bed with Sandor, she stayed rigidly on her side, shamefully aware of the desire he had awakened in her. She fell asleep, thinking of the first night they had been together. Like so many nights before, she squeezed her thighs together, trying to contain the heat generated by the mere memory of touching his body. His big, strong, and defiantly masculine body. A sigh escaped her lips, but he was probably asleep because he didn't say anything.
Sandor
She kept herself so far from him that Sandor worried she might fall out of bed. He thought that he got used to hiding his feelings, but she must have sensed his desire. She had lived with the men of the Night's Watch for three years. She was probably attuned to male reactions.
When he had helped her undress, his cock had given the first signs of playfulness. By the time they were both in bed, he was almost completely hard. They would be together at sea, day and night, for weeks.
It would have been wise to find a whore to relieve this tension before they left, but something in his depths hadn't allow it. As if it would be disrespectful to Arya to work out the fire she created in him between another woman's legs. He refused to think how stupid he'd been, and resolutely closed his eyes.
He listened to the sound of the waves crashing against the wooden hull, trying to block the sound of her soft breathing. He tried to block the sensation of her warm body close to his focusing on the rocking of the ship. It was going to be a long and painful journey.
The captain had allowed them to use his private toilet. All he had to do was go across the corridor and take matters into his own hands. He postponed the moment. Sooner or later, he would have to resort to pleasuring himself to take the edge off, but not that night.
He almost changed his mind when Arya sighed, but he had to accept that if she felt any desire for him, she would make it clear. At the age of ten and eight, she was a grown woman and no doubt she had been bedded.
The thought did not serve to calm him down. Who would Arya take to her bed? Who would she trust with her secret? One of the other men in the Night's Watch? Or maybe she went into some village near the wall, put on a dress and charmed some green boy who didn't have the wits to wonder who she was. Some wildling? Could she kill a man to whom she had given herself?
Questions plagued him, and the scenarios playing behind his eyelids tortured him. Arya in someone else's arms. Writhing under another man's body. Screaming another man's name as she came apart. The images followed him in his dreams. Before morning, he dreamt he made her scream his own name.
When he woke up, he felt the drying spot on the front of his breeches and the stickiness on his thigh. He went into the bathroom to clean up, wondering how was he going to look her in the eye when he came back.
Maybe the first night would be the worst, he told himself. Maybe he would get used to sharing a room with her. He was a grown man, who could handle his body's unwise desires.
Arya
How many times had she heard similar sounds in the barracks of the Night's Watch? Too may to count. Most times, she'd been a little grossed out.
She had gotten used to the sound of men and boys masturbating, and she played silent games trying to guess who they were, and how long it would take them to finish. In the morning, she could usually verify her guesses because the ones who had done it, on purpose or in their sleep, seemed more relaxed than the others.
She had taken advantage of every opportunity of privacy to explore her own body, but there had been precious few such occasions. She had never joined anyone else in their self-exploratory activities before, but when she recognized the beginning of the pattern in Sandor, she snuck her hand under her breaches, praying that he wouldn't wake up to catch her doing it.
She touched herself while she listened to Sandor breathing hard, feeling his body tense and shudder, sensing the bed shake in rhythm with his movements, and when she heard that glorious sleeping roar at the end, she let herself come.
She remained in bed, pretending to be asleep when he went out. They were going to their deaths. The world itself was in danger of coming to an end. Did she really want to die a virgin?
The question had occurred to her before, but due to the lack of alternatives, the answer was always that she probably had to. Destiny had brought her the first man she'd ever physically desired, and got them stuck on a ship, sharing a bed, days before they would face White Walkers and their King. If that was not the ideal moment to celebrate life, what was she even fighting for? Satisfied with her reasoning, Arya turned her mind to more practical matters.
Whatever had set off the Hound during the night, surely, he wouldn't mind working it out with her. First, she had to figure out how to approach the matter. She couldn't help feeling he still treated her like a little girl in many ways.
She put on her shirt, without wrapping her chest, to allow the wound to heal. She started brushing her hair and every movement of her arm shifted the fabric of her shirt against her bare breasts. She couldn't remember the last time she had been unwrapped during the day. The cold air in the room and the constant friction between her skin and the shirt hardened her nipples. The sensation kindled the slowly building fire in her belly.
Her mind wandered, imagining ways their conversation might go. Idly, she noticed that her hair was past her shoulders. She had neglected cutting it since she had left Castle Black, a few months earlier. She should cut her hair before they arrived at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Although plenty of men in the Night's Watch wore their hair long, but she didn't want to risk appearing too feminine.
Sandor
After he finished, he went to the galley. No one asked why they wanted to have breakfast in their cabin. He walked in while she was brushing her hair. She gasped and blushed as if he surprised her doing something shameful. Poor kid. Pretending to be a boy for so many years had left its mark on her.
He had to admit that she looked very feminine. She was dressed as a boy, but she must have skipped a step because he could clearly see the shape of her breasts under the loose shirt. He'd been observing her throughout the journey and this was the first time he could see it. He put the tray on the table and turned to leave as soon as he noticed her nipples poking through the shirt.
"Aren't you eating?" she asked.
"I'm going to get some wine," he said, leaving like a coward.
He went out on the deck of the ship, and looked toward the horizon. He took out the magnet from his pocket. He forced himself to remember the way she looked when she had given it to him. A child. A highborn lady. He had to keep that in mind.
He didn't have to be a knight from stupid ballads. He just had to be a decent man and not ruin the only friendship he had ever had.