Smut starts this chapter.
Edited version here because it gets explicit. Find the rest on Ao3. I hate to do this, but FanFiction does not accept explicit content
It's in the rules
Sandor
The distant memory of Arya Stark's friendship hadn't been too difficult to let go of during his training. Rather, it had been a relief to discard the sorrow he felt for the girl he had left in her gilded cage. The very real presence of Arya Stark, strong and dauntless as she had become, was messing with his body and his mind.
He composed himself as best he could before going back. Being no one had been easy when he didn't have anyone or anything care about.
Arya had finished breakfast, and was sitting cross-legged in bed with a book open in front of her, polishing her sword absent-mindedly. She looked up from the book when he entered.
"No wine?" she asked.
Damn. He forgot the excuse he'd given.
"Didn't feel like it."
"I wouldn't have minded," she said.
He couldn't figure out what if her behavior was any different, or if he was distracted by her breasts, at which he most certainly was not looking. Unfortunately, not looking and not seeing were two very different things, and he didn't have to stare to be dangerously aware of the shapes under the shirt.
"You're too young anyway," he said, more to himself than to her.
He sat down on the bed with his back to her. He wanted to take off his boots, but a voice inside was advising him to put on an armor. Chainmail and leather wouldn't protect him from desiring her, but it would help him remember that he shouldn't act on it.
"You know they don't care how old you are when you join the Night's Watch? I said I was thirteen when I joined, to make it convincing, and no one cared."
"Why did you join?"
She remained silent for so long, he turned his head to look at her. She had her eyes closed, and a grim smile on her face.
"I'm not sure," she said eventually. "For the adventure? To be with Jon? To be myself?"
A short bitter laugh followed her last words.
"I traded pretending to be a lady for pretending to be a boy. Not the best bargain I could've struck."
He wanted to tell her again how much he wished she had come to him, but what would be the point? By the time she might have reached King's Landing, he had already gone.
She would have loved Braavos.
"I'm tired of hiding what I am," she whispered with her eyes still closed, as if she was talking to herself.
When she opened her eyes, he looked away, uncomfortable to have stared at her.
"Check my back, please," she said.
He raised his one good eyebrow at the light tone. She seemed to have cast away the shadows brought on by those memories and past choices.
She was wearing a simple off-white undershirt. It was the same as his, the same as hundreds of others he had seen in his life, but at that moment, it did not look like any of them. She had loosened the lace at the top so that the fabric wouldn't stick to her back.
The shirt was almost falling off her narrow shoulders revealing soft creamy skin. The opening in front plunged sharply between her breasts. He glimpsed the swell of her chest and jumped to his feet.
Sandor rummaged through the bag longer than necessary to get the balm, preparing to touch her skin with the disinterest of a Maester.
He cursed silently when he heard the rustling of fabric which meant Arya had taken off her shirt. He steeled himself for the possibility that she might be facing him when he turned around. Modesty didn't seem to be one of Arya's biggest concerns now that he knew who and what she was.
He thanked the Gods she was face down on the bed, denying that he also regretted the missed opportunity to see her breasts.
"Looks good," he said thickly. He cleared his throat. "Looks better than yesterday. It's healing nicely. No need to put balm on it anymore."
"It's itching," she said quickly. "The balms soothes it."
He had almost gotten away with not touching her. He sat down, and dipped the tips of his fingers in the ointment.
"Don't use much," she said. "No point in wasting it. The touch is what helps with the itching really."
She didn't know how that sounded. All this talk of touching was making him feel itchy, but not in the same way. He'd take care of her, and then go out on the deck again. He could ask the Captain if he could do some work. Preferably somewhere out in the cold.
After the balm warmed to body temperature on his fingertips, he made contact with her skin. Her hiss sounded more like a moan than anything else.
"Is it cold?" he asked, his fingers hovering over her body.
"No," she said, holding her breath.
She kept her face down, pressed into the pillow. He touched her even more gently and she let the breath out in a muffled sigh that did nothing good for his composure.
"Am I hurting you?"
"No," she answered.
She denied it but he sensed she was holding back on him. He tried to be deaf to the small noises she was making, but it was difficult to ignore the goose bumps on her skin. Was it really that cold in the room? He felt unreasonably warm.
"You're done," he said, and stood up to put away the balm. "Put your shirt back on."
He wiped his hands on the cloth, waiting for the sound of her getting dressed.
"Actually," she said. "I need you to check something else."
"What?" he asked, still not turning around.
"Come here."
He obeyed without thinking. She was sitting cross-legged again, close to his side of the bed. She had her back to him, and no book in front of her. He stood at the edge of the bed and focused on her wound. It had been deep, but she was a fast healer and the Braavosi ointment had helped. It would turn into a scar soon.
"Sit," she commanded.
Warmth radiated from her skin. His pulse quickened as if he sensed danger.
"Give me your hands," she said, reaching behind her.
Her voice trembled slightly when she spoke.
"You know a lot about human bodies… From your training in Braavos and… other… activities."
Her skin tightened around the wound when she moved. He thrust his hands forward into hers to stop her from reaching too far back and opening her wound. It was the first time he felt her fingers on his since she had helped him with the bow three years earlier. He let her small hands guide his as if he was under a spell.
"Yes. Why?"
She took in a short deep breath.
"I've been wrapping my chest since it started to… you know… grow… I need to know if… everything is… as it should be."
He tried to think of a way to refuse her request before it was too late. It was too late. She pressed his palms over her breasts. Instead of pulling his hands back, he instinctively cupped the two mounds. Arya sighed, and arched into his touch.
"Fuck."
The word slipped out.
Arya
She felt his breath on her skin when he said the word.
'Fuck indeed,' Arya thought.
Maybe she should have asked him directly about fucking instead of testing the reactions of her body. He was squeezing her breasts lightly, and instead of calming down her tingly nipples, that made every inch of her skin tingled.
She really wanted to know if the wrapping had damaged her breasts but if he said that there was something wrong and he stopped touching her, she might just die of embarrassment or frustration. She removed her hands from his when she realized how forcefully she was pressing his palms into her chest.
Waiting for his next reaction was torture. Would he take his hands away? Would he ask her to turn around to examine her breasts? He did neither. Silently, he moved his palms lower, and cupped her breasts. They felt small in his big hands, but it didn't matter when he captured her nipples between thumb and forefinger.
His silence unnerved her.
"It tingles," she whispered. "Is that normal?"
"Does it hurt?"
His deep raspy whisper made heat course through her veins. It pooled between her legs. It wasn't exactly pain, but it was unbearable nonetheless
"No. Not exactly hurts."
It was difficult to get the words out. Difficult to explain what she didn't understand.
"What then?"
"I don't know. It's like everything… aches."
Her head swam with emotions, anticipation, and fear, and pleasure. She tried to speak again, braving the light-headedness.
"It doesn't feel like that when I do it."
"Only you? No one else touched you like this?"
"Of course not!" she said, shocked by the question. As if she could expose her secret like that! To anyone.
He rested his forehead on the back of her head. His beard scratched her shoulder and his hot breath scorched her skin. The sound of his labored breathing in her ear increased her dizziness.
"Seven hells, girl."
Sandor
What was she doing to him? Was it a game or she really wanted to know that her breasts were…
He couldn't even complete the thought. He hadn't wanted anything in his life [...]
But she hadn't asked for that. He should clear that up as fast as possible. Soon he would get to a point where turning back would cause him a great deal of pain.
He tried to get his wits back, but he was breathing in her scent. Her hair caressed his face and when she denied ever being touched, she had thrown her head back. His good cheek was flush against her neck. His lips touched her shoulder when he cursed.
"Seven hells, girl."
He wanted to pull her to his chest and start kissing her until she asked him to bed her. [...]
"Your breasts feel fine," he said, not caring how hoarse he sounded. "Anything else you want me to check?"
Arya
He was still squeezing her breasts. Maybe a little harder than at first, but he had let go of her nipples. They puckered painfully in the cold air.
"Anything else you want me to check?"
Had she just heard the words, she might think he was making fun of her. The tone though… That low, gruff voice… It gave her hope. It gave her a chance to ask.
"Yes," she said.
She was out of breath as if she had run for miles.
"No," she corrected herself. "Not check."
"What then?"
She hesitated. There would be no turning back if she said what she wanted from him.
"I need a favor," she said, and took in a short but deep breath.
"Go on."
His growled encouragement rippled through her like heat waves.
"I want you to…. How to say this without making it sound weird… I would be grateful if you could help me…" She drew in one deep breath and said the words. "With my maidenhead."
His hands stopped. He hadn't taken them away though. Her heart hammered against her ribs, under his palm. She wondered if she would hear his response over the loud thumping of her heartbeat.
Now that she'd taken the leap and told him, she was ready to defend her request. She prepared arguments against his objections.
None came.
His mouth was on her shoulder. His lips, and tongue, and teeth explored her skin. He kissed his way around her body until he was laying on his back and pulling her on top of him. He was still dressed and she had her trousers on, but when his eyes lowered from hers onto her chest, Arya shut her eyes tightly, feeling more naked than ever before in her life.
"They're… very shapely."
His rough throaty voice and the almost menacing tone didn't match the bland words. When she dared to look at him, his eyes lust filled eyes were dark and ravenous. He pulled her on top of him with ease. His coarse beard rubbed against her skin while he kissed and sucked at her breasts.
Arya was overwhelmed by the millions of sensations. For years, her skin hadn't felt the touch of another person. Everything he did served to feed the fire between her legs.
"Fucking gorgeous they are."
His muffled words released a swarm of butterflies in her belly. She tried to speak, to express how much she liked what he was doing, but no words made it passed the ragged breaths. It felt like drowning and like flying at once.
[...]
The missing bits and the rest of the scene, on Ao3, where the story will have (at least) an extra chapter.