Author Note: Alright, my dears, it's time for the love scene. I'm sure you saw this coming, right? If you don't like to read these, then cover your eyes and skip to the last dozen or so lines for the conclusion to this story. Thank you for reading!

Sansa had never seen Tyrion Lannister speechless.

His lips moved, as though he wanted to speak, but no sound came.

The redhead stood and began to undo her laces. She allowed the crimson gown to fall to the floor, leaving her only in her shift before him.

"Sansa," he said her name slowly. It sounded different to her ears now, tender and sweet, like a lover's caress. "If there is any part of you that feels unsure about this, I need you to tell me now." He stood and took her wrist gently in his fingers. "Is this really what you want?"

Since he seemed to want her to think hard about it, she paused to give the notion that she was. But she knew it was what she wanted, perhaps had known since she believed they were on the edge of death together. She nodded and went to sit on the edge of her bed, waiting for him. She wanted him to undress her the rest of the way.

Though Tyrion hesitated for only a few moments more, it felt like forever to Sansa. Finally, he approached, his hands pulling at his clothing in nervous, jerky movements. As he drew nearer, Sansa took hold of his hands to steady them and kissed him again. This time, she did not feel the same sense of waiting, questioning, from him. Instead, she felt his intensity, his need, as his beard scratched her face. She picked up at the fastening of his jerkin where he'd left off and eventually had it loose enough for him to shrug out of it. She did the same with his tunic, then reached for his belt… She felt his hand close around hers, stopping her.

"Not yet," he whispered. "I… I would make love to you properly, before you ever touch me."

Sansa wasn't quite sure what that might entail, but she scooted to lie back on the bed so he could stretch out more beside her. Only the thin fabric of her shift came between her and his bare upper body as he kissed her again, curling his arm around her to work at her laces. He seemed more in control of his movements as he did so, and when his fingers brushed at her bare back, it seemed intentional. He tantalized her with those touches as his lips moved down her jaw, her neck, the curve of her breast. Before Sansa could stop it, a soft cry of pleasure escaped her throat, a soaring sensation in her stomach.

She saw him pause as if savoring the moment, his eyes closed, a real smile on his face now.

"H-how did you do that?" she asked, having never realized that anything could feel this good.

In answer, he kissed her breast again, his hand making its way down to her bottom, which he gave a gentle squeeze. The soaring feeling went lower in her belly, and instinctively, she pressed her body closer to his. It pleased her when he gave a low rumble in his throat and pulled her shift down to expose her nipple. "Gods, Sansa," he said, "I don't know if I can go slowly."

She ran a hand through his hair. "It's fine, Tyrion."

"It's not. Not to me."

He took a deep breath and explored her nipples with his tongue at length as his hands eventually made their way under her shift, to her womanhood. Sansa's lips parted as her eyes rolled back at what he did there, how he made her feel. When he felt her wetness, it seemed to make him grow more fervent. "Help me get this off you," he indicated her shift. Sansa moved to a sitting position and held her arms up as he pulled it off over her head. He discarded it over the edge of the bed. She felt a chill without him touching her and went to pull a sheet over herself.

Tyrion, watching her in a stunned state, took her hand to keep her from doing so. "Please don't. I want to look at you."

Ramsay had left his marks on her in the form of scars and burns, especially on her thighs. Slowly, Sansa lowered her arms and allowed Tyrion to take it all in. His brow furrowed as he spotted the scars on her inner thighs. He traced one of his fingers over the marks and met Sansa's gaze. "If he weren't already dead, I would kill him myself."

"Shhh." Sansa shook her head. Touching as the idea was, she could not imagine Tyrion killing Ramsay. She took Tyrion's face in her hands again. "He's long gone. I need you to touch me. And don't stop."

Obediently, he placed his hands on her thighs and ran his fingers along them. "Will you lie back for me?" he asked. "Spread your legs a bit – yes, like that."

Sansa waited curiously for what he planned to do there next. He did not mount her, but moved down to press kisses along her thighs, right on top of her scars. It felt surprisingly good. Before she knew what was happening, she felt his kiss in a place where no man's lips had ever been.

All she could manage was a gasp. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she grasped at the sheets. The strangest feeling – but not at all unpleasant. It made her feel as though she were a cup about to brim over, but even that comparison seemed weak in the face of how Tyrion was pleasuring her. His tongue explored her everywhere, but there was a place near the top of that part that felt especially good. "Right there," she breathed as he sucked it, "stay there. I feel… I think I'm…"

Words left her as her cup did indeed brim over. It spilled and spilled, feeling like it would never stop, and she never wanted it to stop. All she could cry was Tyrion's name through the thickest part of her pleasure. She felt his hands reach for hers, and she let go of the sheets to entwine her fingers with his as the waves subsided. All she could think was that Margaery had been right. Sansa did not want to imagine how many women Tyrion had been with. She distracted herself from that thought by looking down at his face, how intently he watched her.

"Beautiful," he remarked after a while, coming out of his state of hypnosis. "And fascinating. I like watching you."

She felt shyness bubbling up within her again and felt her face go warm. "Why?" she wondered.

He moved up to her eye level and wrapped his arm around her. "Why? Well, I suppose any good lover would. Seeing you in a state of pleasure gives me pleasure."

Sansa snuggled close, but something bothered her. "Are you not going to… to…"

"All in good time." He pressed a kiss between her breasts, then on her lips. She tasted herself on him, but she didn't mind. She wanted more, but he pulled back and said, "Not all men are like wild horses or dogs, Sansa."

"I want to watch you, too," she admitted.

"Do you?"

She nodded.

"You're sweet." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I won't push you away again, if you want to touch me now."

He moved so that she had access to his belt, which she undid with nimble fingers. With some difficulty, given that his member stood at full attention, she pushed his breeches down. Sansa realized the rumors had all been untrue – he seemed normal there, not overly big, not small. She recalled Tyrion's own comments about his tiny cock at their wedding feast as he taunted Joffrey. She should have known that men only joked about such things if they were untrue. "You really were joking," she said, half to herself.

"About what?" He took in her reaction and chuckled to himself.

"Nothing. I only thought… never mind." Sansa tried to shake the thoughts away and leaned down to kiss him while she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and stroked him steadily. She knew what it took to pleasure a man, even if her own workings had remained a mystery to her after her last marriage. The difference now was that she did it willingly… hungrily. She wanted to feel Tyrion inside her. That feeling had been growing throughout the night, and she did not think she could deny it much longer.

As he surrendered to her touch, his kisses grew feverish again. "You can go a bit slower," he guided her, "otherwise I might mess up your sheets."

"Why would—oh." Sansa blushed. Everything with Ramsay had been fast, rough, messy, and painful. He'd taken his pleasure and only involved Sansa as a receptacle or if he wanted to humiliate her somehow. She slowed down her movements and kissed Tyrion in some of the same places where he had kissed her. He watched her again, sometimes closing his eyes when she did something that felt particularly good.

A thought occurred to her, although she hesitated, afraid it could hurt him. Tyrion seemed to read her mind when he rasped, "Put me inside you. Please. Now…I need you." He'd grown harder and redder down there; Sansa wondered if it hurt.

"I don't want to… hurt you… crush you, I mean," she said, hesitating.

He gave a soft, short laugh. "You won't, my sweet Queen. I promise."

Sansa positioned herself over him and, with one hand wrapped around him still, guided him inside her. Removing her hand, she sank down, throwing her head back as she felt him, all of him.

"Gods, Sansa," he moaned again. He placed his hands on her bottom, encouraging her to move with him. She did, getting so lost in her own pleasure that she nearly forgot to watch his face. She could feel herself starting to brim over again and pushed him deeper. She didn't know why she needed him deeper, but he seemed to be close to something that would make her overflow again. That feeling was addictive as it was elusive and hard to name. It did not take much longer before both of them brimmed over together. Sansa tried to stifle her cries against her pillow, while Tyrion's were muffled against her neck.

Sansa kissed him again before she removed herself from him. They said nothing for several minutes as they lay in each other's arms. Tyrion stroked her hair and closed his eyes, his arm going still eventually. Within a few minutes, she realized he had fallen asleep. It took her some time to quiet her thoughts, but her body eventually pulled her to sleep too.

They woke several hours later when the dawn was beginning to creep into Sansa's chambers. The smell of bacon wafted up from the kitchens already, a couple of songbirds making their presence known on the ledge of Sansa's window. She blinked and stretched, rousing Tyrion with her movements. When he moved to roll away, she placed her arm around him and mumbled a soft protest.

Fully awake, he looked at her. "Any regrets?" he finally asked, almost a whisper.

"Not a single one." She held him tighter. As much as she wanted to linger, she knew she needed to start getting ready for her day. Lylian and Alys would be in soon to help her dress, and she needed to start mentally preparing for her transformation back into Sansa, the Queen. A persona that seemed so far removed from who she had been for the last eight hours.

Tyrion understood this without her needing to tell him. He gently disentangled himself from her and climbed off the bed to dress himself. Their clothes had scattered everywhere, and he crossed the room several times to retrieve each article of his. Sansa put her shift back on and neatly folded her crimson gown to put it away.

"I never got a chance to tell you. Those colors are very becoming on you, Your Grace," Tyrion remarked.

Sansa smiled. "You don't need to call me that in here, Tyrion."

"I know. I'm practicing for out there." He sighed audibly as he fastened his belt and smoothed down his hair. Then he moved to stand before the redhead, taking her hand in his. "I suppose reinstating marriage is a very complex business. Especially if said marriage could pose a conflict of interest. But if your brother, His Grace, ever releases me from my position, and you are not with anyone else… I would ask for your hand. If that day ever comes, I will let you give me your answer then. I hope you'll think about it."

Sansa considered his words as he sealed his promise with a kiss to her hand. "Marriage for kings and queens tends to be no more than a complicated political arrangement," she told him. "I like what we have now. No politics, no awkwardness."

After a pause, he nodded. "As you say, my Queen. I am yours, for whatever you wish, as long as you wish. We'll need to take care not to get you with child in the meantime. Do you trust your handmaidens?"

"They've never given me cause not to." Sansa doubted that she could have children after the things Ramsay had inflicted upon her, though she had never confirmed the idea with her maester.

"Perhaps you can… explain some of the situation to them. Just the most important bits. We can watch the timing, as well, so as to avoid the most fertile time of your cycles." At Sansa's nonplussed look, he said, "Ah, I'll leave it to the girls to explain. Ask them."

"I will," Sansa agreed. "I trust you'll visit me again tonight?"

"I will. Perhaps you can wear that gown again, so I can admire it properly."

"As you wish."

Tyrion gave her a wink, turned, and left the room. Sansa closed the door after him. When she moved to pull back the drapes from the windows, a rare patch of winter sun streamed into her room and touched the vase with her three winter roses in it. With a smile, she turned and made ready to begin her day.