At 9:00 AM, when he opened the gym, his heavy footsteps resonated ominously in the deserted building, echoing the void inside him.
Everything would sound familiar that day, be it the bragging of the kids who came there for lunch, the repeated complaint of that regular visitor about the showers or the noise made by the workers behind the wall of the gym, in what would be soon a fitness center. The blessed sounds of routine. No phone calls, no deceptive compliments about his cooking, his house, his muscles. I dreamed a dream and now it's time to wake up. Lucky for me I didn't get used to it.
The affection he thought he had seen in her eyes, that silvery laughter of hers, the softness of her skin… Hardly had he enjoyed all these things, and then they had been taken away from him. How was it that it affected him so much then; that going back to his old routine seemed insufferable?
He buried himself into paperwork to try to forget it and no one disturbed him until lunch time. At that moment, the ruckus in the gym, next to the locker room, drew his attention; he gritted his teeth, tried to ignore it but how the hell could he focus on the summary of accounts the bank had sent him with the commotion outside his office? Fucking high school boys… He decided to put a definitive end to whatever they were doing; the swivel chair protested under his weight as he stood up and strode to the door, careless of the sharp pain in his thigh. The laughters stopped abruptly as he stepped in the hallway: his lips drew back from his teeth in a silent snarl while he took in the frightened looks of three high school kids who came there every day. Whether they had been boasting about their latest conquests or messing around, he didn't know and he didn't care. He only knew that whatever they did, cell phones in hand and guilty looks on their faces, it disturbed his work and it reminded him that outside, people lived their life as if nothing had happened. As one of the three boys looked more and more like a deer in the headlights, he stepped forward.
"What the hell are you doing?" he boomed.
"Hey, Sandor!" one of them mumbled by way of apology. "We- We were just, you know, going to the locker room-"
If the kid thought he could coax him with his "Hey, Sandor!" and his bullshit, he was sorely mistaken. He cut him off: "Go to the fucking locker room, then."
"What's up, man?" somebody asked behind him. The fact the new comer couldn't see Sandor's face, as he was glaring at the high school kids probably explained his cheerful tone. Sandor spun on his heels slowly, until he recognized Lem wearing one of his ugly yellow T-shirts; he didn't answer and his deep frown silenced Lem too. The man moved past him with a look that said "What the fuck is wrong with you?". Meanwhile, the kids had gathered their things and cleared off, most likely hurrying to the locker room. It was stupid and even childish of him, to overreact because there was some noise in the gym or to ignore someone's greeting, like he had just done. But I can't tell them. They wouldn't understand. Nobody can understand. The realization frustrated him even more and he went back to his office, head hanging, lost in thought.
At that moment, Sandor told himself he should have taken some leftovers from last night for lunch: there was enough leg of lamb in his fridge to feed the kids who did bench presses or jumped rope there. He had no appetite for it though; the delicious meat would end up in some corner of his property and feed some stray dog instead.
Sandor dragged his feet to the food truck from habit and chose a sandwich at random, then he came back to the gym, barely answered to the regular visitors who waved at him and he locked himself in his office again.
A knock on the door of his office startled him; it was almost 4:00 PM, according to the sunburst wall clock. Sandor grunted and whoever was behind the door took it for "Come in".
Podrick's goofy smile would have comforted him, at another time. The kid's face appeared in the doorway; his fingers gripped the door frame showing he still hesitated before stepping in.
"Hey, what's up?" Pod asked.
Sandor shrugged, making a tremendous effort not to throw the paperweight at him, because he now associated Pod with the slow-roasted leg of lamb and thus with his own failure. I wasn't able to make her stay.
He did a rather good job at hiding his frustration because Pod apparently didn't understand how pissed off he was; the kid came in and asked with a knowing smile: "No, no, I gave you that recipe, you have to tell me at least whether she liked it or not. I mean, I know there's no way she didn't like it, but you have to tell me how much she liked it."
"She loved it," Sandor answered grimly after a short silence. "That and the fucking lemon cakes I ordered at Hot Pie's, following your advice. But it doesn't matter now."
Pod gawked at him. "What- What's wrong?" A mirthless laugh escaped Sandor's lips, while Pod's eyes widened like saucers. "Hey, what happened?" The kid sounded concerned now and it only made Sandor laugh harder because for the first time of his life someone asked him about his date and he had nothing to say except that she was gone. This is so ironic: I finally have a date and I finally have people around me I almost see as friends and I can't tell them about it unless I admit I'm a fucking loser.
"Is it why you locked yourself in here?" Pod asked, once Sandor's somewhat creepy laughter died away. His frown had deepened; without waiting for Sandor's invitation, he sat across him. "I guess it explains a lot."
"Like, what?" Sandor spat.
"Like Anguy telling me that Lem saw you losing it because the kids were too noisy or something. Like you shut yourself up instead of... being in the gym and talking to us."
"Never was much of a chatterbox, in case you didn't notice." Staying calm and not yelling at Pod was becoming harder with each passing second.
Pod didn't seem to notice his murderous look though and he scooted to the edge of his seat. Don't lecture me, boy, you don't know what you're doing. Said boy didn't get his silent warning and he countered: "You know exactly what I mean."
"Look, Pod, I don't want to sound rude, because you're a decent guy and you're always obliging, but you'd better-" He paused and swallowed hard. "- you'd better get lost."
Pod didn't move. Glued to his seat, he stared at Sandor, as if he had not heard him seeing him out.
"What do you want, huh? You want details?" Despite the rage lacing each syllable, the kid listened, unblinking. "We had dinner, she said she loved your bloody recipe, we had sex, then she fell asleep in my bed. I fell asleep too but when I woke up she was gone. End of story." Without him noticing, his hands had curled into balled fists. "Now don't ask me details about how she loved your recipe, because I said it doesn't fucking matter now." With a sigh, he sat back in his swivel chair, making it creak.
Speechless, Pod gave him a long look. "I had no idea. I'm sorry, man. I understand-"
Sandor shook his head, refusing to hear more of this. No, you don't understand, you fucking can't understand what's going on in my head. I meet her seven years after I left, I try to make friends with her although all I can think about is fucking her, she makes it clear that she wants a date, and apparently more than just a dinner, and come the morning, she's gone.
"Fuck off," he hissed, gripping the edge of his desk not to do something he would regret later. He saw Pod's incredulous look, and the fright visible when he turned pale. Then the kid seemed to finally realize it was time to leave and he closed the door carefully behind him, as if he feared to bother the animal licking his wounds inside.
Head in his palms behind his desk, Sandor exhaled a deep sigh that didn't alleviate the tension he felt in his shoulders. What did I do with Pod? What did I do with her? What did I miss? Did I say or did I do something that hurt her? His jaw tense, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to play the events again in his head.
It doesn't make any sense, he complained inwardly, cradling his head. From day one, from their chance encounter in the elevator of the hospital, she had been the one who took the lead. She had given him her number, she had told him to stay for dinner the day she had moved in her new apartment, she had asked for a pub crawl, then for a dinner at his place. I guess one can't say I put up resistance, but all these choices, she made them, and I just followed, like a good dog. Then what went wrong?
Lem boasted about his expertise as far as women' psyche was concerned and he never was stingy with advice when one of the kids was at a loss with his girlfriend. Sandor was no specialist in the subject, but he knew deep down Sansa was willing the night before: there was no doubt about it and she had liked what he had done to her. That too, was a certainty. Why leave if she liked it? Sansa wasn't the kind of girl who took pleasure in torturing her own kind. Surely, there was an explanation to her departure. Was she late for work? Sandor shook his head: she would have left a note in this case, and there wasn't anything in the bedroom nor in the kitchen: he had combed his house, this morning. Twice, he told himself with an acute sense of self-abasement. No note, no message on his voicemail… She had vanished into thin air.
So it had to be something else, something she couldn't tell him. Something she didn't want to tell him. And all of a sudden, as he mentally went through his memories of the night before, he remembered what Sansa had confessed as she was already naked. "I had a one-night stand, after I broke up with Harry. It was last year. I haven't had sex since then." What could have happened that made her decide not to have sex for a whole year? For a girl like Sansa, finding someone to keep her warm at night was child's play. What did this bastard do to her? If he considered timing in which somebody gave you an information was as important as the information itself, then it made this revelation essential. She told me about that one-night stand just before we fucked, it's not a coincidence. "I had a one-night stand. I had a one-night stand." He still heard her whispering her secret, her blue eyes darting away from him in embarrassment. Rubbing his face with his palm, he tried to understand what she meant, why it was so important until a realization dawned upon him. He was wrong, since the beginning. The fucking Occam's razor, he mused. That was the kind of stuff he had learned while working with Barristan. The simpler hypothesis is always the best. She had not mentioned her one-night stand because something had happened that night, one year ago. She had not told him about it because she was afraid of being sore. Sansa had talked about her one-night stand, at that very moment, to warn him. One year earlier, she had had sex with a guy and she had left him at dawn - without him noticing, most likely. Oh no. It can't be true.
She has changed. That was one of the first things he had told himself when they had met in the hospital. She has grown talons. Since the beginning, she had taken the initiative, asking him to stay or to invite her, finally climbing in his bed to leave him at the break of day. Did she plan it? Did she know exactly what she was doing? Why choose me, then, when she can have anyone? Who knew what ideas Littlefinger had put in her pretty head during all these years or what twisted games the bastard had told her? Is that it? Was she playing with me all this time? I was fool enough to think I was seducing her but it was the other way around. I was the fucking prey. I was blind. Blinded by the illusion he could have her he had not paid attention to what she was telling him.
Sandor admitted he had not made things easier for her, assuming she wanted to seduce him, because his doubts prevented him from jumping at the chance. Had he been less cautious and less eager to do things properly, he would have screwed her over some cardboard boxes the night she had moved in. Did she want me because I sort of resisted? Did she imagine I was hung like a horse? Suppressing a sigh, he opened one of the drawers of the desk and fished in until he found a bottle of aspirin: headache was coming and he doubted that reflecting on the situation relieved it. He swallowed a tablet, then took a sip of water and glanced around his shoulder. From where he was, he could see the parking lot through the window. This is stupid. I'm fucking stupid, sitting there, waiting for the aspirin to ease my headache and to help me understand what happened. He fought back the urge to smash something and closed his eyes again.
Should I call her? It felt like self-inflicted torture. I just need to understand. For the first time since he had met her, he realized he needed and he truly wanted somebody's advice, but there was only one person who might be of some help. One person who had already seen him at his worst and who wouldn't judge him. The Elder Brother. He retrieved his cell phone from his back pocket and gave it a wary look: the Elder Brother was her boss and he could mean well but tell her something completely unnecessary because, Sandor admitted it, if there was one fucking person in this world who was protective of him, it was the Elder Brother. Shit. What other choice do I have? He opened the list of his contacts, then called him.
As he waited for the Elder Brother to pick up the phone, he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger. Try to calm down. Don't sound like you're going to lose it. He didn't want the Elder Brother's pity, only his advice on the situation.
"Hey, Sandor!" He could almost see the Elder Brother's grin despite the distance. "I was about to call you, although I don't call anyone when I go fishing, but I remember you and Sansa were supposed to have dinner last night." He heard birds singing and calling each other; he immediately guessed the Elder Brother was fishing by the river. The man owned a cabin out there where he liked to withdraw for a day or two everytime he needed to forget the tumultuous atmosphere of the hospital.
"So you took a day off?" Sandor managed to ask, trying to sound as detached as possible.
"I worked overtime last week!" the man laughed, before going silent all of a sudden. "But you didn't call me because I took a day off. What's wrong?"
"Fuck. Did I say something was wrong?"
He heard the Elder Brother sighing. "I know you, Sandor," the man reminded him. "You don't call people just to hear their voice. You could call Sansa just to hear her voice, I'd wager, but to hear mine? No, I don't buy it. Spit it out."
After a short silence, Sandor told him all: her unexpected visit at the gym, the dinner, the tension he felt and that look in her eyes that made his hands clammy. Without giving him any detail about his night with Sansa, he made it clear that they had slept together and she seemed willing. Confessing he had woken up in an empty bed felt like the hardest thing he had ever done. In the end, he waited for the Elder Brother's answer with bated breath.
"No note, no message since this morning?" the doctor trailed off. "I don't know what to say, Sandor."
"I bet you never experienced something like this," Sandor snorted.
"You're mistaken. I did. I can't tell you where your relationship with Sansa is going, but I did wake up in an empty bed although I had fallen asleep beside a woman a few hours earlier."
Sandor knew he should have said something, like I'm sorry, but the words were caught in his throat. He imagined his friend and mentor reaching out to an empty space in the bed and, notwithstanding his inability to speak, he felt bad for him.
"I know it hurts," the Elder Brother went on. "I could tell you it will pass, but… we both know where we stand concerning your feelings for Sansa. You know… I don't think she did it to hurt you. She probably feels terrible right now-"
The Elder Brother's compassion for Sansa infuriated Sandor; he interrupted him: "You didn't pay attention to what I told you! She played with me! Since the fucking beginning, she knew she'd leave and she told me shit to win my confidence. Why did she want to have sex with me, I don't know, but she used me, I'm positive!"
Silence stretched between them and Sandor heard the birds by the river again, chirping uselessly. "This is so convenient for you to believe she planned everything and used you, right?" The irony lining the Elder Brother's words struck him. "You're so persuaded nobody could ever want you for yourself, you'd rather imagine that the girl turned into a sort of predator who only wanted to have fun with you before discarding you like a used tissue. What do you think? We're talking about Sansa Stark, not about the Whore of Babylon."
Sandor was at a loss. He softened somehow: "Listen, I turned things over in my head and I can tell you-"
"No. You're going to listen to me. I don't believe a word of it. Sansa is not that kind of girl who hurts people. She knows exactly what it feels like to be used. Now if I didn't convince you yet, listen carefully: Sansa won't run away, because she's a sensible girl and she's got a job and an apartment in Quiet Isle. And there's no way she would do something like that before dumping you without an explanation. You know why? It's a small town and life would get complicated for her after doing something that stupid."
Sandor nodded, even though the Elder Brother couldn't see his gesture of acquiescence. "Are you still here, Sandor?" the doctor asked.
"Yeah. If she didn't… use me, what is it then, you Smartass?"
His friend ignored his acerbic tone and answered quietly: "You don't have a corner on self-doubts and hesitation, Sandor. She might be just as panicked as you are." Again, the birds sang, emphasizing Sandor's distraught silence. "OK. Do you want me to call her? I remember she wasn't supposed to work today."
"Fuck, no! Don't you dare call her. I'm a big boy, I can handle this."
"Of course you are." There was a hint of irony in the Elder Brother's tone that would have incensed him had the circumstances been different. "Just wait, Sandor, and she'll come back."
But when? And what should I do when she does? If she does, he corrected himself as the Elder Brother told him goodbye and hung up. He considered calling him back to ask his advice again, but he gave up, clinging to whatever remained of his self-esteem.
As the shadows grew longer in his office and as the gym filled with young and older men who probably wondered where he was on a Saturday afternoon, Sandor stayed behind his desk, unable to work on the accounting, yet too embarrassed to step out of his office. If he left the small room that had become his shelter that day, the members of the gym would understand at once what was wrong with him. It's plain to see. And I bet Anguy and Lem told everyone about my date with Sansa yesterday night.
As the Elder Brother had suggested, he waited.
The clock showed 6:00 PM now. Where is she? What is she doing? If she wasn't at the hospital, like the Elder Brother had said, did she spend the day at her place? I can't take it, he mused, glancing at the clock for the umpteenth time, yet he stayed there, glaring at the screen of his cell phone that didn't show any new message. And what if she doesn't come because the Elder Brother is wrong? The bloody doctor trusted his own judgment because he never was mistaken and as far as Sandor knew, that would be a first. Still, what if he's wrong and my guess is right? For a change, Sandor hoped he was wide of the mark.
Behind the door, the gym was a hive of activity, starkly contrasting with the heavy silence inside the office. Sandor had not even turned on the lights and therefore stayed behind his desk in the dark, the atmosphere around him matching his somber mood. A knock at the door roused him from his thoughts.
He lifted his gaze to see two shadows through the textured glass panel of the door.
"You sure he's here?" a young masculine voice said.
"Brienne told me so," a deeper voice countered.
"Really? 'Cause I didn't see him and I've been here for like, forever. Plus, the lights are turned off..."
"Sandor?" Whoever was standing behind the door really wanted to see him. "Are you there?"
Instead of telling his visitors to come in, he let the swivel chair squeak under his weight as he got on his feet, then he walked to the door, wondering how he could explain what he was doing alone in the dark. The door creaked open. Lem. Again. In the half-open door, the man looked a bit puzzled.
"Hey," he said, stroking his beard. "There's someone here for you." Tilting his head, he showed a spot on Sandor's left.
Sandor turned his head to see one of the kids and behind him, Sansa's sheepish face. He might look like hell after that day locked in his office, but she wasn't a picture of happiness either. She stepped tentatively toward him but the boy who thought Sandor wasn't in his office stood in her way, something Lem immediately seemed to realize.
"Come on, kid," Lem told him. "We'd better give them some space." With a patronizing pat on the boy's shoulders, he led him to the treadmills. Sansa swallowed hard as they moved past her, leaving her alone with Sandor.
"Hey," she mumbled. "I guess we should… talk. Will you- will you let me in?"
He felt like blood had stopped coursing in his veins, like his bones were turning to jelly as she took a few steps. Unable to answer, he nodded and opened the door so that she could come in, but not before turning on the lights in his office. A mere rub of his hands on his eyes and she was here, standing between the door and the desk, the electric light showing how the day had been rough on her too. You don't have a corner on self-doubts and hesitation, Sandor: the Elder Brother's words resonated strangely as he took in her tousled hair and her off-color face. Even her clothes reflected the despondency he saw in her eyes: contrary to her habit of always wearing the perfect outfit for each occasion, the T-shirt and jeans she wore seemed to have been chosen at random. Where have you been? What have you done?
Sansa wrung her hands and fleetingly glanced at his face, most likely gathering her courage before talking; her full lips he had kissed the night before opened slightly, suggesting she was about to say something, then she squeezed her eyes shut as if all this was too much for her and he feared she might run away again. When she opened her eyes, she looked surprisingly determined though and she exhaled deeply like someone who slowly emptied out their lungs to alleviate the tension.
"I came here to apologize." Her voice was taut. She looked at him as if she expected him to say something and her disappointment became tangible when she seemed to realize he wouldn't make this easier for her. "I wish- I wish I had an explanation for this morning, for the way I sneaked out, but the truth is, I don't have any proper excuse. I panicked, that's all."
Can you imagine what it feels like to fall asleep beside you, then to wake up in an empty bed? How does it feel to treat me like crap? Are you satisfied now that you came here to check how fucked-up I am thanks to you? Although he remained silent, ideas raced through his mind and venomous words threatened to tumble out of his mouth.
"Are you going to say something?" she asked him, arching an eyebrow at his lack of reaction. "I said I was sorry."
And suddenly, instead of the bubble of kisses and oblivion he had expected when she had showed up, the room was thick with tension. They stood there, a handful of feet apart, but he felt like there was an impassable wall between them.
Deep and croaky, his voice resonated in the office, almost startling her after his long, never-ending silence. "Where were you?"
Sansa hugged herself before answering: "I drove. I needed to think, so I drove. Considered calling you a dozen times but never found the courage to do it. I needed to see you anyway. To talk to you."
"Talk then."
Her eyes closed again at his sharp, dismissive tone and when they fluttered open, she shot a glare at him. "I'm back. I intend to stay this time." Her voice was tinged with hurt, now.
No matter how badly he wanted her, nor how he was relieved to see her in flesh and bone after imagining she was gone forever, he couldn't just open his arms and enjoy the moment. And in the end, you're on your own. That straightforward and simplistic sentence was his motto after his father's death, after he had learned the hard way people could vanish into thin air, or die, or simply disappoint him. He had went through so many things with these simple words as a talisman, it was difficult to just get rid of it and to pretend he was ready to love someone, although he had never been loved. He gritted his teeth for fear of bursting into tears.
"Do you have the slightest idea of what it feels like to be married to someone you don't love and who only loves what you own?" Sansa's voice hit the high note. "I never had a healthy relationship before, unless you consider pretending I was Baelish's daughter healthy. I'm almost 24 and I hardly know what it's like to go on a date! What was I supposed to do?"
As her interrogations echoed his, somehow, all he could do was open his arms for her, although he shook like a fucking leaf and felt terribly awkward. Sansa locked eyes with him, and for a split second he saw her hesitation, not because she still questioned their relationship but because she just got her fingers burnt and she wanted to be sure he was serious now; she nevertheless closed the space between them and threw herself in his arms.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled against his chest and he wished he had donned something properly ironed instead of that old sagging T-shirt. Fuck. It smells of sweat, I'd wager. She didn't seemed annoyed by the smell though and she rubbed her tired little face against him as his arms settled on the small of her back. "I'll never do that again. I promise."
Sandor muttered soothing words that didn't make much sense, probably, and he held her tight, relishing her warmth and the blissful sensation of having her in his arms. Again, he mused, mesmerized by the feeling of her hands going up his torso and snaking around his neck. Soon her fingers brushed the nape of his neck and stopped on his throat caressing his pulse and sending shivers down his spine.
"Can we have dinner at your place?" The question surprised him, not only because she seemed to forget about their argument but also because it was only 6:30 and there was no way the gym could close so early, especially on a Saturday night. And at the same time, her bluntness made him chuckle. "What, Sandor? There was still plenty of lamb in the casserole, don't tell me you ate everything."
"Damn, girl, do you have your head screwed on right? I have some leftovers, but what am I supposed to do with them all?" He motioned his head to the door, referring to the members of the gym.
Sansa craned her neck to look at him without breaking their embrace. "I don't know." The way her blue eyes questioned him, almost saying "I thought you were my hero, why are you even bothering me with this?" struck him and he immediately racked his brains to find something. I have to.
"Alright, I'll talk to Lem, if I can find him. Or I'll ask someone else…" He soon convinced himself he could entrust the keys to anyone that night, even to a smooth-faced kid, if it was the only way he could have dinner with her. But is it dinner she wants to have? "Just let me go to the treadmills…" He almost escaped her arms before changing his mind. No I can't. Sandor felt torn between his fear of public display of affection and his desire not to let go of her, at any price, but the latter won and he left the office with her hand in his.
By chance, Lem had decided to play cupid that night and Sandor had easily convinced him to close the gym. Lem had even suggested he could drop the keys in Sandor's mailbox afterward, "in case you don't want to be disturbed", he had added with a broad grin. How was he going to repay the favor? He didn't know but it was the least of his worries, as he took the gravel road that led to his house.
Sansa's car was still behind his truck, diligently following him and he thought with a pang of guilt he had spent more time glancing at the rear-view mirror, to make sure she was there, than looking ahead on the road since they had left the gym.
She parked her car next to him and she got out or rather bolted out of her gray sedan to throw herself in his arms. Hurried kisses made their progression to the entrance door slower or more perilous, for she nearly stumbled on the gravel and Sandor had all the trouble in the world to find his keys and to open the door. Once inside, it became clear that, if Sansa had mastered her urge to kiss him and to hold him at the gym, when there were people around them, she now intended to let her hair down. Not that Sandor would complain, but as she leaned back against the door, pulling him close, he broke their kiss and asked mischievously: "I thought you wanted to have dinner."
She laughed before stealing his breath again with a long kiss. "I couldn't tell you what I had in mind. Is there a socially acceptable way to tell you to take off your clothes?"
"You could have said "Take off your clothes, pretty please"," he countered, his lips brushing her ear lobe. "That would sound like you." Instead of answering, she teased him by claiming another kiss. She almost had her legs wrapped around his middle now and he felt hard as rock. "Upstairs?" he asked.
"Upstairs," she whispered against the scruff of his neck.
She had given herself to him and filled his bedroom with her scent, her laughter, her moaning. She had writhed under him, arching her back against the mattress, then she had ridden him, never breaking eye contact. Because she had grown talons, he told himself. My bolder Sansa with her brown hair. The color of her hair was something he didn't like. He understood she had started dying her hair when she had left the Lannisters' clutches at the exact moment she had started toughen up; maybe getting back to her natural hair color scared her somehow, as if she associated red hair with her older self and with vulnerability.
As she still tried to catch her breath, lying flat on the back, he rolled on his side, propped himself on his elbow and contemplated her. By places, her brown hair stuck to her damp forehead so he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, as tenderly as he could. His gesture forced a breathless laugh out of her.
"What?" she managed to say, exhaling deeply afterwards. She tilted her head back in the process and her back arched slightly. It was enough to bring a wolfish smile on his lips. Give me five minutes and I'll make you arch your back for a better reason.
He shook his head, trying to compose himself. "I'm just looking at you. Thought I'd never see you again."
Sansa reached out to brush his jaw, her blue eyes apologetic. "I told you I was confused. I'm truly sorry."
He tipped his head into the caress, then put a light kiss on her fingertips. "Let's forget this. I ran away as well, a long time ago."
She pulled him close, making him lean over her and they started kissing, although a part of him couldn't focus on Sansa's lips. He was lying; there was no way he could forget the emptiness in his bed and in his heart that morning. The fear of experiencing the sense of loss once more would remain, in the recesses of his mind, no matter the efforts she'd make to reassure him, no matter his smiles to pull the wool over her eyes. A huge, uncontrollable anxiety had bloomed because he had lowered his guard when deciding he wanted her in his life; now he knew losing her could happen any moment. Not because of the Lannisters or because this world is fucked up. Just because she may want to leave me someday. Now that danger and untimely deaths were bad memories, there was one thing that could take Sansa away from him: life. Life's a bitch, he thought, but I could very well help her tear us apart by doing some shit.
He broke their kiss, wondering if she had the slightest idea of the huge waves banging in his head, but her blue eyes were unreadable. The sun had set and Sandor turned on the bedside lamp so that he could see her. Maybe watching her curves would distract me from my fucking bad feeling. And watch her he did. As she stared at him, visibly hesitating between exasperation and amusement, his eyes followed the sinuous path starting from her collarbone to her hip, roaming over a breast and lingering in the dip of her waist. Sansa had covered herself with the sheet; he therefore pushed aside the covers and shook his head at the protestations his gesture induced. He sat up, towering above her lying form and pretending to threaten her, then he stared down at her lower belly, anticipating the moment she would squirm under his gaze.
"Tsk tsk." She was chuckling and blushing at the same time, already trying to escape his insistent look.
He stilled her by resting both hands on her hips, then he locked eyes with her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You know what I asked myself that day in the elevator when I saw you?"
"You asked yourself if I was pregnant. I'm not likely to forget that part, Sandor Clegane."
"No, no, you're missing the point, young lady." He almost sneered at her, before lowering his head so that all she could see was the thin curtain of his dark hair. His right hand left her hipbone to caress her lower belly. She gasped under his touch and when his fingertips wandered between her parted legs, brushing the soft flesh, merely hidden by neatly trimmed hair, he explained: "I saw your brown hair and I asked myself if your hair was brown down there too. But no." His fingertips barely touched her but nonetheless elicited a tiny "oh". "You're still red-haired."
"I hate you," she mouthed, knees bent and almost offered to him.
She seemed relaxed and the glint in her eye told Sandor she was ready for a second round. He could have put his hands on her kneecaps and spread her legs but instead, Sandor removed his fingers, eager to see how she would react. He expected her to protest, louder this time because in the end she wanted his hand there and certainly not just his hand, but it was her turn to surprise him.
She bit her lip before asking: "May I use your bathroom? I barely showered this morning, before- before going for a drive. I'd like to take a shower."
He observed her with curiosity, then he laughed. "It's not a shower you want. I remember your face yesterday when you saw the bathtub. You want a bath."
"Busted!" she admitted with a smile. "Do I have your permission?"
"Make yourself at home." She didn't need to be told twice: rolling over in bed, she got on her feet. Make yourself at home. As the mattress moved beneath him, he realized what kind of truth the cliché encapsulated. No matter how spartan his house was, no matter the lack of decoration and the absence of countless things she probably considered essential, Sandor wanted his house to be hers too, if possible, if she cared enough to set up home.
After looking at him over her shoulder - one of these glances that were her signature, whether they were quizzical or flirtatious - she bent over to pick a dirty buttoned-down shirt he had left on the floor and she put it on, robbing him of the sight of her naked body. Then, she freed her long hair from the collar of his shirt and walked away. I have to follow her. He almost jumped out of the bed, hurriedly put on his boxer shorts and he went after her.
Sansa's feigned surprise didn't fool him when he pushed the bathroom door open. You know exactly what you're doing, girl, but we can pretend otherwise if you wish. He showed her how to fill the bathtub, retrieved fresh towels from the cupboard and finally gave her a long look. Sansa still wore his gray button-down shirt that was way too big for her but barely covered her ass; she had rolled up the sleeves and she observed him with a half-smile, one hand on her hip as water slowly filled the bathtub, its gurgling noise drowning out Sandor's pathetic monologue. Just seeing her in his gray shirt and knowing she didn't wear anything else made him half-hard and gazing at the valley between her breasts didn't help.
"I guess this is the moment when I leave you alone," he rasped, retreating towards the door. As she didn't answer, he crossed the threshold, before sticking his head in the door again. "Won't you feel lonely in here? Don't you need someone to protect you from monsters?"
Her jaw dropped but if she answered something he didn't hear it, because water still burbled in the bathtub. When she motioned him inside though, his heart pounded in his chest. He closed the door and planted himself in front of her.
"What kind of monsters hide in a bathroom? Shampoo devil? Gremlins who feed on dirty towels?" she asked with the most serious tone.
"Dunno. That's why you shouldn't stay alone in here."
"I can't see bubble bath," she said after a silence, disguising the fit of laughter she tried to fight behind a pout.
"I'll make bubbles in your bath if you want." If he was being honest, it was true: he'd make anything to please her. She laughed at that and he took advantage of the situation to rest his hands on her hips. A glance at the bathtub confirmed it was full now. He removed his hands from her hips for a second and bent over to turn off the faucet. "Enough," he stated, in such a way she might ask herself if he referred to the bathtub or to their banter.
Her eyes widened slightly when possessive hands landed on her hips again, then pulled her close. She held his gaze though until one of his hands left her hip to caress the juncture of her thighs and to find her wet; although he merely touched her she closed her eyes and moaned. Spurred on by her reaction, he tried to remove the button-down shirt she wore but he was too eager to make a satisfying job. She finally pulled the shirt over her head, putting an end to his agony. Perky boobs, he commented inwardly as he looked down at her, and they're all mine.
He pinned her to the wall with a grunt, ignoring her squeal, something between a protestation and a laughter, when her back hit the cold tiles. Sandor was flush against her, his hand resting on the wall by her head; her girlish chuckle vanished as soon as she noticed how serious and even threatening he looked.
"Water is going to get cold," she observed, biting her lower lip in anticipation at the end of her sentence. Her eyes were going from his face to his abdomen.
"Look at me and dare say a hot bath is what you care about right now," he rasped.
Her head lolled back as she laughed again and he silenced her with a kiss. She wailed into his mouth, a tiny, useless objection that could have made him smile if his lips weren't busy yet, caressing and nibbling at hers. He lifted her in his arms, his hard cock pressed against her belly then he possessively pushed her knees apart and settled between her legs. In response, Sansa wrapped her legs around his middle and tangled her fingers in his hair, her curious eyes locking with him. You didn't know you liked it a bit wild, did you? One of his hands reached between them to free his cock from his boxer shorts and to slide a finger inside her.
"Fuck," he hissed. She was dripping wet. He nonetheless decided to resume his ministrations until she shook her head firmly.
"Don't make me wait, Sandor. Now." Her heavy eyelids and husky voice aroused him even more if possible. He guided himself inside her, marveled at the sensation of filling her and just when he thought he couldn't feel any better, the whimpering sound that escaped her lips told him how good it was for her too; he placed both hands under her bottom to still her movements and to hold her tightly.
Sansa's expression while he moved in her - eyes widening, then squeezing shut, mouth ajar - fascinated him. He felt in his guts it was a discovery for her, something she had never experienced before. Hence her moaning. He restrained himself from speeding up the pace, eager to make sure she came, squeezing a breast and claiming her mouth from time to time, but as soon as her mewl became louder and high-pitched, announcing her release was close, he pounded inside her, unable to keep a grip on himself any longer. She sounded like she was crying now, and her heels dug in the small of his back, a reminder she was clutching to him, begging him to stay there. His balls tightened and Sandor buried his face in the crook of her neck, waiting for the moment he would feel like something was exploding behind his eyelids. Eyes closed, he saw the brightness, then pleasure dazzled him and he felt like he couldn't control a single muscle of his body; he spilled himself inside her. Remembering Sansa's precarious position, he withdrew and made a tremendous effort to hold her until she reached her feet to the floor, and even after she did, he stayed there, bracing himself against the wall. His breathing was erratic and his legs shook, pain soon replacing pleasure in his thigh; Sansa panted too yet she found the strength to embrace him and to plant a kiss on his neck. After a while, very slowly, she took his hand and led him to the bathtub.
They didn't stay in the bathtub for a long time; her limbs encased in his and her back resting against his chest, Sansa sniffed his shampoo with a skeptical look on her face - as far as he could see when he gazed down at her - then she washed her hair and scrubbed herself. She scrubbed him too, without noticing his annoyed look or mistaking it for exhaustion. We should have used a condom. I should have. She didn't seem to mind and by the way she hummed while washing his back he could tell she had loved the way he had taken her, but… But I've been with other women. I took a fucking wealth of precaution but you never know…
"Time to go to bed, now," she announced, giving him a chaste kiss. The smell of his shampoo was everywhere on them, tickling his nostrils. She stood up, dripping wet and cheerful, grabbed a towel and wrapped herself in it before motioning him out of the bathtub.
They collapsed on his bed, still wrapped in their towels and Sandor's heart skipped a beat when remembering she had fallen asleep there less than 24 hours earlier, before abandoning him. Lying flat on her back, Sansa contemplated the towel draped around her breasts, then she glanced at her clothes scattered across the room, visibly asking herself if she should keep the towel or not, if she should put her underwear on or not. Sandor didn't trouble himself with that sort of question: he yanked at the towel around his hips and tossed it to the floor before propping himself up on his elbows.
He cocked his head to the side to gaze at Sansa who still chewed her lip and played with the hem of her towel. "Are you staying tonight?" He hoped he didn't sound too desperate, too insistent. Or too fucking stupid. The more her silence dragged on, the more uncertain he was.
"Sandor, I came back. I'm staying. Tomorrow morning, you're going to regret it because I can be very grumpy if I'm sleepy-"
"Don't say that," he cut her off. "Don't say I'll regret it because you know it's wrong."
"Alright," she sighed. "I'm staying, period." She kept staring at him, brow furrowed after a few heartbeats. "Are you so wary that you're thinking about tying me to the bed?"
He chuckled, then cupped her face, before whispering in her ear: "I should probably do that." With a devilish grin, he slid a finger between her breasts, where she had tucked the hem of her towel, relishing her shudder and her gasp. He added: "You don't need that."
Like his before, Sansa's towel landed on the floor; she squirmed under his touch. "It's late," he reminded her, wondering if she was thinking of a third round. Anxiety had taken its toll on him and all he wanted was fall asleep with Sansa in his arms. She seemed happy with that; when he rolled on his back, she nestled against him, head pillowed by his chest, her arm draped across his torso.
"See? I'm staying. You'll have to make tea for me in the morning," she said as he hesitated: should he turn the bedside lamp off?
"I don't have tea."
"I'm not surprised. You'd better give me a good reason to get up, then."
"Like what?" he rasped, kissing the crown of her head.
"Like, I don't know… Do you think the kitchen table is more comfortable than the tiles on the wall of your bathroom?" she asked, craning her neck to see his reaction.
He took in her wicked smile and tousled her damp hair. "You've changed, Sansa Stark… Fuck, how am I supposed to fall asleep now that I'll picture you sitting on the kitchen table and spreading your thighs for me?"
She grinned at that, then tightened her grip on him ever so slightly. He was drifting in and out of sleep when she chuckled against his pecs.
"What now?" he growled, drowsy.
"I just realized something. You know the Elder Brother has his own parking space at the hospital, with his name on it?"
What the hell is she talking about the Elder Brother and his parking space? If she wanted to keep him awake, the kitchen table and the activities she wanted them to do on was a far better topic.
"What about the Elder Brother, little bird?"
"It's just-" She shifted slightly so that her head rested on his shoulder; her fingertips traced the outline of his tattoo. Broad strokes and fine strokes. It almost seemed like she was asking: What does the "S" stands for, Sandor?
"You see," she went on, "I don't have a parking space with my name on it yet. Someday, maybe… " The pad of her forefinger pressed against his flesh, insisting on the tattoo. "Now I know why you got your tattoo, Sandor. You got it so that a young nurse who doesn't have her own parking space could read her name on your chest one night, rest her head there and say "This is where I belong."
If you think this is the end, maybe you didn't pay attention to Sandor's inner monologue: we're halfway through the story. Being together doesn't mean there will be 'hugs and rainbows everywhere' (I wish I had found that turn of phrase by myself, but Khaleesi95 invented it).
When there's no danger lurking outside, nor social conventions to prevent Sansa and Sandor to love one another, what's left? Two persons with their doubts, their secrets, their fears and Sandor's certainty he doesn't deserve Sansa's love: that's what I want to explore in the next chapters.
Not much action, no bluff. There will be bad and good moments, crying jag and fits of laughter. If you stick around I promise to study Sansa and Sandor's relationship and to write an ending which is not a bit sad but not fluffy either. Just believable.
To Tanakacchi (guest): You're very welcome! I couldn't make you wait forever without knowing what would happen during this dinner, could I? I don't know if there were so many cliffhangers in my stories lately (maybe?)... but I'm delighted you enjoyed chapter 6 and I hope you liked this one too. Thanks a lot for reviewing although I can't answer your amazing comments right away (I guess this is frustrating for both of us)!