He hissed as he jerked his boots off, flexing his toes after a day stuffed into the unyielding leather. They sailed across the room, hitting the wall with two distinct thumps. The studded leather jerkin followed, skidding to a halt just few a inches apart. Underneath, his cream shirt was plastered to his back with sweat, a ripe smell rising to his nose. Peeling it away, he simply dropped it at his aching feet. Let the washer worry about that.

Eyeing the jug gently steaming by his washstand, he knew he should pour it before it went cold. Knew he needed a scrubbing. Ought to rinse his pits and feet at least. Sighing heavily at the thought of further movement, he stretched, rolling his shoulders and turning his neck, fully aware of every creak and crack of his body.

Fuck it. Thrusting himself up and away from the inviting softness of his mattress, he found his way to the jug and filled his basin. She had given him this soap; a fact he recalled at least twice a day, turning the orange-brown bar over in his hand. He had laughed when she said she made it herself, but the longer he looked at it… the sides were uneven, cut in a careless manner that was purely her. After all, what did it matter what a lump of soap looked like?

He had heard her say it a dozen times: It gets the fucking job done, don't it!

In spite of its appearance, the smell… He lifted it to his face for the hundredth time. Some spice, some sweetness; not overpowering. Had she crafted it with him in mind?

Quit simpering, you daft old dog.

Still, the first time he had used it, she'd buried her face into his neck, breathing him in. Her hums of delight echoed in his ears as he scrubbed at his arms, willing the stink away. She would be here soon, and the thought of her wrinkling her nose at a mere whiff of him drove him to using the soap and brush until his skin was red raw. He even washed his feet.

Last of all was his marred face, and he scowled at himself in the mirror as he lathered his horrendous left side, aware of every lump and crevice, delving firm lines between his brows with the ferocity of his own stare. There were lines growing on either side of his mouth recently, too, but he fancied they stood somewhere between scowling and smiling. Even there, by his good eye, she had sown little threads of laughter.

A soft tap came at the door. Like clockwork. The day ends and she appears, elbowing the door open and striding into the room without invitation. After all, they both know she belongs here. The look she gives him as she sets the tray on the table confirms that; appraising, approving and just a little possessive. His blood heats, but he polices his features to express only mild interest. He does not yet know what she wants, or how she feels. He hardly has words for how he feels…

Or rather, he has but one, and it strikes a cord of panic in his heart.

"Evening." Her voice, gentle low, with that edge of confidence that first drew his attention. One side of her mouth quirks up in a way that signals improper thoughts, and her gaze roves over him once more.

He tilts his head, letting only part of a smile cross his face. An invitation. As usual, there is a certain coyness in her first step, like she still expects him to meet her with the same disdain he might show anyone else. That cheeky grin spreads further with each step, until she is level with his chest, at which point she grins, pink little rosebud of a mouth parting to reveal straight white teeth, cheeks forming two perfect dimples. Her arms slid around his waist, squeezing him fondly as she rests her forehead against his chest.

Just like that, everything is her. Her arms, her warmth, her soft curves, the little sigh she lets out as she relaxes in his embrace, and the faint aroma of roses. Silently, he removes the pins from her hair, loosening and arranging her red locks until they spill down her back, almost to her waist. Her kisses flutter across his breast, fingertips tracing the lines of his back and stomach, drawing across his ribs, where she know he's ticklish. He jerks them away to the melody of her giggles.

"Do that again and I'll…" He pauses just a moment too long in finishing his threat, and those big blue eyes turn upward, narrowing at the prospect of a challenge.

"You'll what?" She purrs.

At first, her teasing had frustrated him. Not to the point of anger, for she was careful with her words and never caused him much offence, but he used to work his brain into knots trying to understand her meaning. Now he knew it was part of this game for her. She liked to test his...imagination.

Gathering her hands behind her back, he enclosed her wrists in one of his massive hands. She resisted; just a little. He knew how slippery she could be when she wanted. She had escaped him more times than he cared to admit.

To his dismay, he found the ties of her gown to be more complicated than he'd judged, and was quickly subjected to her superior snigger.

"Oh dear, however are you supposed to ravish me if you can't even get my dress off?"

He laughed. "'Ravish'? That's a new one from you."

With a twist, she freed her hands, and undid the garment herself, standing on tiptoe to kiss him in the process. Guiding his fingers to her, he moaned slightly on contact with her soft flesh, then tutted mockingly.

"Someone's forgotten their undergarments again." He pinched her plump arse, making her squeak with surprise. "What did I tell you about that?"

"Last time?" She murmured in his ruined ear. "I don't recall much telling."

"It was warning enough." He hissed back. "Any old dog might catch you in the halls and -"

"Ravish me?"

He barked then, laughter rumbling through his chest. "Exactly."

Oh he'd caught her alright. In the halls, the gardens, the cellars, even once behind Balerion's monstrous skull. Sometimes she caught him, too.

Like now, as she tugged him over to the bed, telling him how and where to touch her, caressing him in return until his nerves sang, taking in her porcelain skin as it flushed pink with pleasure, ignoring his cock straining against his breeches. Not yet. Not yet. He hadn't even tasted her. She always waited until his fingers would not do, and then she would break their kiss to touch his ruined mouth, tongue protruding scandalously from between her swollen lips, and he nodded his assent.

How could he refuse? What with the way she opened her legs to him, unashamedly letting him look and touch and kiss her there, savoring her sweetness, her moans ringing in his ears.

"Sandor…"

There it was. There was the key. He pinned her thighs over his shoulders, feeling her muscles quiver and then tighten...and then relax in her moment of bliss. He looked up to where she lay, panting, still gently threading her hands through his hair, tugging slightly as he rose to kiss her once more. Her legs were still over his shoulders, and his movement pressed his aching member against her cunt, causing him to growl.

"Sandor." Came the demand. "Fuck me."

And just like that, he grinned his widest, feeling his heart stutter as he straightened, and her lust-glazed eyes drank him in.

Too good to be true. He thought bitterly. Too pure to last. Still, he kissed her shapely ankle, and held her gaze as he relieved himself of his breeches, running his palms up and down her body before adjusting her over the edge of the bed. He knew she couldn't really move in this way, and as he took her she simply relaxed into his attentions, tits bouncing wonderfully as he went harder, her breathless yesing fading into incoherency.

Perfect. Perfect. Too fucking perfect.

Then she said his name again. All but screamed it, and he near lost his mind, recovering just in time to withdraw, somehow maneuvering her to the floor, and she fucking smiled as she took his cock into her mouth, sucking him until his vision blackened, and he staggered, releasing with a grunt.

The first few nights, she had been unsure about staying, had repeatedly offered to return to her little cell and that hard, narrow bed. Now she simply stretched out against his pillows, and in a movement that still baffled him, reached her arms out, drawing him into her, snuggling up against him and kissing his face. He lifted the blankets, effectively cocooning them there, feeling safer than he ever had in his life.

And then she would look up into his eyes and start to talk to him. And that was just as good, just as fulfilling and pure as everything that had gone before.