How could she have been so stupid? Sandor was right, they were all right. That's what she was. Stupid.

A little voice in the back of Sansa's head screamed that she wasn't, she wasn't, she was just desperate, desperate to get away from here...and she knew then more than ever before that Sandor was the only one she could trust. Where they would go, or could go, she had no idea...

...unless...

She broke their kiss as gently as possible, tilting her head back, pulling her lips out of his reach when he tried to initiate it again. "S...Sandor?"

"What?" he snarled, crushing her against him, now attempting to lift her up and kiss her. When she turned her head away, once again out of his reach, she heard him growl low in his throat. "Seven hells, little bird, can't you see I'm trying to - "

"I know very well what you're trying to do." She couldn't help but giggle. "But...well, I have...something of an idea...and I thought..."

Sandor released her with a frustrated grunt. "Say it, then."

"I...I was wondering...where we could go. A place no one would suspect...and I thought...your brother is away to war, is he not?"

Sansa saw his lip twitch; it was even more pronounced than usual at mention of Gregor. "What does my brother have to do with anything?" he rasped, and she could hear the barely contained anger in his words. She was nearly frightened at this other side of him, this fury that he must usually attempt to hide from her, yet she pressed on. After all, this was the only solution she could think of at the moment.

"Your...your family seat...you...you do have one?"

"Aye," he growled. "Clegane Keep." He spat out the words vehemently; he did not like this place, but then that would serve them well. She watched him, wide-eyed, for several moments...and finally the realization seemed to dawn on him. "No," he simply stated.

"It's the only plan we have right now," she reminded him. "Think on it, please?" She thought then about reaching for him, kissing him, pressing herself against him. Sansa knew that doing so would possibly even convince him to agree, but then she remembered Cersei's words. Learn to use the weapon between your legs, the Queen had said...but Sansa would not be that kind of woman.

Especially not with Sandor.

Instead she moved away from him, picked up the sack that he had dropped on the ground and began laying out the blankets. The flagon of wine had been well cushioned amongst the bread and coverlets, and only one of the cups was cracked. She sat down and poured them each a drink, holding out the whole cup as a sort of peace offering.

At first Sandor narrowed his eyes at her; he even opened his mouth as if to speak...but finally he dropped to the ground beside her and took the cup of wine from her hand, drinking it down in a single gulp and holding the cup out for more. Sansa filled it obediently, and this time he only took a sip before setting it aside, taking her cup from her hand, and moving over her, lowering himself so that she was forced to lay back on the blankets.

"Is this what you wanted, little bird?" he asked as he pressed himself into her thigh. She could feel his manhood hard against her, but she merely closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath, warmth pooling in her nether regions in a most unladylike manner. When the word "Yes" escaped her lips, she knew that as much as it scared her...she meant it. In response Sandor bucked his hips toward her and Sansa went red with shame when a low moan escaped her lips. He silenced her with another kiss, a hard kiss filled with lust, and her body rose to meet his as if doing so was the most natural thing in the world, the only thing in the world.

Sandor's hand moved beneath her and she could feel him fumbling with her laces; she arched herself against him as if to give him room to do so, despite the fact that something inside of her was saying no, this can't happen now, maybe soon but not now...

With a frustrated grumble Sandor suddenly grabbed a handful of her dress in his hands and yanked. Sansa heard a tear and felt him hastily pushing the gown down, off her shoulders and over her breasts so that they spilled out and she gasped into his mouth as the chill night air brushed over her nipples...though she was not sure if it was this or him that caused them to form hard, aroused little peaks. He broke their kiss then and in the gleam of the moonlight she could see his heaving shoulders as he looked down upon her half-naked body.

"Fuck, girl," Sandor murmured, and there was wonder in his eyes as his calloused hand cupped her breast, squeezing it ever so gently before running the inside of his thumb over her nipple in a way that made her go weak with desire. Still, when he settled himself on his knees and began untying his breeches a stab of something like fear startled her into speaking.

"Sandor, I...we..."

He laughed, then, but it was a soft sound, not angry at all. "There are other ways to please each other, little bird. Don't fret; I'll not take your maidenhead tonight."

That last word made her blush, and her stomach seemed to do a flip inside of her. But all Sansa could bring herself to say just then was, "Show me."

He took her hand, then, and when he hesitated for just a moment she nodded to let him know that it was okay. He guided her toward him and she knew what he wanted; her heart thudding in her chest, Sansa gently pushed his breeches aside and grasped his manhood in her hand. Gods, she thought, when she realized just how big he was - her hand may be small, but the fact that she could barely wrap it all the way around him...

Sansa released his manhood from its confines and Sandor lowered himself over her again, taking a breast in his mouth, grazing his teeth over her skin as he flicked the tip of his tongue over her nipple. The sensation caused her to grip him even harder, and though she could not hear the word she felt him say "Yes," before closing his mouth over her breast to suckle on her. And then his hand was between her legs, his fingertips gently trailing up the inside of her thigh, pushing her smallclothes aside to find her center, her folds wet with arousal. He made a V with his fore and middle fingers, pressing against her as the rough tip of his thumb flicked the hard little pearl between them.

Though she was not sure how she knew to do it, Sansa's hand began moving of its own accord, cupping the tip of him, feeling the wet that was fairly dripping from it and smoothing it over him as she stroked. And as she did so she felt him increase his pressure and the speed of his movements on her woman's place, so that she almost lost herself for a moment as a strange sort of pressure built inside of her. "Sandor..." she murmured, though she immediately wished she'd held back saying his name...if only for...

For what?

"Little bird..." Sandor rasped in response, his manhood twitching in her grasp, the tip of his thumb flicking slowly, almost painstakingly, over her aroused nub. Sansa gasped as her entire body twitched at his touch. Apparently her grip tightened around him even more, for he rolled his hips toward her and dragged his thumb slowly over her pearl one more time, bringing on a release that felt like an explosion within her. She bucked against him for a moment, moaning - a sound she'd never thought to make, perhaps not even with a husband - and then she felt him pulse, felt his seed spill and soak through her gown, warm and wet. Sandor then seemed to relax automatically, stretching out beside her and enveloping her in his arms.

"Thank you," Sansa whispered, an almost automatic response. She felt more than heard Sandor chuckle.

"Such a wanton little bird has no right to spout courtesies like that," he mumbled. She could hear the sleepiness in his voice. Is this how all men act...after? Sansa wondered.

"Is that what it always feels like?" she suddenly asked, knowing that this question would at least catch his attention.

"If a man knows what he's doing, I suppose," was his raspy response. "Though I've heard the first time..."

"Can hurt, yes." Sansa said this with all the bravery she could manage, though somehow it didn't take quite as much as she'd expected. Perhaps having had to face her wedding night once had made all the difference. "Yet I've been told...if one wants it..."

"And you want it, do you?" Sandor chuckled in response, rolling over to press his still-hard manhood against her thigh and brush his lips across hers. Sansa closed her eyes and nodded, feeling her cheeks burn, though this time not with shame - of that much she was certain.

Just now, though...just now she felt sated, sleepy, and she could tell from his slower, more rhythmic breathing that Sandor felt the same. At first when she tucked herself against him she felt him go rigid, but after several moments he finally wrapped his arms about her and all too soon he was snoring softly. Sansa tried to stay awake just a little longer - she wanted to relish this moment forever, warm and soft and safe as it was, but at some point she must have fallen asleep. No nightmares plagued her, though, and when she woke it was to the grey light of pre-dawn filtering through the trees above them and the feel of Sandor's hand stroking slowly up her leg. She mewed in pleasure though she was still half asleep, and the sound seemed to startle him, for he stopped the movement, pulled his hand away.

"Is...is this...all right? Little bird?" he asked, sounding so like a boy caught doing something wrong that she had to smile.

"Yes," Sansa murmured. "Oh, yes."

"It's just..." his hand moved to her leg again, gently pushing her skirts out of the way. "Gods know when we will have this chance again..."

To answer him Sansa merely pressed her hand against his groin, feeling that he was already stiff with arousal. "Yes," she said again. "Please."

With a growl of approval he dragged himself away from her touch, and for a moment she thought to ask why until suddenly she felt his lips brush over her kneecap. The soft smoothness of the good side of his face contrasted perfectly with the rough, scratchy scarred side, and Sansa heard herself whimper as he pushed her skirts up even farther, dragging his mouth along the inside of her thigh until it found her folds, damp and still aching pleasurably from the night before. Still, nothing could have prepared her for the feel of his head between her legs, the tip of his tongue tracing slowly around the inside of her woman's place and flicking over that nub that had given her such amazing sensations mere hours before.

"I...I can't reach you..." she whispered apologetically.

"You don't need to," he muttered, so quietly that she barely heard him, the hot feel of his breath causing her to shudder in expectation. As his mouth moved over her Sandor inserted one large, rough fingertip just inside her opening and Sansa bucked against him. He pleasured her softly, slowly, gently, and this time her peak came on so gradually that she thought she would fairly melt into a puddle as she climaxed, her insides pulsing with such intensity that she could not stop herself from calling out his name.

As soon as she did he pulled away. "Sansa..." he groaned, nearly collapsing onto her, moving his hips so that his manhood rubbed enticingly close to her woman's place. He was still fully clothed; she was not scared or worried, though she was sure that even if he'd removed his breeches she would feel neither of those things anyway. Only a few moments passed before his movements became hurried, his hands wrapping around her waist to hold her tight against him, and Sansa stroked his hair as he found his release, murmuring his name into his ear as he did and relishing the fact that he groaned her own name in return. Not 'girl', not 'little bird', but her name, her real, true name - "Sansa, Sansa, Sansa..."