She'd put up with it for as long as she could, but finally Sansa could no longer stand being...well, essentially ignored...by Sandor. She'd done nothing to deserve his poor treatment; she hadn't complained when he turned his back on her at night, when he began avoiding her mouth every time she tried to kiss him, when his responses to anything she said had started becoming shorter and shorter. His comment about not wanting her to "ask where they were every day" was simply the last straw - or so she thought. When he said what he said about her not needing him, though...part of her felt a bit heartsick for him. Another part wanted to laugh in his face.
"Not need you?" she whispered, relaxing into his grip, already feeling a bit better for having something of an idea as to why he'd been acting so strangely. "Perhaps I will no longer need just any guard...but you are not just any guard, Sandor. You are the only person I've truly been able to trust in...in so long. And...well, and beyond that...you are more than just a guard to me. You must know that..." Sansa craned her head toward him as he tried to avoid meeting her eyes; finally she gave an exasperated sigh and quick as she could found his lips with her own.
At first it seemed that Sandor was going to protest - he set his mouth in a thin line and did not truly return her embrace for several moments - but Sansa persisted, leaning her weight against him, arching her back so that her breasts pressed into his chest, playing the tip of her tongue across his lips until with a frustrated grunt he allowed them to part just the tiniest bit. She kissed him without abandon until he finally truly responded, releasing her wrists and gripping her hips instead, so hard that she knew his fingertips would leave bruises on her skin. Sansa relished that thought, because the idea of bruises left by him made her feel as if he was leaving his mark on her...and she wanted to be his, his, his.
In the work of a moment Sandor had lifted her up, the better to kiss her she supposed, and Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist for balance. Her hips moved of their own accord, it seemed, rolling against him in a way that made her feel as if her very core was on fire.
Suddenly Sandor pulled his head back. "Little bird..." he said, the words sounding like something between a sigh and a groan. "I can't..."
Her heart began thumping in her chest - Sansa felt...angry. "Yes," she stated through clenched teeth, "you can."
He met her eyes and she saw a mixture of bemusement and self-loathing in his. "You don't know what you're asking for. You don't know that I can always hold back the way I did in the Red Keep. There's no one here to hear you scream, girl."
Sansa knew that he meant to sound threatening, but she almost wanted to laugh in his face. "If you'd taken me at the Red Keep and been caught doing so, or having done so...Joffrey would have thought it the height of hilarity. He would have pardoned you, thinking you'd raped me well and good. He would have loved the fact that you took my maidenhead where Tyrion would - or could - not. But you didn't force yourself on me, though at times you must have known I nearly wanted to…to make love to you...because you are not an animal, no more than you are an inanimate object. You are not a dog or a sword - you are a man, a man with a strange kind of honor. Were you not, I would not be here now, with you, in your arms as I am."
As she spoke she brought her mouth closer and closer to his, mentally urging him to meet her with his own and nearly shuddering with happiness when he finally did just that. Sandor let her slip down just a bit, and she could feel the press of his erection against her woman's place. Sansa moved against him again, relishing the low growl that rose in the back of his throat in response to the rolling of her hips. She felt him take a fistful of her hair - most of her hair, if truth be told, for his hands were so large - but though his mouth did leave hers, he used his grip to pull her head back and bare her neck as he nipped his way down it.
For a moment his movements were uncharacteristically lumbering as he paused in frustration and had to lower her to the ground to trace her breastbone with the tip of his tongue, his fingers working at her travel-soiled gown as he fought to expose her breasts. She arched toward him, tried to reach up and help, but he shoved her hands out of the way and, cursing, finally managed to pull her clothing down around her waist.
When he took her in his mouth, nibbling lightly on her hard little nipple, Sansa couldn't help but moan in pleasure. Every part of her - every part, including her heart and her mind - wanted more than anything to tell him to take her, take her now...but she knew that they must wait until they were safely in Dorne, until she'd had time to speak with Prince Doran about her situation – how she had been forced to wed Tyrion Lannister; how he had shown an unexpected sort of kindness in not taking her maidenhead. Doran Martell was known as a level-headed, thoughtful man; few people in the Seven Kingdoms could or would help her now, yet she must hold out hope that he would be one of those who could and would. And for that, Sansa knew that she must go to him a maid.
But that does not mean that we cannot enjoy ourselves, she thought, a small smile playing across her lips as Sandor lowered his weight onto her and kissed her on the mouth again. The kiss suddenly reminded her of the last time they'd been together, when he'd used his mouth to bring her to completion – and Sansa found herself wondering if she should do the same for him. She drew her lips away from his and gently pushed him back, wriggling out from under him before he could weigh her down again. He looked frustrated at first, but she calmed him with a shy smile, biting her lip as she thought to ask whether...
No. Best not ask at all, she knew at once. Instead she reached for his breeches, surprised to see how deftly her fingers could unlace them now though it wasn't something she'd done so very many times. His frustrated expression had turned questioning just then, until she took his manhood from its confines and leaned forward, her brows knit together as she wondered how exactly she should go about this.
"I don't think so, little bird," Sandor chided, pulling back and shaking his head.
"But...you...you put your mouth on me," she whispered, nearly horrified at what she was saying even as she knew it mustbe said.
"Aye, that I did, but you're no common whore and I'll not have you act like one," Sandor shrugged.
His response only served to frustrate her. "You'll not have me 'act like one'?" Sansa hissed. "And what if I merely want to please you? Should I not be allowed to do so however I choose?" As she said this she continued to lean toward him, stroking her hand slowly over his erection while refusing to take her gaze from his. There was anger in his eyes, a smoldering sort of anger that would have frightened her had she known him less, or had she not seen the something else that sparked there as well. "Please," she finally whispered, yet still she was surprised when Sandor gave her a barely perceptible nod - more a jerk of his head, really, but it was the answer that she both wanted and needed and with just a moment's hesitation Sansa bent over him again.
Unsure, she first ran her lips up his length, brushing them gently against the satiny-soft skin. When she reached his tip she traced it with the edge of her tongue for a moment, before finally opening her mouth over him, slowly taking him in and reveling in the way that he shuddered at this particular type of kiss. She let him fill her mouth until she simply could not fit any more of his manhood in it; he was too large and she had to draw back slightly, though in doing so she ran her tongue up his length and was rewarded with his hands in her hair again and a shaky murmur. "Little bird..." he said, and gasped as she rewarded him by dipping her head again, wrapping her hand around his base until she was touching every part of his erection that she could possibly reach. Sansa herself was wet with desire, wanting more than anything for him to fill her the properway though she knew that they musn't.
"Little bird," Sandor suddenly groaned again, "I won't...won't be able...to sustain this...much...much longer..."
Sansa drew back slowly in response, shocked that she actually wanted to smile at the fact that she'd almost gained control of him, in a way...but before she could take him fully in her mouth again Sandor shoved her away and rolled onto his side. She did not have time to react; he quickly reached for himself and stroked once, twice, then spilled his seed on the ground with a harsh growl. She started to extend her hand toward his back, but he was breathing heavily and seemed almost...angry...so Sansa stayed her hand, biting her lip and wondering what in Westeros she'd done wrong this time.