Yet again it's been forever since I updated this, and for that I apologize. Honestly, it's always kind of in the back of my mind - I refuse to forget about it, but at the same time there are - unfortunately - a lot of other things in my life that take precedence. So eventually this fic will be finished, but I can't promise that I'll get another chapter up in any sort of timely manner :( As always, though, thank you for the reviews and the follows and whatnot :) I do at least promise that I'll not abandon this fic entirely...

She couldn't help it - Sandor's thoughts on what would happen when they reached Sunspear had concerned her. Frightened her, even. But she couldn't show her fear just now - especially not here in this cabin with the ship's captain and Ser Willem present. Instead Sansa continued to consume glass after glass of wine, until her head was swimming and she questioned how she would ever stand and walk back to her own cabin. After all, she hadn't consumed a single sip of wine between leaving King's Landing and arriving at the Wyls' stronghold...and just now the drink was giving her a strange sort of courage. Her face was flushed and it took every bit of self-control that she possessed to not glance in Sandor's direction every other moment, though she could not stop wondering if he was thinking of her as she was of him.

Why do you even care, when he is so awful to you so much of the time? Sansa asked herself, though of course she knew the answer, knew it now as she had known it days ago. Weeks ago, even. Knew it, though she was nowhere near ready to reveal it to him.

But what if he was right about Dorne and the Martells? What if they separated her and Sandor...what if they killed him? He could be on a swift path to his grave right now, and if she lost him Sansa would never hear him say the words she was waiting for, would never feel him inside of her the way she wanted him to be.

If it was at all possible, her face must have flushed even deeper at that last thought. It's the wine. Only the wine.

But truthfully, she knew better.

"Lady Sansa? Lady Sansa, are you not well?"

Sansa pasted a smile on her face and met Ser Willem's eyes with her own. "I am well enough, Ser, and thank you for your concern. It has simply been a long and arduous journey, and today has not been...easy...either." She raised her eyebrows at him before glancing Sandor's way. Her sworn shield avoided her gaze as he so often did, but she could see his jaw working in...in what? Frustration, she supposed, though certainly she had far more right to feel that way than he did just now. Still, she decided to throw him a bone...as it were. "Sandor, would you please escort me back to my cabin?"

But Ser Willem would have none of that. "I would be pleased to have the honor of seeing you safely to rest," he insisted. Though he had drunk quite a bit - as did I, Sansa reminded herself - she doubted that Ser Willem meant her any harm...but it was clear that Sandor didn't feel the same way.

"I don't think so," he growled, and before Sansa could say anything in response he had stepped between her and Ser Willem. "I may have to suffer your presence, but I'll not leave the girl alone with you."

The girl. Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. There was simply too much that could - perhaps outright would - be ruined if she let Sandor anger her right now. "I believe that a nap before the evening meal would do us all a bit of good," she mused, smiling sweetly at Ser Willem. "My cabin is quite close to yours, so we may all retire now if you both wish to escort me." Please, please just agree. At times she believed in her own charms, but with Sandor it seemed that more often than not they simply didn't work. Sansa wondered if he remembered her suggestion from when they'd first boarded the ship, or if she would have to attempt to make it again without Ser Willem overhearing...

"I believe that a bit of rest is just what I need, especially if taking it will allow me to help escort you to your own cabin," Ser Willem replied pointedly. Sandor snorted in derision, but Sansa felt almost pleased when that was his only response. He must be controlling his temper for my sake, she knew, and this thought comforted her. She made her excuses to the captain and followed Ser Willem through the door, Sandor close on her heels. She could feel his stony gray eyes on her back, feel them almost as if they were weighing her down.

Weighing me down...or keeping my feet on the ground?

Though the doors to their two tiny cabins were on opposite sides of the ship, they weren't but ten feet apart; still, Ser Willem and Sandor both insisted on watching Sansa as she let herself into her quarters. For a moment Sandor's eyes met hers, and in that very short amount of time she tried to convey how very much she'd meant her offer from earlier that day...but his eyes were unreadable, and then he quickly broke their contact, giving her no choice but to duck inside her cabin. Will he come to me? she wondered, though she nearly hated herself for wanting him to do so. It would be a very dangerous decision to have him in her quarters, alone, no one else there to watch them. Dangerous because she had clearly drunk far too much wine. Dangerous because she wanted him. Dangerous because we could get caught, and even if we are doing nothing wrong, it will not look good, Sansa reminded herself.

And yet she wanted him there, nonetheless.

With a sigh Sansa reached around to unlace her dress. When it was loose enough she pushed it off her arms and reached them up, stretching like a cat, letting the gown pool on the floor around her ankles. She groaned in relief as she stood there, feeling the boat rocking gently beneath her and feeling, for just a moment, something like free.

The rap on her door was soft yet urgent, and startled Sansa from her reverie. "Just...just a moment. Please." She knew that she didn't have time to get dressed again, but she certainly could not open the door wearing only a shift -

"Open the damn door, little bird." Sandor's voice was no more than a soft rasp, presumably because he didn't want to be heard or discovered, and Sansa found herself rushing to let him in. As soon as she opened the door he fairly barged through it, though thankfully he had the good sense not to slam it shut behind him. Once it had been latched closed he reached for her, wrapping his large and calloused hands over her shoulders and pulling her close. "This is fucking stupid," he snarled.

"Why? Where is Ser Willem?"

Sandor's lip curled in distaste and he shoved Sansa away from him. "Concerned for Ser Willem, are you? Don't be, I didn't do anything to him. He was so eager to take your suggestion of a rest that he fell asleep soon as he laid down on his pallet."

"It's amazing how easily some men can be swayed," Sansa heard herself reply. For a moment she thought that Sandor would balk at her insolence, but instead he chuckled and released her.

"Aye...some men," he agreed pointedly.

Sansa pursed her lips. "Not you, though," she murmured, more to herself than to him.

"So I like to believe. But recently..." He raised one hand, and with a surprisingly gentle touch brushed a lock of hair away from her face. The feel of his rough fingertips on her forehead and cheek sent tingles down Sansa's spine, and almost without thinking she reached up and took his hand in hers to brush her lips across those fingertips. Sandor squeezed his eyes shut and let her do so - but not for long. "Little bird," he mumbled, "don't." He pulled his hand out of her grasp.

"But I want you," she admitted, stepping closer to him, feeling her nipples go hard under her shift as she pressed herself against him. But Sandor stood still, cold and unmoving, even when she wrapped her arms about him.

"The captain could come knocking at your door right now," Sandor rasped, "or Ser Willem could awake and wonder where I've wandered off to. You're playing a dangerous game here, my lady."

"Perhaps I am," Sansa replied petulantly. The wine had gone to her head and made her more forward than she would normally be, even with Sandor. "But the captain and Ser Willem both think that I am sleeping, and I believe you're just scared."

This accusation at least brought about a reaction. Sandor finally took her in his arms, holding her body tightly against his so that she could feel his manhood hard against her stomach. So large, Sansa mused with a smile, and it was not just his height and his muscular arms that she was thinking of. "I think I've told you before, girl...the only thing I'm scared of is fire," Sandor growled before covering her mouth with his.