Chapter 12: Discovering

They left the White Tower via a maze of underground tunnels she would have been hopelessly lost in had he thought to abandon her there.

On the way, he told her how Lord Varys had always claimed to be the only one able to navigate all the secret passages, but that he had taught himself about them as well. One never knew when such knowledge could come in handy, he explained.

He talked about his various adventured down here and after a while she had the feeling he only talked so she wouldn't, talked to distract himself from whatever still bothered him. She still didn't know what to do or say about his puzzling statement from before, so distraction was welcome.

They reached a rusty iron door after a while to which he had a key.

"There is a book seller's stand only a couple of steps from here. Ask for Eric, he'll escort you home."

He turned to go, but she held him back with a hand on his arm.

"You will not come with me?"

In hindsight, it was a bit of a stupid question. They surely couldn't be seen together out there in broad daylight. She might be inconspicuous enough on her own, but with him parading at her side in full Kingsguard armour, Littlefinger's men wouldn't even need to exert themselves to find out where she lived.

She almost expected him to harshly point that out to her, when he stepped towards her to take her chin in a gentle grip.

"Can't", he said and then leaned down to give her a kiss so deep and thorough, her knees turned to jelly. "There'll be some bloody feast tonight and I've no idea how long that'll last," he said afterwards, a hint of regret in his eyes. "Tell Betsy I'm sorry, but she doesn't need to make plans for my being there for dinner and don't wait up for me."

She was about to reply when silenced by another heart-stopping kiss.

If he was really as new to kissing as she was, as evidence suggested, he was getting good at this frighteningly fast. Deciding that silence was golden for the moment, she sank into his kiss with something close to abandon.

He kissed her with such an earnest intensity, it seemed as if he was trying to tell her something with his kisses that he could not tell her with words.

"Damn," he muttered close to her lips when he broke the kiss and she knew what he meant. She felt the same unwillingness to part.

He turned with an abruptness that left her unbalanced for a moment and strode away with long, hasty steps, not looking back.

…

Eric turned out to be a strapping lad not much older than Betsy, who told her that Sandor had once saved him from being beaten to death in some back alley and since then had given him a few odd jobs here and there.

He spoke of Sandor with something like hero-worship in his voice and after hearing his story, she couldn't fault him for it.

Apparently, Sandor had tasked him with keeping an eye on her and on the house ever since the first incident with Littlefinger's men. He mostly lurked outside the house almost all hours of the day, he explained with audible pride, and shadowed her on her outings.

Sansa felt foolish to discover that she had never even noticed him. Had never thought in how great a danger she was bringing herself by traipsing through the most unsavoury parts of the city unescorted and unprotected.

Here and then she resolved never to be that careless again.

According to Sandor's wishes, Sansa had told Betsy not to prepare a big dinner and had eaten her frugal meal alone in front of the fireplace, not before tasking Betsy with giving a share of the meal to Eric who kept his vigil outside the house as was his assigned duty.

After it had turned dark, she lighted only a single candle, too little for needlework and finally went to bed early.

She had expected to lie awake for a long time, thinking about all the things that had happened this day, but her limbs felt like lead when she crawled under the covers and with the comfort of a warm featherbed on which Sandor's smell still lingered, she fell promptly asleep.

…

The bed was still disappointingly empty when she woke the next morning and the following day brought no other events but a quickly scrawled note informing them that Sandor would be needed at Maegor's for another evening of courtly amusement.

Again Sansa had to go to an empty bed and this time she was very sure she would not be able to fall asleep and proceeded to toss and turn, kept awake by recollections of what had transpired between Sandor and her in his chambers. The memories left her increasingly restless and wishing for him to be there, if only to be able to kiss him again and be overwhelmed by his boundless passion.

She must have fallen asleep anyway, because she came awake with a start when the mattress dipped deeply next to her. Around her, darkness was absolute. The fire in the hearth had gone out and the night was so quiet around her, it could only be two or three hours after midnight.

Without a second thought, she rolled towards him and snuggled into arms that were ready to receive and wrap around her.

"Mhhmm, Sansa," he murmured into her hair and she answered with a similar sound of content while all her misgivings were washed away in a tide of sudden inexplicable happiness at having him close once again.

In this moment, it seemed as if it had all been worth it just for this.

He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face to him, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips that felt like a question.

A question she answered at once and with alacrity and it soon became apparent that whatever he'd been up to for the last two days hadn't left him too tired for more strenuous activities.

While they kissed, she let her hands wander down his body, stroking over his linen covered chest down to where it had been untucked from his breeches. She slipped her hand beneath the fabric and skimmed her fingers over a flat stomach, ridged with steel hard muscles. He sucked in a breath and his belly hollowed under her hand as he stopped kissing her. She feared he'd tell her to stop, but he didn't.

So she let her hand travel a bit farther upwards, finding his flat bellybutton and the surprisingly soft hair that trailed from there upwards to where it led to his chest. Her hand's journey came to an abrupt end as his shirt kept her from fully exploring him and she even got distracted from the enticing lure of his skilful lips and tongue by the sudden burning wish to touch all of him.

Grabbing the hem of his shirt, she tried to tug it upwards when he put his hand over hers.

"No," he rasped.

It felt a bit as if doused with cold water.

"Why not?" she asked, not even bothering to keep the pout out of her voice. "It's dark," she added unnecessarily when he kept quiet for a long moment.

Although she had even chided herself for the stupidity of her remark, it nonetheless seemed to have somehow convinced him to comply with her wish.

He sat up and after some rustling and manoeuvring, the nature of which she couldn't discern in the dark, lay down again a few inches away from her as if suddenly unsure if he wanted to have her close.

Her hand, reaching out across the space that divided then, found naked skin, warm and firm, its surprising smoothness marred here and there by knobbly scar tissue, dents and slashes. Without seeing anything, she could not be sure what had been the cause of all that damage, but one didn't need to be a seer to divine the general origin.

On exploring further down, she found to her delight that he had not only shed the shirt, but his breeches as well.

A sudden heat welled up in her and she sat up to hastily rid herself of her nightdress. After having done so, she closed the gap between them and pressed her full length against his body, driven by an urge she could not explain, only feel and act on.

…

In Sandor's former experience, being with a woman was a very simple matter. There was usually only the one thing to do and he did it as efficiently as he could and counted himself successful if he went away moderately satisfied.

With Sansa, none of his experiences seemed applicable and nothing of being in bed with her was even remotely simple. For all he knew about what to do with her, she might as well be his first woman.

The sensation of her body against his naked skin alone was enough to drive him out of his mind with desire. Every square inch of his exposed body was aware of her closeness, every part of him hungered for her touch and that hunger froze him into motionless, breathless suspense, unable to lift as much as a finger as she started to caress him with nimble and curious hands.

Almost desperately, he asked himself how he was to hold himself in check when she had literally stripped him of all that separated them. When her fingers kneaded his muscles and her fingertips slightly pressed into his flesh here and there.

"So hard," she murmured and he hoped it was awe he heard. "So strong."

That, at last, brought him out of his stupor and he abruptly turned to her and claimed her mouth in a kiss only to be faced with another dilemma. There were so many things he wanted to do, and some he felt he urgently needed to do and he had no idea where to start.

He wanted to kiss her mouth, just savour the way she seemed to melt and sink into him when he kissed her. He wanted to explore her body, drag his lips and tongue over every inch of her, learn her taste and her smell, learn if he could make her enjoy any of this the same way he did.

And of course, he wanted to be inside her, feel the tight hold of her cunt while having her under him, her breasts soft against his naked chest, her velvety thighs wrapped around his hips and her hands stroking his unclad shoulders.

Two days away from her had left him with very little patience for all the other things he would have liked to try, so he ended up manoeuvring himself between her legs and pushing his cock into her.

Maybe there was a sound of disappointment in her sigh when she took him inside, her body pliant and soft, but he couldn't be sure.

…

After that night, he made sure he found at least a few hours every night to ride down into the city, sneak quietly into his own house and into the bed of the beautiful girl who lived there.

She never complained that he came to her like a thief, never so much as mentioned that he always left before she woke up. Instead she always came into his arms as if she had longed for him, kissed and caressed him as if she had been starving for both and took him into her body with a natural acceptance that never quite failed to surprise him.

He might even have gotten used to all of it, if it hadn't become more and more apparent to him that he never really took his time. That he always left their bed regretting all the things he hadn't done, all the delights he was sure were still to discover but which urgency and need always kept him from exploring.

So after about a week of his nightly visits, he decided to give himself some time, to eliminate the drive to seek his release right away.

When he snuck into the bedroom that night, he didn't go to bed right after having undressed. Instead he leaned against the wall next to one of the windows, knowing he would be all but invisible there, let his eyes adjust to a darkness that was only the slightest bit relieved by a waxing moon and took himself in hand. His cock had been hard already, happily anticipating what usually happened in this room that smelled so much of her and a bit of what they had done here for the past week.

Unhurriedly, he stroked himself, no other help needed to spur him towards release than the memories from those nights, the thought of silky-cool skin gliding against him, of sweet sighs and heated kisses. Of her wetness dripping from his fingers when he stroked between her legs to see if she was ready.

Some rustling came from the bed as Sansa turned under the covers and he asked himself if he had woken her with his laboured breathing, but to his surprise didn't mind the thought that he had. She could not see him after all and there was something strangely exciting about the thought to have her over there in bed, wondering what he was doing, while he stood here with his cock in his hand and the lewdest pictures of her in his head.

Out of nowhere, another picture popped into his brain, the image of the situation being reversed, of her stroking her cunt while he looked on.

Things were over for him quickly after that one and despite his best efforts, he groaned somewhat loudly when he came, taken by surprise by the intensity of a release brought on by only his own hand.

After having felt his way towards the washstand and back again, he got into bed only to find her already awake. Her skin was warmer than normal and she seemed a bit out of breath when she kissed him hungrily.

Her ardour awed and delighted him, especially once he realized she must have been awake while he had beaten off and instead of her being angry or disgusted, she was actually stirred by what she had witnessed.

This insight only fortified his decision to take it slow this time, to be as thorough as he could.

Since he knew she liked it when he caressed her breasts, it was to them he let his mouth wander after having kissed her breathless.

His mind soared at the sounds she made when he worshipped the perfection that were her breasts with his lips and his tongue. His hand, meanwhile, stroked over her belly down to where he knew he would find her dripping and ready and despite just having spilled into his fist, he grew hard again just at the feeling of her damp, butter-soft folds parting willingly to have his finger slip inside as if she had waited just for this. A shudder of delight passed through him when she gasped as he added a second finger.

Clamping down on what once again shoved at him to just take her without trying anything else, he let his fingers linger where they were, fucking her with excruciating slowness as he savoured every sigh and every trembling of her body.

Sansa's innocence, he had finally understood a while ago, did mean she had no choice about being honest with him in this. She gave herself without holding back and without acting or pretending. Which meant that not only was every reaction genuine, it also meant that if he did something wrong, if he failed her, he would know. The only thing he had to do was pay attention.

He withdrew his fingers after a few more strokes and let them slowly circle her entrance, wet fingertips gliding easily over the petal-like softness of her nether lips. His actions held him in such a trance, he did not notice that her hand had crept downward until it settled over his.

He stilled his movements at once, afraid he'd done something she didn't like. But she surprised him when she gently directed his fingers farther upwards, until the tip of his forefinger came to rest on a curiously firm bundle of flesh atop her slit.

She gasped when he touched it and gasped again when he let his finger experimentally glide over it.

"Oh...!"

Excitement at hearing that sound made him press down a bit harder, which made her flinch a little.

Fortunately, he knew what to do when his rough hands and large fingers proved inadequate to the delicacy of her body. Often enough already, it had served him more than well, not to mention it had fulfilled more desires than he had known he had, to use his lips and tongue where his hands could only experience so much.

Without a second thought, he dove under the covers and settled between her legs, holding her thighs apart with his shoulders.

She might have made a muffled sound of protest somewhere up there, but that was quickly drowned by a gasp when he carefully put his mouth on her. He then probed with his tongue for the spot she'd showed him before.

There was another, louder "oh!" to be heard when apparently he had found it, a sound that petered out into a soft mewl of pleasure.

He lifted his mouth from her to make sure.

"Is this...," he started to ask, but was quickly interrupted.

"Duhu... don't stop," she commanded and his lips pulled into a broad grin as he bent to do what she had bid him.

He quickly became lost.

When before he had always thought it intoxicating to smell and touch and taste her; having his mouth between her legs was like drowning. She was all around and inside him, the taste of her liquid desire on his tongue, her smell in his nostrils and her sweet juices dripping down his chin. The tremors in her thighs on his back and the sharp bite of her nails as they dug into his scalp while she tried to press him even closer to her wanting flesh. The urgent bucking of her hips that he had to still with a firm grip of both his hands to have her at the mercy of his ministrations. Her cries and the breathless way in which she moaned his name, over and over, pleading and encouraging. Every "Yes, oh Sandor, oh yes" a victory and still only a milestone on a way he was determined to see through to the end.

The end, when it came, was glorious, humbling and not at all quiet.

When he held her thrashing, trembling body to him and heard her sobbing cries that only slowly abated, he thought with a touch of envy that maybe women experienced sexual pleasure much more intensely than men. Then again, considering how rarely they probably did experience it in the first place, it seemed only fair.

Only that for this particular girl, it would not stay a rare occurrence. He would make sure of it, even if his reasons were mostly selfish. While pleasuring her was its own reward, having her come for him was a feeling he would die for to be able to experience again and again as long as she let him.

A feeling that was a heady mixture of pride and victory and something nameless that flowed through his soul like honey, soothing and sweet and incredibly addicting.

He slowly moved up her body, relishing the tremors that still went through her in the wake of her release. Under the cover of darkness, where even she could not see his eyes and face, he allowed himself to dwell in what he was feeling, to smile like and imbecile until his facial muscles hurt from the exertion they weren't accustomed to.

Was this what he had wished for when he first took her? This sweet respite from the world around them, temporary as it might be? Was this having something good for himself for once; feeling more than pain, anger and powerlessness? Was this how it could work between them, being the more richly rewarded the more he gave?

And at those musings, quite unexpectedly, he understood something else.

He kissed her neck and slightly nipped at her earlobe before sucking it into his mouth.

What had begun as a giggle transformed into a moan.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked in a whisper, hoping he sounded teasing instead of bashful.

"Did I... oh my Sandor, of course I did, I..."

She paused in her effusions and he felt a hand on his face. "Are you making fun of me?" she asked and there was break to her voice that he couldn't suffer, not now. He kissed her, trying to silence her doubts as sweetly as he could.

"No," he said against her lips. "I think I just realized why you used to ask that question."

She chuckled; a low, rich sound, replete with satisfied laziness. It sounded strangely exciting coming from her, because it was a woman's laugh, not a girl's, which made it even more stirring.

Her hand came up to his face and directed him down to her mouth for an unhurried kiss.

"I want you... inside," she murmured still with that low, sensual timbre when they came up for air and he could almost hear her blood rushing to her cheeks at what to her had to be one of the boldest things she'd ever said.

The sweet invitation hit him like a fist to the solar plexus, leaving him breathless and inert at the realization that he had all but forgotten about his raging hard-on. He rushed to comply with her wish a heartbeat later, sinking into her with a groan only to howl with pleasure as he felt her cunt still softly contracting around him in the aftermath of her climax.

Gods, he thought, how glorious would it be to have her come with his cock inside her. This was definitely something worth finding out.

...

tbc