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Chapter 14: Giving

The slim wooden box he carried around with him had all but burned a hole in his pockets for close to two weeks now and continued to plague him daily when he remembered he still had it.

A present for Sansa, he hadn't thought it pious to give it to her the day of the whole Sibyl disaster. It seemed even more inappropriate the day after, because he didn't want it to look as if he was rewarding her for what certainly had to be the bloody best and most intense cock-sucking in the history of mankind.

Even now, a sennight and some quite memorable fucks later, he still grew hard just at the memory of how she had so lovingly stroked and caressed his cock as if it was a beloved pet. The sensation of having his cock cushioned between her soft breasts had nearly unmanned him right then and once she'd put her mouth on him, he was lost to even so much as the thought of protesting or stopping her. He'd been so weak afterwards, it took what felt like an eternity before he could move again.

The following days, he'd been successful in telling himself that she had wanted this, that he needn't feel guilty for having somehow demeaned her by letting her do this and so far he believed himself, especially since he had been very diligent about repaying her favour in kind. Except for three nights during which she had not fully undressed, for reasons he had easily guessed without even having to ask, not one night had gone by in which she hadn't climaxed under his mouth.

Still, giving her his present now might make both of them feel differently about their situation again. As if it was payment for services rendered.

Not for the first time, he mentally kicked himself for not thinking of that before he had commissioned the little wooden box's content.

"You seem distracted," Sansa astutely observed while she delicately cut the juicy piece of beef Betsy had served each of them for dinner. "Are you worried about Lady Olenna's missive?"

Looking up at her, he tried to marshal his thoughts and give the right answer to her question.

"Everyone with half a brain ought to be worried," he said. "Mace Tyrell left King's Landing and took all his troops with him and now they are coming back with Lady Olenna marching in front of a whole Highgarden host under the guise of 'paying a visit to my dear grandchildren'. If that's not worrying, I don't know what else should be."

"Did Joffrey send an envoy?"

"He sent Littlefinger, since that worked so well last time."

Sansa breathed an audible sigh of relief which made him smile a little.

"Yeah, I thought the same. Takes him out of our hair for a spell."

Sansa chewed silently on her food for a while.

"What will Baelish tell them? Is Joffrey going to make amends?"

Sandor snorted.

"Small council pesters him day and night to free Loras, apologize to him and his sister and plead some temporary flare of temper or something. Even Cersei begs him to reconsider every chance she gets before he has her locked up again."

"Let me guess, he's not budging."

He smiled at her perceptiveness. No one probably knew Joffrey as well as both Sansa and he did. He from having been at his side almost from the cradle, her from being so dependent on judging his various moods as correctly as she could because her welfare depended on it.

"No, but he plans a big welcoming feast for them, wants to show off and let them all see who is in charge."

Sansa nodded.

"Sounds like him," she said, "although I am a bit surprised he isn't afraid of a repetition of what happened at his wedding. It's not even a year since Tywin died and they never found the one responsible."

Sandor shrugged.

"He's still convinced the Imp did it, despite his trial by battle proving him innocent. Last they heard he's somewhere far off in Essos, so…"

A shudder went through Sansa and Sandor chided himself for mentioning a subject that seemed off-limits. She took a deep breath then shook her head as if she had to get rid of something she didn't want to have in her mind.

"I'm sure it wasn't Tyrion," she said. "Even if he had intended to kill Joffrey as they are all convinced and Tywin just accidentally took the wrong goblet of wine to drink out of… I don't know, it doesn't add up."

"So you think someone will go after Joffrey again?" he asked. "Might not be that bad of an outcome."

Her smile looked forced.

"For us, maybe," she said. "For the kingdom and the people? Doubtful. Who is going to be next? Young Tommen with Cersei as Queen Regent?"

He shuddered just considering this. Knowing Cersei even longer than Joffrey, he knew that she was equally unsuited to be given power as her son. She craved it, but she wasn't her father. Not by a long shot.

Heaving a big sigh, he decided to broach another worrisome subject he carried around with him for a few days, just like the wooden box.

"The feast I mentioned, it's possible Joff might want you to come, too."

The eating knife in her hand stayed suspended above her food for a while until she put it down with exaggerated slowness. Her mouth was a bloodless line and only her eyes, ice-blue and sparkling, spoke of life in her deadly white face.

"I will not be humiliated again," she said slowly. "And I will not let them believe that you hurt me. Not again, not ever."

"That won't be necessary, I guess," he said, his own appetite vanishing without a trace. "He told me he wants you pretty."

She gave a slow nod. He knew she would understand that this time she was to be living proof that contrary to vile rumours, Joffrey wasn't in the habit of mistreating women.

"I understand; I will do my best to please."

"Sansa...," he began, somewhat taken aback at the pleading note in his own voice. He hated it when she was like that, because it always felt as if she was out of his reach then. Indomitable but untouchable as well, when touching her was something he couldn't fathom how to live without anymore.

With a sigh of defeat, he retrieved the wooden box from the inside pocket of his tunic, pushing it over to her. Might as well get this over with, too.

"Had this made for you, might be you want to wear it at the feast. Thought you might want something pretty."

He stared at the food in front of him, determined not to look up, not to watch her as she opened the box and...

"Oh my... oh this is beautiful!"

He slowly released the breath he had apparently been holding and looked up to see her hold up his gift to admire it in the light of the candelabra on the table.

On a silver chain, wrought from almost white silver, hung a silver pendant depicting the sigil of house Stark. The head of a direwolf, ruby eyes glittering in the candlelight as if the beast was alive and out for blood.

Tears glittered in her eyes as she looked over to him, the remoteness forgotten to be replaced by... something else.

"Can you please help me put it on?" she said almost shyly as she stood, holding out the necklace to him.

Nodding, he stood and took it from her, then carefully studied the catch to see how it worked. Meanwhile, Sansa had turned and walked toward a little mirror near the door, sweeping the mass of her hair to the side with one hand, baring her neck to him.

There was something powerfully alluring about having her before him like this, with the vulnerable white flesh of her throat and neck exposed, and his hands trembled slightly as he delicately put the bit of jewellery around her neck and fastened it. Unable to resist the lure of her soft skin, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss on the very spot where the shadow of the bite-mark he had once given her could still be seen. Another surge of need thundered through him as he felt the warmth of her skin under his mouth, sensed the flutter of her pulse with his lips and heard her gasping intake of breath.

"Thank you, Sandor," she whispered. "It means so much to me, it's... beautiful."

He lifted his gaze from her neck to look at her mirror image, only to become even more enthralled by the way her eyes shone with something he could not identify. Was even more stirred by the redness of her lips that beckoned him to kiss them.

"It is," he rasped, still not taking his eyes from her face.

"The necklace, Sandor," she said with a smile and he obediently looked down.

It looked pretty enough, just as he hoped it would and he quite liked the way the rubies seemed to glow in the wolf's head.

He put his hands around her waist, thrilled as so often that he could easily span it with his hands and bent down to nuzzle her neck again.

She sighed and swayed backwards against him.

"I never told you what I found interesting among all the etchings Sibyl showed me," she said in that very particular low voice she only used when in bed with him. Immediately, his body to sprung into excited readiness.

"What was it?" he asked hoarsely, slightly surprised his voice still worked at all.

"Something like... like this," she whispered, her face suffused in a glowing pink. "With you... behind me."

His hands tightened around her waist as he bit back a groan, trying to keep himself from doing what she asked right then and there.

"Gods, Sansa," he sighed as he closed his eyes for a moment, still fighting to get a grip. "You've no idea how much..." He caught himself when he remembered he'd never told her, even though she'd asked.

For yes, he liked to have her under him, face to face. Loved to kiss her while inside of her, but it had never even occurred to him she might be willing to try something else, something so base, Joffrey had taunted her with it. Something he'd sworn to himself he would never ask of her. To know that exactly this position had piqued her curiosity opened his mind to imaginings that were threatening to have him embarrass himself even before he got to turn them to reality.

"You could have asked," she admonished him lightly. "You should have."

She said this as if meaning to remind him that it was his gods-given right to ask anything of her that struck his fancy, as if it was his place to demand and hers to give. It reminded him why he had been so reluctant to give her the necklace in the first place.

"Sansa, this...," he began, running a finger over the wolf at her throat, "this isn't payment. You do not owe me anything."

Her gaze flew to him from where she had watched him touching the necklace up to his eyes, looking first startled and then angry.

"Do you think that's why I told you?"

He gritted his teeth, waiting... hoping for her to deny it.

Her angry glare softened after a while and she turned to him, putting a hand to his face, smiling.

"Are all men such great fools, or is this specific only to you, Sandor Clegane?"

He might have protested her assessment of him, might have asked her to clarify her statement, but then she pressed her lips to his and later her tongue into his mouth and he thought it might be enough to know she thought his scruples foolish.

…

There was some haste to the way they both undressed upstairs and he found himself cursing a time or two at the various buckles and fastenings of his clothes that were a bitch to work in the darkness. Then again, Sansa seemed to encounter similar problems, muttering a few choice words of her own under her breath that amused him greatly.

He was done first and proceeded to put eager hands on her, touching every bit of naked skin he could reach under the flimsy pretence of trying to help. Between them, they managed to finally get her out of her dress and as soon as she was naked, she wound her arms around her neck and kissed him with a fervour that indeed made his former concerns seem more than pointless.

Her little hand found his and she dragged him toward the bed, not that he resisted in any way.

"Show me," she gasped between kisses as they had tumbled into the bed in a heap of naked limbs. "Show me what dogs do to wolves."

His fevered brain took a few moments to discern that she was still talking about her suggestion from earlier and another few seconds to puzzle out why she felt the need to bring Joffrey's nastiness into this. She was probably right, though. Maybe this was the only way to truly get the upper hand over how he had humiliated both of them.

Somewhere in is brain the question sparked if he should pleasure her first before plunging into her as his body demanded he'd do, but the question quickly died in a burst of fiery want.

Getting on his knees and pulling her up to do likewise, he turned her around to press his front against her back while his mouth once again found the slope of her shoulders. His hands for once free of the duty of holding up his own weight, he let them roam over her front, curving around her breasts, skimming over her flat stomach and one of them finally venturing between her legs.

Wetness already coated the inside of her thighs, so - with rapidly waning patience - he put his knees between hers and shoved her legs farther apart. He'd had a mind to command her what to do next, but didn't trust his voice at the moment, so he ran his hands up her body again, up to her shoulders and down her arms to take both her hands in his.

Pushing her forward until he thought he'd be close enough, he bent her and placed her hands on the upper rung of the bed's headrest, wrapping them firmly around the wooden bar to signify she should hold on tight.

For a moment, he indulged himself in running his hands back up her arms again, over her shoulders and then down her back, pressing his fingers into her flesh a little. She groaned and arched her back, prompting him to make a mental note to pay more attention to this part of her in the future, if it could elicit such a delightful response. He let his hands wander to her front again where he cupped her breasts once more to marvel at the way they fell full and round into his palms, almost completely filling his paws, different in shape and feel than when she was lying on her back.

Sansa moaned and pushed back against him, reminding him of the urgency he felt as well.

Letting go of her marvelous teats with a pang of regret, he brought one hand to his cock and the other to her cunt, once again dipping into the copious wetness, just to enjoy the way it made her gasp and moan.

"Sandor, inside, please," she panted.

It gave him a weird turn to hear her actually ask for this. Excitement at her plea had him shake so badly, he missed her opening as he tried to push into her and his cock slipped over her slick folds forward, eliciting a delighted "oh".

An idea sparked in his brain, so as he finally managed to sheath himself inside her, he found the top of her slit with one hand and very lightly skimmed over the bundle of flesh that brought her so much pleasure when he worked it with is lips and tongue.

She moaned and pressed herself against his hand as if urging him to add more pressure, which he did. One hand on her hip, he pumped into her, all the while trying to synchronize his movements with that of his other hand, since that made her whimper and moan his name which was always a good sign.

After a while, she started to use the leverage she had with her hands on the headrest to push herself back against him. With her round ass like a cushion between them, there was no worry this time that he could go too deep, that he'd hurt her, so he hastened to accommodate her apparent need for a harder pace.

As always when he indulged himself in the wonder that was Sansa, reality receded, left him a creature driven only by instincts, ruled by sensation. Basking in the glory of feeling his balls slap against her, of hearing her cries that gained in urgency with every one of his forceful thrusts. Pure pleasure pumped through his veins from where he was so deep inside of her, making him feel as if for this magical moment, his life's blood was set in motion by the pumping of his hips and the delicious friction of her walls stroking his cock, rather than his heart. His heart, which barely managed to keep up with the pace they were setting.

Sansa might be justified in believing that this was way more than simple fucking. He didn't know if it was making love, but it definitely was making… something. Creating something that was more than the sum of its pieces, more than just putting some body parts together.

White hot ecstasy fizzled up his spine into his brain as she suddenly cried out and the walls of her cunt clamped around his cock like a vise, released and then contracted again, while she sobbed and shook and bathed his cock in a gush of new wetness.

He heard a faint roar from a male throat as he slammed into her one final time, letting go of a release that seemed to go on forever, aided by the gentle massage of her inner walls that milked him to the last drop, to the last spark of pleasure.

More out of instinct than conscious thought, he wound his arms around her middle and tumbled them sideways to the bed, desperate to lie down, to catch his breath.

Unlike all the times before, they were both speechless and breathless for long moments, both gasping for air, both sweating and glowing and trembling. Both satisfied.

He pulled her closer when exhaustion started to tug at his consciousness.

Just for a moment, he thought as he closed his eyes. He smiled to himself as he felt her wriggling herself into a more comfortable position inside his embrace. Fortunately, she wouldn't go anywhere in the meantime.

...

tbc