A/N: Frowsy is a word my Kentucky born and raised grandparents would use to describe something that is disheveled. I will try to include as many regional sayings as I can remember in this fic and I will post definitions in the author's notes at the beginning of each chapter.
"Get on then; don't be shy." Sandor grinned his half smile at her while placing his helmet over her head. Sansa methodically tucked her hair in as carefully as she could and then gingerly straddled the bike, struggling to maintain a ladylike pose in her dress and heels as she did so. As Sandor watched her, Sansa couldn't help think he very much resembled a hungry dog staring at a piece of meat.
"Are you sure it's safe for you to ride without a helmet?" She said to break the silence. "In school we learned it's the leading cause of traumatic brain injury in young men-" Sansa's words faded beneath a swell of Sandor's laughter and the roar of the engine.
He shook his head at her. "Little bird, I've been at war for the last nine months-a trip around the block without a helmet is the safest thing I've done in a long time."
Feeling foolish, she lowered her eyes sadly. Sandor tipped her chin back up to him. "It won't kill me," he rasped more seriously, the mocking tone in his voice disappearing as quickly as it came. "Don't fret, Sansa, I've got another at my place besides."
Smiling once more, Sansa absently nodded, the young woman momentarily distracted by the way the motorcycle vibrated beneath her when Sandor revved the engine.
"Hold on to me tight now and lean with the bike, understand?" Sandor raised an eyebrow at her.
"Y-yes, I think so," Sansa answered while cautiously wrapping her arms around his waist. When she was situated comfortably, Sandor slowly pulled away from the curb. As Sandor increased his speed with the flow of traffic, so Sansa increased her hold on him; her hands found their way up to his powerfully built chest and soon her breasts were pressed flat against his back. My mother would scold me terribly if she saw me now…
One massive arm reached behind her, grabbed her thigh, and abruptly drug her closer still, causing Sansa to yelp in surprise. "Wouldn't want you to fall off," he growled low and licked his lips at her. Blushing furiously, Sansa frowned at him, but Sandor could not be shamed by her scolding look. Grinning mischievously, Sandor gave her a wink before setting the bike in motion once more.
The position she now found herself in seemed most inappropriate and very immodest but Sansa was too afraid of falling off to protest. Pedestrians walking by stared and glared at her by turns, or so it seemed to Sansa, so self-conscious was she to be straddling a motorcycle while wrapping the entirety of her body around a man she barely knew.
When they stopped at a red light, Sandor glanced over his shoulder. "Close your mouth lass or else you'll catch bugs."
Quickly Sansa did as Sandor bid her, the girl swallowing hard as Sandor's muscular back pushed against her breasts while her thighs clamped onto either side of his hips, for the feeling had Sansa flustered, and it shamed her to admit, very aroused in no time.
At the roar of the Harley's engine, many people came out and waved to Sandor as they passed. He waved in kind and often held up a "v" for victory in return, to which he received many cheers of delight. Sansa noticed an abundance of American flags decorated the homes along the main street and still more once they turned back into the neighborhood.
"Are there many service men and women who live in this neighborhood?"
"Aye, almost all the families here have active members in the armed forces."
"Are they all in your…division?" Yes she would settle on the word division, for Sansa knew very little about the military.
"Some, not all."
Some of the homes were also decorated with a blue star flag that Sansa did not recognize and a few had a gold star flag.
"What does the different colored star flags mean?" She asked, fumbling with the chin strap, which dug painfully into her skin. "I see a lot of blue ones in the windows but there are a few gold ones as well."
Sandor put the brakes on the motorcycle and turned sharply toward her, his body suddenly stiffening beneath her hands. "Don't you know?"
"No, I grew up in a very remote enclave of Alaska called Winterfell. There were very few servicemen there." Sansa felt so stupid she wished the ground would swallow her up as she waited for his reply.
But Sandor did not scold her, as she expected. After a moment, he wiped his face and muttered, "The blue star flag means it's the home to parents whose child is serving in the military. The gold star means their child paid the ultimate price."
Sansa felt a sharp shudder move through Sandor as he spoke. Some instinct made her pull him closer to her, and she pressed her cheek against his back. Sandor shuddered once more at her movement but Sansa only pulled him closer still. They remained that way for a while, holding each other in silence.
Sansa felt like she should say something, though she had no idea what words might comfort him. Surely he had lost friends in the war-were there any words that would help? She doubted it, for when she lost her parents and brother, no amount of comforting words, quotes from various religious tomes or good wishes seemed to heal the jagged wound grief had cut through her heart.
Instead, Sansa squeezed him tightly, willing him to feel her concern, willing him to find comfort in her. It seemed her embrace was enough, for Sandor inhaled deeply and rested his large hands over her own, pressing them lightly against his chest. Before long he started the bike once more and muttered something that might have been, "Many thanks" but Sansa couldn't be sure.
The streets wound back into a densely wooded neighborhood. The houses were modest but well kept, with lawns of deep Kentucky bluegrass.
"It's pretty here," she shouted into his ear.
He nodded. "My place is up that hill, on the left," Sandor gestured, and Sansa decided she would ask no more questions if it meant he would steer the motorcycle with one hand on the windy roads through the neighborhood. Soon they stopped at a small, very old white wood paneled home that had a wraparound deck and a sloped driveway leading to what appeared to be a workshop in the back. An old Ford truck sat beside the house.
"It's so lovely here," Sansa smiled brightly at him while fumbling with the chin strap. "I haven't gone exploring into the hills around here yet."
"Best not, either, unless you have someone big and strong with you."
Sansa stared at him blankly-did he mean someone like him? Did Sandor mean he would be willing to take me hiking? The idea thrilled her. Before she answered, he rasped, "Here, let me do it, lass."
Sansa did not realize she had been tugging on the helmet chinstrap. As he undid the clasp, Sandor never took his eyes off her face, the man staring at her in the same heated way in which he regarded her in the coffee shop, the look sending pleasurable tingles up her spine.
When she realized he had freed her of the helmet and still she had not spoken, Sansa felt her cheeks redden. "Thank you. I've never been on a motorcycle before. It was fun."
Sandor merely chuckled and put down the kickstand. Standing felt awkward to her after sitting on the bike, clinging to Sandor for dear life. She could only imagine what she must look like, all frowsy and windblown. Self-consciously, Sansa laughed and shook out her long hair, running her fingers through the length to smooth out the tangles.
It felt good to have the fresh air around her once more. Pine and cedar wood perfumed the air, a scent Sansa had not enjoyed since leaving her home in Winterfell, Alaska, and so she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. "Rain's coming," she announced as she caught the unmistakable smell of humidity in the air.
"Aye," Sansa heard him reply. Suddenly she felt his eyes on her once more, and turning toward him, Sansa caught Sandor staring at her. He did not look away, though, and continued staring as she approached him. Sniffing, Sandor cursed under his breath, turned and walked toward the house. Smiling shyly, Sansa slowly followed him. "It's so lovely here, Sandor. The view of the forest is so pretty!"
Sandor shrugged. "I had a little money saved when my parents passed. I got sick and tired of fucking around with rent so I bought it."
She nodded. "I know just what you mean. Paying rent isn't so bad, but the noise and the rowdy neighbors are another story…"
Smirking, Sandor chuckled low as he unhooked his pack from the bike and threw it on the deck. "Want to come in?"
Blushing, Sansa smiled and nodded eagerly, nervously biting her bottom lip as she did so. Sandor's eyes at once fixated on the spot. "Careful, girl, or I might want to do that myself." He huskily rasped.
Laughing, Sansa lowered her eyes and blushed even further as she walked inside. She felt Sandor's hand brush over her hair and down her back as she passed, and so Sansa turned and smiled at him once more. Inside the house was tidy, if dusty, and sparsely furnished.
"This place could use a woman's touch," Sansa announced with a smile.
"The house isn't the only thing that could use a woman's touch, lass, and make no mistake," Sandor growled, his eyes twinkling as he drank in her shocked expression. Sansa didn't know what to say to that, but part of her did want to oblige him and so she reached out and placed her hand in his own.
Apparently it was all the encouragement he needed, for Sandor gently pulled her to him and cupped her face in his hands, running his thumbs lightly over her jawline as he grinned at her. "Relax, lass, I'm not going to ravage you."
Sansa felt the tension release in her body at his words. She lightly rested her hands on his forearms. "I know. I trust you."
Sandor stared into her eyes while massaging her neck. "Don't trust me too far. I oughtn't to tempt myself with such a pretty thing, especially after I've been so long away from women."
She barely heard him; sighing, Sansa closed her eyes and gave in to the feel of his large hands around her, while his calloused thumbs traced rhythmic circles on her collar bone. It had been so long since anyone touched her gently and with-dare she name it affection?-that Sansa reveled in the feel of his hands on her body.
Her ex-fiancé Joffrey only groped her or yelled at her if she did something he deemed stupid. Sansa had broken up with him before she left Alaska. She only agreed to marry him because her father wanted her to, and the young woman, having suspected he had something to do with the deaths of her parents and brother, immediately broke it off. Unfortunately, that did not keep him from coming down from Washington D.C. and barging into her school.
When Sansa insisted he leave and that she would never take him back, Joffrey struck her. That had been the last straw; Sansa then got a restraining order but she had a haunting suspicion that would not deter him.
On the other hand, Sandor was so very different with her: careful, reverent, even, though for the life of her Sansa could not understand why. Is it possible that Sandor cared for her? He came straight from his deployment to see her. He said he had to see if she still worked at the coffee shop. No, she was being a romantic fool-it was far too soon for Sandor to feel much of anything for her. Yet she cared for him just the same and his touch only encouraged her growing affection for him.
Everything about Sandor felt so good. His hands were so relaxing and yet arousing that soon Sansa let out a soft moan of pleasure. Clearing his throat, Sandor abruptly moved away from her.
"I'm going to take a shower. Make yourself comfortable. If you want a pop, there should be some in the fridge."
Blinking, Sansa felt as though Sandor had suddenly awakened her from a dream. "Is-is something wrong? I could rub your neck in return, if you like."
Sandor let out a harsh bark of a laugh. "No lass. Things are starting to feel a bit too good as it is. Maybe another time." He winked at her, and Sansa flushed scarlet at his implication. She caught her reflection in a nearby mirror, and was startled by what she saw: despite the chilly afternoon, her pupils were dilated, her skin flushed and glistening and her breathing was coming in short gasps.
Her woman's place was pulsating with the familiar ache of desire as well, and so Sansa squeezed her thighs together to quell her craving. Further down the hall, she noticed Sandor had already stripped out of his clothes and was wearing only a towel as he rummaged in a nearby closet, finally settling on another towel and two rags.
Sansa knew she should look away but she just could not bring herself to do it. Sandor was far more impressive without his clothing. His skin was covered in scars and deeply tanned as well. He must have sat outside without his shirt when he was on a break over there, she mused to herself. His heavily muscled chest and sharply defined abdominals were covered in a fine sprinkling of black hair. She wondered how he felt, how smooth his skin would be under her hands. Would the hair covering Sandor's body be soft or coarse? Surely soft, Sansa decided.
"Like what you see?" His deep voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
"Yes," she answered without thinking, and with that, Sandor instantly abandoned the linen closet and came to her side.
"An honest little bird you are, and as innocent as a lamb." Sandor drew his thumb over her lower lip. "I like the way you blush. And I like your hair," he allowed his fingers to run through the length of her strands. "Little bird, you are irresistible to a dog l like me. I want a taste of you."
Blushing deeply, Sansa was speechless. She smiled up at him and allowed her mind to wander further on the subject as he caressed her mouth with his thumb, wondering what it would feel like to hold him as she had on his bike without his clothing-or her own, for that matter. She wondered what he would do if she tasted his fingers or kissed his chest, but surely such intimacies were out of the question. Sansa knew she risked offending him should she give in to her curiosity.
Slowly, Sandor took her face in his hands and brushed his scarred mouth against her own. He tastes like coffee and mint, Sansa thought as she opened her mouth to him. Encouraged, he pulled her deeper into his embrace, swirling his tongue against her own and gripping her hair in his hands. His warm skin smelled of pine, sweat, wood smoke, and underneath, a decidedly unique aroma all his own that drove Sansa wild with lust.
She felt as though Sandor was devouring her but Sansa could not be made to care. She pressed her palms against his bare skin, marveling at the contrast between his soft skin and hardened muscles. His breathing became heavy but Sandor did not stop; neither did Sansa do anything to dissuade him from going further. His hands fell to her hips, alternating between gripping them and kneading her skin as he deepened the kiss further.
Suddenly he pulled away from her. "Gods, woman, but you get me riled," he chuckled, moving away from Sansa. "Give me a minute."
"I'm-I'm not the kind of girl who takes things very far on the first date," Sansa whispered by way of explanation. She did not want him to get the wrong idea about her, despite the liberties she had allowed him. "Not that this is a date or anything. Well, it kind of is, I guess, but anyway, that's not the point."
"What is the point?" Sandor asked, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He reached out and ran a lock of her hair through his fingers as she struggled to speak. Her eyes darted down to the distinctive shape that had emerged below his navel hidden by the towel. Oh my, he's…he's…
"Well, the point is, I've never done anything like this-you're the only man who has ever kissed me in such a way, and I don't want you to get the wrong idea-" Sansa stammered, blushing heatedly as she spoke.
Sandor continued to stare at her, his eyes roving over her figure freely as she spoke, the intimacy and forwardness of the gesture arousing her further. Her woman's place was throbbing insistently now, and so Sansa unconsciously squeezed her thighs together as she struggled to steady her growing desire and labored breathing, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Sandor.
His eyes widening, he laughed wickedly and pulled her closer to him. "Might be I could help you with that," Sandor growled into her ear before nibbling on her neck, running his tongue in slow circles over her pulse point. A deep moan came unbidden from her throat. Embarrassed, Sansa tried to move away but Sandor tightened his hold on her upper arms. When he returned to her eyes, she saw her own lust mirrored perfectly in his own dark gaze.
"Pretty little bird," he breathed against her lips, kissing her with such fervency that Sansa felt dizzy. "Don't fret, lass; I'm not going to pressure you. I know you're a lady, if that's what you're worried about. I like you, and I like the fact that you are as innocent as you look. I won't press you for more than you want to offer."
"Thank you," she whispered and then stood on her toes and gently kissed him. Suddenly Sandor sighed and abruptly turned away from her, the man veritably running into the bathroom and slamming the door behind him, leaving Sansa confused, gasping for air and entertaining the wild idea that she would very much like to join him.
Get yourself together. You are a lady, you don't do such things with men you hardly know. Scarcely able to catch her breath, Sansa went to the kitchen sink and splashed cold water on her face and neck, then soaked a dishtowel and rubbed it over her arms and legs.
She longed to ease the steadily increasing ache between her thighs. "Get a hold of yourself," she hissed out loud. Sansa realized she had to find a way to distract herself before she truly degraded herself.
Looking about, Sansa noticed the place was a bit dusty, so she peeked under the sink and found a can of furniture polish, Windex and several rags. I don't think Sandor would mind if I cleaned up a bit in here while he showers. So, Sansa set about dusting and polishing the woodwork while trying to sort her feelings for Sandor Clegane.