A/N:
Sorry this chapter took a bit longer, I have been ill and I accidentally deleted the originally written chapter 8 a few days ago.
Skeeter: mosquito
Succotash: a vegetable dish mixture of lima beans and corn, maybe with a bit of onion and garlic, always some butter, and sometimes a splash of cream.
Collards: Collard greens cooked with ham hocks
STAT: Medical term, short for statim-immediately or without delay
One final note: My comment about Sandor's feelings regarding his ribbons is not meant to be a political statement or in any way disrespectful to those in the Armed forces. This is actually a direct quote from my grandpa, who was a highly decorated WW2 veteran. While his medals did give him a measure of pride, they also carried a fair amount of survivors guilt for him, for they reminded him of the men with whom he served who did not live to see their own medals awarded for the same service as he performed. This is what I was trying to get across with Sandor, that while he serves loyally, he also suffers for it.
Just as she settled into the truck. Sansa's smartphone began to buzz.
"What is it? That bitch teacher wanting to apologize for true?" Sandor spat out as he watched her fish through her pack. "She owes you that much, you know. What kind of fucking health care educator blames a victim for her attack? And you know as well as I do that how many men you see doesn't have shit to do with Joffrey."
His fury directed at the woman on her behalf touched her, though it also frightened Sansa a bit after how he behaved toward the businessman at the coffee shop. "She should be reported, you know."
"You're right, Sandor, of course, but there are a fair amount of women-even in medicine or law enforcement-who still think it's a woman's responsibility to prevent a man's violent behavior."
Sandor snorted derisively. "Seen plenty of men and women like that in the Army, fucking pricks. They should get into another career or shut the fuck up, one."
"I agree." Sansa sighed, placing her hand on his forearm and giving it a gently squeeze. His anger was beginning to scare her. "Please, your anger is understandable and I appreciate the support, but you frighten me with it so let us forget her for now. I'll handle the teacher later."
"Good, I'll go with you," Sandor added somewhat more calmly. "She's fucking out of her mind if she thinks I'll stand by and let her talk to you like that. And that little shit better never come here again if he wants to see another birthday."
Stunned by the fury, indignation as well as a fair amount of fear for her in his rasping tone, Sansa reached over and caressed his cheek. "Thank you," she kissed him softly. "I appreciate you support, I do, but please, you frighten me when you speak like this." Sansa sighed and folded her hands. "One day I'll tell you about what happened in the Red Mansion and you'll understand-but that is something that I don't wish to speak of now."
She looked up then to gauge his reaction: Sandor's face was carefully schooled into one of determination, though his jaw muscles clenched so tightly that his lip began to bleed. "I spent plenty of time there, Sansa; you don't need to give voice to it unless you so choose." He turned to her then, staring so deeply into her eyes she felt both intimidated and yet exhilarated. "One day, lass, such things won't trouble you anymore, not even in your dreams, I swear it."
Before Sansa could reply, her phone chimed again. "The message is from my friend Jennifer, the one who spoke up in class." Sansa then turned and squinted at the screen. "Our last class was cancelled, something about a snowstorm on the way, so she's saying we should go enjoy ourselves and forget about everything else."
Relief washed over him then, and so Sandor grinned and started the engine. "Well, let's go eat then."
"Wait," Sansa smiled at Sandor and opened her compact. "I want to freshen up a bit and I can't apply lipstick while you drive."
Puzzled, he raised his brow at her. "Why do you need to do such now?"
Biting her lower lip, she powdered her nose, reapplied her lipstick and smoothed down her skirt, all the while Sandor watched her with equal parts curiosity and annoyance. Averting her eyes from his, Sansa whispered, "No reason, only that I want to look nice for you."
Sandor leaned over, gripped her waist and pulled her along the bench seat until her thighs rested against his. Wrapping her close, he sighed deeply, inhaling her scent. I hope he likes the perfume Margaery gave me, Sansa mused as she felt him nuzzle into her neck and inhale several deep breaths. The warmth of his skin against her own sent a tingle of excitement through her.
"Fuck, you smell good enough to eat. Might be I'll have to do that later and have my song from you." Sandor sighed deeply once more before nibbling along her collar.
Instead of being scandalized by his lewd suggestion, Sansa leaned into him, relishing being surrounded by his hard, heavily muscled arms and chest, the young woman aroused by his bold teasing manner. Unable to resist, Sansa leaned closer still, allowing him to press his manhood against her thigh, and she arched against him.
Suddenly Sandor stopped his ministrations and rested his head on her shoulder, struggling to regain control of himself, his arms shaking slightly before he pulled her against him further still.
"If that bitch of a teacher had looked at you proper, she could have seen you are dressed up for someone." He ran his nose along her temple, down her cheek and then nuzzled the pulse point on her neck. "You are far too pretty for the likes of me, lass."
"Don't say that. I dressed up for you, and you alone," Sansa sighed as Sandor caressed her legs and upper thighs underneath her skirt. Soon Sandor reached under her slip, taking the time to feel the material between his fingers before running his hands along her hips and then fingering the material of her panties.
Sansa tipped her hips toward him, giving him more access to her neck, earning an appreciative groan from Sandor. Slowly he ran his tongue over her pulse point, and she felt her body giving in to him. Not yet, not here in the school parking lot. Uncertainly Sansa snapped back into the present and pulled away slightly.
"Do-do you like my outfit?" She nervously smoothed down her sweater.
Amused, Sandor unhurriedly moved his hands from her legs, bringing them up to her low back and began tracing his palms over her aqua angora cardigan, toying with the beaded collar as he regarded her. "I do. Soft and feminine, just like you." He rasped heatedly as he admired her, the lust shining clearly in his eyes.
"I like your dress. I like your hair," he brushed her Veronica Lake waves away from her eyes. "And I like your stockings." Carefully he ran his hands down to her waist and hips and then over her legs once again. This time, the warmth of his hands against her skin sent a powerful wave of anticipation through Sansa, her desire overriding her logic and chasing all doubt from her mind.
"You're a knockout for true, little bird," Sandor pressed his lips to her ear. "Can't you feel how much I want you?"
Blushing deeply, Sansa lowered her eyes. "Yes…I can, as I want you. Thank you. I hoped you would find me…attractive. I know I'm a bit more, well, covered up than most women going on dates these days."
"Margaery tell you that?"
She nodded.
"It gives a man's imagination an opportunity to get going," Sandor kissed along her jaw line. "I like that, too." He looked as though he was ready to devour her. "You're beautiful, lass, makeup or no, and a sweeter little bird there never was. Don't listen to Margaery, will you? You have your way and she has hers."
Laughing, Sansa nodded once more, secretly pleased to hear that Sandor preferred her the way she was. His praise made her glad that she had taken extra pains with her appearance after her prayers.
Unsure of where they would go to eat, she had showered once more, using all the Jacqua buttercream bath products Margaery had given her for her birthday. Afterward she washed her hair and set it in a wave and then carefully put on an aqua lace demi cup bra with matching panties and garters, a cream lace slip and seamed silk stockings.
After she did her makeup, Sansa brought out her most prized possession: an aqua angora sweater with a beaded color, a matching shantung skirt and cream beaded platform heels that she bought from a consignment shop.
Margaery had stopped by with a box of condoms of the same brand Loras had given her. "Here, doll, have some fun with Sandor," she winked at her. "I don't care if that stuffy bitch Mordane glares me down at the drugstore. Put two in your compact where you keep your powder puff and no one will be the wiser."
"Oh, good idea." Sansa hurriedly did as she was told. "I haven't asked about his health yet. I'm not even sure we'll…use these tonight."
Shrugging, Margaery smoothed her hair down. "Better to have and not need than need and not have, as my grandma often tells us. I'm sure he's fine, Sansa. The man has a body like Roman Reigns and besides, the Army gives soldiers a full physical and any treatment they need on return-if a soldier isn't clean then, they never will be." She looked her up and down. "You look like Rita Hayworth in that getup."
Sansa didn't think she meant it as a compliment, but the comparison to one of her favorite actresses delighted her. "Really? Do you think Sandor will be pleased?"
"Best take a few overnight things with you," Margaery smiled at her suggestively. "Even if you don't fuck him, he might need you to stay, you know, because of the nightmares."
"Please don't tell anyone that," Sansa whispered sadly. "I shouldn't have revealed that about him, but I just didn't know who to confide in and this situation with him is a bit out of my experience."
"Sansa, you mustn't worry about us blabbing on you. I want you to be happy, and so does Loras," Margaery touched her on the cheek. "Loras and I have both been through this, and we would never say anything to anyone. Now, pack some comfortable clothes, maybe a robe, socks, toiletries."
"But Sandor will think-"
"Yeah, that you want to fuck him," Margaery rolled her eyes. "Just put it in your school satchel."
The way he was kissing her now, it certainly seemed Sandor would want her to stay over, so she was happy she listened to Margaery and put a few necessities inside her bag. Pursing her lips, Sansa glanced at her pack on the floor. Did I remember everything?
"Calling you attractive is an understatement, Sansa," Sandor went on, the sound of his words thick with desire pulling her out of her thoughts. He yanked her still closer against him and rasped into her ear, the feel of his warm breath on her skin sending a corresponding shiver through her body. "You are the prettiest woman I've ever seen. I can barely contain myself around you."
Her tummy growled low just then, causing Sandor to burst out laughing. "Hungry, are you?" He buckled the lap belt around her waist so she would stay beside him. "Good, I like a woman with an appetite. Let's go."
"Where are we going to eat?" She leaned into him, squeezing his huge bicep excitedly.
"My favorite spot. Home." Sandor raised his brow at her as he turned off the main street onto the familiar tree lined road leading to his home.Home, Sansa giggled to herself, though inwardly she worried his choice had more to do with the fact that he still couldn't face large crowds rather than a clue to his romantic plans. Perhaps it is a bit of both, she thought, the notion both thrilling and yet bittersweet.
As he pulled into the driveway, delicious, sweet yet savory smells greeted Sansa's nose. "Oh, you cooked for me!" She clasped her hands together excitedly. "Is that pot roast I smell?"
Chuckling, he removed his beret and shook his head. "Bourbon marinated rib eye steaks, grits and succotash, collards and lemon meringue pie. I have to finish grilling the meat, though."
Everything sounded so good but it was the lemon pie that caught her ears. "You baked a pie?!"
"No, I got it from the chow hall on base, same with the collards and succotash."
"The Army won't mind?"
"The cook owes me one." Smirking, he shook his head.
Sansa squeezed his arm excitedly. "Oh, let's eat!"
He let her inside the house ahead of him, then fumbled with the light. Shyly she looked over his uniform. "You look so very handsome, Sandor. You needn't have gotten yourself so gussied up for me." Reverently she traced her fingers over his ribbons and stripes. "I'm afraid I don't know what these mean, but I am certain you received them for your bravery."
Uneasily he pulled away from her and began taking off his uniform, mindless that she was sitting beside him in his haste to divest himself of said garment. "Some are for engagements I fought, some denote my rank, and some, well, I got them for doing my job."
Sansa wrinkled her nose, confused, and so he added, "I killed someone before they killed me or my men, that's all."
Shivering involuntarily, she pursed her mouth with a slight nod. Without another word, Sandor's face darkened as he stared at her, the man clearly trying to read her thoughts.
"Sandor, I'm afraid I may not be able, as a civilian, to understand the full significance of what you just said, but please believe that I do not judge your choices, nor would I have you speak of it more if you do not wish it." Sansa pulled him close, kissing him softly on the cheek. "But you still look very handsome in this outfit." She smiled and cupped his cheek as she looked up at him, eager to change the subject.
"Like it better than my construction clothes, do you?" Sandor's mouth curled into a snarling grin.
"No, I love your construction clothes, for they show off your…chest and stong build." Sansa blushed furiously, causing him to laugh outright.
"I didn't dress up for you, lass." Sandor ran his hand back over his head. "I went to the base today for more evaluations and to see Elder brother."
Eagerly Sansa pulled him to the window seat and sat down, biting her lip nervously. Fear surged through her, for she had heard many of the service people had been exposed to chemical and biological warfare, as well as various pollutants from burning oil. "How did it go? Did the doctors find you in good health?"
Shrugging, he pulled off his jacket and tie, avoiding her gaze as he did so. "Physically, yes, I'm okay. They took a bunch of tests and took enough blood out of me to feed a swarm of skeeters."
Sansa giggled at that. "How are your burns?"
Sandor shrugged. "They gave me some of the medicine you brought over."
"Good." Unable to contain her relief, Sansa sighed out loud. "What of your blood tests? Where any of them stamped STAT, did you notice?"
"No, and no more worrying about me, lass. I'll find out the results in a few days." Sandor began pulling out his shirt tail from his trousers, exposing nasty scarring along his waist as he did so. "Saw Brienne, there, too." He added, his eyes darkening to ash as he stared into her eyes.
Glancing down at his old injuries, she had to fight the urge to sooth the scars with her hands, not knowing whether such touches would be welcome just then, especially since Sandor was the one to bring up Brienne and his eyes showed plainly how furious he was.
Deciding to broach the subject first, Sansa took a deep breath. "I saw her earlier too. In fact I had lunch with Brienne today when she stopped by the coffee shop. When I expressed how worried I was about you, she told me about Elder brother." His eyes turned charcoal at her admission, so hastily Sansa added, "She regretted it at once; she only told me because she thought you already had, and I didn't pry. But I'm so glad-just so very relieved to know you have someone to confide in, Sandor."
"I wondered if you'd tell me." His eyes bored into her own as she spoke. Gritting his teeth, Sandor swallowed hard several times before adding, "Brienne and I grabbed a bite in the mess hall after my appointment. She said you want to go with me to see him."
The utter bleakness of his tone weighed heavily on her heart. It's almost as though he expects me to deceive him, as though he is just waiting for it. And yet I haven't shared everything about myself with him, so who am I to question his motives? We have a long road to travel toward trust, you and me.
Something within Sansa made her determined to earn his trust, if she could, and perhaps gentle the rage inside him. I'll start by ignoring his snide remark.
Hugging herself, she said quietly, "I do want to go, very much so." Sansa moved closer to him but still Sandor eyed her warily. Perhaps touch will speak where words cannot. Reaching out, she started to unbutton his shirt for him but Sandor covered her hands with his own, gripping her tightly.
"Why would you want to do that?" Sandor's eyes burned into her own, turning a darker shade of slate, almost black, as he waited for her reply. "Tell me the truth and none of that chirping of yours, now: you want to see if the good doctor thinks I'm losing my shit, is that the way of it?"
"No, not at all-how can you even suggest such a thing?" She looked down and spied his hound tattoo. He is like a wounded hound, ready to bite the first hand that tries to pet him. His behavior recalled one of Mrs. Olenna's sayings: If you live among dogs, keep a stick. After all, this is what a hound has teeth for-to bite when he feels like it. Sansa decided then and there she would not follow that. Fighting her temper, Sansa levelly answered, "It is only because I love you and I want to make sure you get the rest you need. And I cannot bear to see you're suffering so." She raised his hands to her lips and kissed each of them. "Let me help you, Sandor, please. I want you to understand, and really feel in your heart that you are not alone in this."
He turned loose of her then, and so she went on: "But do forgive me, for I didn't mean to go behind your back when I spoke to Brienne, Sandor. Please don't be angry with me."
The initial hostility in his eyes dissipated as Sansa continued speaking, and when she finished, Sandor sat quietly, hanging his head for several long minutes. They stayed that way until he met her eyes and kissed her hands in return.
"I'm not mad, lass. No, not mad, just-" Sandor drew a deep breath. "No one's offered half so much, Sansa. It's a hard thing for one such as me." His jaw tightened. "I'm going to change before I put those steaks on. Make yourself comfortable." With that he stood and went to his bedroom.
So my instincts were right-he's not used to having someone care for him, to offer comfort or be there to give him support when he suffers. What happened with his family? No one has ever esteemed him-is it possible? Maybe his family did not love him-not even when he was recovering from his burns.
Sansa knew enough about wound care to comprehend his scars were old when she first saw them, so Sandor's misery must at least go back as far as childhood. Some parents were not caring with their children, it was true; she had seen enough of Robert and Joffrey's interactions to know that, and mental abuse often left scars on souls that were just as severe as the ones Sandor wore outwardly.
If not his parents, then what of his sister? Younger or older, Sansa could never have been so callous to her own brothers, not even Jon. He said she and his parents all died under mysterious circumstances; I wonder if the Lannisters had something to do with it. Or perhaps it was his brother…
Despite the multitude of questions swirling in her mind, Sansa determined she would not pry him for details, for she didn't like it when people did the same to her about her own family. He will tell me, when he's ready, just as I will tell him more but until we both reach that place, this dance between us will undoubtedly continue.
As the house grew silent in his absence, the fireplace crackling in the den called to Sansa. To her surprise, Sandor had bought another sofa, much bigger than the other, and unlike any Sansa had ever seen.
It was rectangular, and the seating areas surrounding a reclining space in the center that was very cozy. Gingerly Sansa sat down on it and then stretched out, marveling at the softness of the brown suede-like material. He bought this for us. He took my thoughts about moving in together far more seriously than I expected. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it and he is merely afraid to sleep in his room.
Glancing about, she discovered a few other new items as well: thick furry throw blankets, pillows and a much larger flat screen television. Near the windows sat a previously unnoticed oak dining table and chairs built for two. As she ran her fingers over the detailing, she ascertained the wood was hand cut, and that woodworking was a hobby that Sandor shared with her father.
The sound of Sandor's footfall led Sansa to look up with a broad smile. "Did you make this?"
He nodded slowly, his own mouth quirking in a small smile that mirrored her own.
"Sandor, my father used to build us furniture too, but this-this is just so very beautiful!" Sansa gushed.
"Aye, beautiful, lass," he answered, and by the way he spoke, she knew he was talking about her and not the furniture.
"I love it." A flush of heat rushed to her cheeks. "But you needn't go through all this trouble for me."
Shrugging, Sandor brushed her hair off her shoulder, staring at the spot where her pulse quickened every time he drew near. "The other stuff was old, and I've been working of that table forever; time it was put to use."
"And the new sofa?" She raised her brow suggestively.
"I want us comfortable. And I would do far more for you than buy furniture, lass, believe that." Sandor rasped. Before she could respond, he opened the patio doors leading to the deck. "I'll get the grill going."
"What can I do to help?" She stood and walked to the kitchen.
"You can open the wine and pour it."
Carefully she opened the bottle and let it breathe before filling their glasses and carrying them to the table, which was already set with newer but somewhat mismatched tableware.
Just like a bachelor, she giggled to herself. The smell of the sizzling meat already filled the room, making Sansa's tummy growl loudly once more.
Sandor stuck his head in the door. "Are you warm enough?"
"Yes, thank you," Sansa smiled at him. "Do you mind if I freshen up?"
His eyes travelled over her. "No, go ahead. And you don't need to ask to use the bathroom, lass; this is your home now."
The words filled Sansa's heart with a joy she had not felt since leaving Winterfell. It had been so long since she had a true home of her own, a place she could relax and feel safe. And Sandor's home certainly felt that way to her, even after just a short period of time.
For a long moment, Sansa felt her words stick in her throat. "Thank you, Sandor-you-you just don't know what this means to me." Swiftly she kissed him on the cheek before turning toward the bathroom.
In response, Sandor grabbed her waist to prevent her from walking away, claimed her mouth and slowly sipped at her mouth, nibbling on her lips until they were red and swollen. With a soft moan, Sansa opened her mouth to him, but Sandor merely swirled his tongue with her own for a moment before turning her loose.
Blushing heatedly, Sansa felt like Sandor's kiss was a foreshadowing of what would come later that night. He's going to ask me to stay. I am his peace of mind, she realized somewhat uneasily. Yet he fears if he doesn't keep me close, I will slip through his fingers. But Sansa loved him, she could not deny it, and if this was the path they had to travel together, she would do so willingly, even gladly, if it meant Sandor would be with her always.
Sandor will kiss me again, just as he did earlier, just as he did when we woke up in each other's arms, Sansa thrilled inside as he touched her hair. Maybe he'll ask for more than kisses but I won't deny him. All this is what I have always wanted and I am his.
After caressing her face with the back of his hand, Sandor finally loosened his hold. After slipping off her shoes, she picked up her bag and headed for the bedroom. The way Sandor stared at her left her breathless and flushed. If this is how his eyes and lips make me feel, I can't even imagine what everything else will be like.
Should I go through with it, though? He wasn't exactly forthcoming about his heath, but Sansa was sure he meant the mental aspect and not the physical. She recalled her earlier conversation with Loras and Margaery. I do need to stop being so embarrassed about this sort of thing. I must learn to be more open, especially with Sandor.
He obviously doesn't mind making his intentions known, with the dinner and new furniture-my goodness, he bought a sofa so that we could sleep in it together. She would just have to ask him. After washing her hands and fixing her hair, she applied a little more perfume while trying to settle her nerves before exiting the bathroom.
After peering around the bedroom door, Sansa could not resist sneaking a peek into his nightstand. Inside, she saw he had a new box of condoms-the same brand as Loras gave her-and a small bottle of lubricant, the sight of which both relieved her and also reinvigorated the butterflies swirling in her stomach.
Carefully she closed the drawer and turned toward his mirror, which she noticed had a blanket thrown over it. After pulling it down, Sansa stood and stared at her reflection. Tonight she would become his and he would become hers, not just in words, but in body and soul as well, and the idea overjoyed her.
"Little bird, dinner's on the table." She heard Sandor's voice rasp from the den. Smiling at herself, a sudden calm came over her as she made up her mind: I am his as he is mine, from this day until the end of my days, she whispered to herself before leaving the bedroom.