Sandor's stormy eyes were the first thing Sansa saw when she awakened. Turning somewhat sheepish when he realized she had caught him watching her sleep, he grinned at her while his fingers rhythmically stroked her back and shoulders.
Contented, Sansa smiled and then snuggled against his skin for a while, lost in the feel of his hands until unpleasant thoughts about the night before crept into her mind.
His violent, unpredictable temper, his need to keep her close, the moving her to the den in the middle of the night all deeply troubled her. They had worked it out, true, but despite her best efforts, Sansa's often vexing quality of being incapable of keep her troubles from infringing on her peaceful moments soon came to the fore. As Sandor held her, apprehension settled over Sansa, darkening in mood.
Maybe we rushed things. We both have so many issues, I hope the physical elements won't just add another layer of complications. And yet how could it not? Last night I was so certain that following our instincts was the right thing to do, but what if we made a horrible mistake?
Sansa certainly didn't regret giving her virginity to Sandor; no, she was very happy she did, but with the light of day, a singular ruefulness that it happened so early in the relationship overwhelmed her senses.
What if he's just telling me what I want to hear so he can keep taking me to bed? Many men do such things; Sandor may not be any different. Our whole relationship has been so rushed. I'm glad we're going to see Elder brother. I should say something to him about it. Yes, we should talk about this before things go any further.
Looking up at Sandor, he seemed relaxed; in fact, within his gaze there was a peace she had never seen in the man. It certainly didn't appear that Sandor shared her misgivings, a fact that both frustrated and relieved her.
Finally when Sansa held his gaze, she took the opportunity to truly look at him: her eyes roamed over his beautiful physique and intense eyes to his twitching smile, then to his short hair that no longer hid his scars and openly exposed them to the light of day.
A deep warmth radiated from Sandor's eyes as he looked at Sansa, touching her deeply, sending the nagging uncertainties fade into the back of her mind. Why can't I be like Sandor and just enjoy this? Why do I have to second guess myself at every turn? The warmth of Sandor's skin surrounded her, and she nuzzled into his chest, breathing in his scent.
Chuckling softly, he pulled her tighter against him. His manhood stiffened and pressed firmly into her thigh, causing a rush of shyness to course through her.
"Good morning."
She hated mornings, but Sansa had to admit they were somewhat better when shared with the man she loved.
"Good morning, love."
The realization that they both were still very naked brought another flush of embarrassment to her cheeks. How am I going to get up without him…seeing all of me? Silently Sansa chided herself for her foolishness; after all, he had kissed her there, even relished doing so, as she had him. Still, she could not deny that what hadn't bothered her in the darkness mysteriously filled Sansa with embarrassment the light of morning.
Shyly she smiled at him. "How long have you been awake?"
Sandor turned toward the window. "Daybreak. It's still snowing." She felt his hands smooth over her hair and then take a lock between two fingers and draw them over the length. "Cold, isn't it?"
Catlike, Sansa stretched her limbs, arching her back and then curling back next to him. "Hmmm, but warm here with you," she softly murmured and then moaned, the noise moving Sandor to kiss her neck, now openly exposed to him. The arousing sensation soon conquered her, and Sansa arched into him.
"Why are you up so early?" She could not help but ask, worrying that Sandor had been plagued by more nightmares during the night.
"I've been up with the sun since I was a boy." Sandor chuckled, pulling away as suddenly as he descended on her so he could look her in these eyes. "I take it the little bird isn't a morning person."
Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head. "Not until coffee." Sansa inhaled deeply, seeking out the comforting scent. "Is there any ready?"
"No, I haven't got up yet to make it. Didn't want to disturb you." Restlessly Sandor wiggled his foot beneath her.
"Are you in pain?" He finally asked.
"A little, but not where you would think-" Sansa clamped her hand over her mouth, for the words slipped out before she could check them, earning a deep laugh from Sandor. "My back is a little stiff." She offered by way of explanation. "My ribs ache, too."
Rolling over, Sandor pulled back the blanket, exposing her breasts. Tenderly his hands fell to just below her heart while concern darkened his brow. "Swollen a bit you are. Old injury?"
"Yes," Sansa wriggled away from him. "And I don't wish to talk about it."
"Alright," Sandor sighed, then bent his head and placed several kisses along her ribcage. "The cold aggravates such. These will make it better."
Sighing, she leaned back and savored the feel of him until her eyes fell on the gnarled oak clock over the television. "Is it really eight o'clock already? Have you been waiting for me since sunup, truly?" She sat up and stretched once more and then carefully tucked the blankets around her.
"Aye, what of it?" Sandor watched Sansa, amusement filling his features.
Was he watching me sleep this whole time? The thought somehow disconcerted her.
"I just-I just wouldn't want to put you out or anything." Sansa twisted the blanket nervously.
"Holding a naked woman isn't exactly a punishment for me, Sansa," Sandor breathed against her neck, squeezed her close and then moved out from under her. "I'll make the coffee. Power's out, though. We'll have to drink the percolated kind."
Unashamedly Sandor walked into the kitchen as naked as his nameday and pulled down an old copper pot. With his beautiful body, he certainly had no reason to be embarrassed, but Sansa was not used to anyone being so comfortable and so very naked around her and so she blushed deeply.
"That's okay. Um, don't you want to, uh, put on pants before turning on the burners?"
Sandor let out a harsh laugh that sounded like a growl. "Does it offend your sense of propriety, Little bird, for me to be bare assed naked in the kitchen while handling your food?"
"N-no, not at all," she stammered out, lowering her eyes to the blanket on her lap. Mortified, she tried to focus on answering his original question.
"This may seem like a stupid question for someone who works in a coffee house to ask but what is percolated coffee?"
"You know, the kind you make in a pot with two chambers, like when you go camping." Having never made it that way herself, Sansa eagerly watched as Sandor filled the pot with water and filled the top chamber with coffee grounds. "But I suppose a precious thing like you never went out into the great outdoors for more than half a day growing up, did you?"
"You are quite mistaken. We used to take a small cast iron coffee pot with us when we went to the far north; we would go for a week or more at a time."
Sansa phone began to ring, interrupting her. Biting her lip, she glanced anxiously at her purse, which sat on the counter right next to Sandor.
"Come and get it, Little bird, you know you want to," Sandor's mouth curled into a wicked smile as he eyed her hungrily. "I won't stop you." He licked his lips and laughed at her indecision.
Swallowing hard, Sansa daringly slipped out from under the furs and walked toward him, the chill of the room, sending fresh goose bumps all over her bare flesh, her move effectively shutting Sandor up in the process. She felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks and down her chest as she stepped beside him. Sandor saw it too, for he laughed roguishly when he noticed it and then groaned approvingly as his eyes roved over her body.
"Stop that," Sansa hissed at him and then laughed. "I-I feel shy walking around like this. Turn away now, please-I don't want to be, well, I don't want you to think me wanton."
"Wanton?" He shook his head. "Fuck that nonsense. Be as wanton as you like, and I want to have my look, besides," Sandor moaned into her ear as he descended on her neck. "Little bird," he murmured, kissing her collarbone. "Never hide from me. You have nothing to be ashamed off. My god, you are a beauty."
As her phone continued ringing, she feebly fumbled with her purse until Sandor pulled her tightly against his back and breathed into her hair while allowing his hands to run over her low back until he cupped her bottom, giving it a light squeeze. "Leave that phone; whatever it is will keep. Let me have you again, lass."
Before she could stop herself, Sansa forgot about her phone, turned to face him and with a small giggle she allowed him to lift her into his arms. Sansa wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her back to the sofa to the warmth of the blankets and into his waiting arms.
He was watching her, waiting for consent. A flurry of excitement circulated through her body as she made room for him, effectively answering him. When still he hesitated, slowly Sansa nodded, not knowing what to say, for never had a man desired her the way Sandor did, and certainly Sansa never had one openly express it, and she found his uninhibited passion intoxicating.
"Let's make love," she whispered shyly. Sandor's response was muffled because his face was already pressed between her breasts, kissing and licking her tender flesh while grinding his hips against her own.
Sandor paid special attention to her body in places he had not kissed the night before: the nape of her neck, in between her shoulder blades, the small of her back before he moved lower still, kissing and nipping at her bottom, thighs and the back of each knee, the man carefully, thoroughly tending to each area.
Leisurely Sandor's lips and hands traversed the terrain of her body, making her feel bashful and yet very much loved. When he finally made love to her, it was slow and sweet and never once did he look away from her. Sansa clung to him, tears moistening her eyes at the tenderness of it all. Sandor didn't immediately withdraw after shuddering his completion but instead remained inside her, enveloped her in his arms, and murmured over and over: "My little bird, my sweet Sansa."
After they napped, Sandor got up and dressed in jeans and black t-shirt and a red plaid shirt, then went outside. Within a few moments the lights came on. Throwing on her robe, Sansa poked her head out the back door.
"The electricity is on!" She called to him.
A loud motor resounded from the garage, drowning out her voice but Sandor soon came back toward the house.
"Turned on the generator." He wiped his hands on a towel. "Did the lights cut on?"
"Yes," she eagerly nodded. "You have your very own generator?" They were a necessity in the north but Sansa had been led to believe that only backwoods survivalists who were paranoid about the government kept them in the lower forty eight. Was Sandor such a person?
"Aye, I like to be prepared. Comes with the training." Sandor pointed to the tattoo on his muscular forearm.
Quietly Sansa reached out to him and faintly traced over the design with her fingers. "Three dogs on a yellow field, a "C" for Clegane, a skull and crossbones and these numbers-are they from your unit?"
"The three dogs on a yellow field is the insignia for the Knight Bachelor of House Clegane in Scotland. The numbers mean something to us but not in some official way."
"'If you can't defend yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can'" Sansa read aloud. Stunned silence followed. "Do you really believe that?"
Suddenly taciturn, he shifted away. "Aye, at one time more than I do now but yes, damn it, I do."
His attitude troubled her but she reasoned that perhaps it was the way many in the armed forces felt-or was it?
"What of me? Would you same the same applies to me?"
Gritting his teeth, Sandor shook his head. "No, lass; not you. Never you."
Pleased, she decided to shelve it. Sansa pulled him into an embrace, kissed his cheek and turned toward the den. "It matters not, Sandor. Come, let's get warm, shall we?"
While Sandor adjusted the heat and tended the fireplace, Sansa decided to call Margaery.
"Where are you?" Margaery demanded. "I've tried calling you all morning but it went straight to voicemail."
"I stayed with Sandor last night. I'm staying today, too. I'm going to be here for a bit." For some reason Sansa couldn't stop talking.
"Oh my god, Sansa, what do you mean you're staying with him for a bit? It's too fucking soon!" Margaery's voice shrieked so loudly through Sansa's smartphone that she had to hold it away from her ear. "Just like a virgin to think that the "d" equals love after the first time. Don't make me come over there and drag you out of that house."
"I'm not staying here permanently, Margaery, at least not yet, just until this storm passes. And for the love of god, don't screech at me so." Sansa hissed into the phone as she padded over to the box of donuts Sandor set out. "The roads are all iced over. The power's out, too, but Sandor has a generator. How's everything at your place?"
"The shop's closed for the day so I'm going over to my grandma's in a bit. Are you okay? Do you need anything?" Margaery sounded bored.
"I'm fine." Sansa started to say more but decided to hold her tongue. "Would you pack a bag for me and get Lady into her carrier? Even though she's furry I don't want to leave her there in an apartment with no heat. Mrs. Olenna will give you the key and I'll come by in an hour or so."
"Sure, okay," Margaery agreed. "So, quit holding out on a bitch. How was he? Is Sandor proportionate?"
A warm blush spread down Sansa's cheeks to her chest at Margaery's words. "Yes, he is." She whispered into the phone, causing Margaery to let out a howl of delight. "He was wonderful. I mean, he is wonderful. But truthfully, I think we've rushed things. I hope it doesn't spoil everything between us."
"What makes you say that?" Her friend's voice was tinged with alarm, but Sansa was not ready to divulge any more details just then. "Are you regretting it already?"
"No, not at all. Let's just say we both have a lot of baggage that needs sorting out."
"I gathered that much from yesterday. But honestly Sansa: who doesn't? If you hold out for the guy who has the perfect Huxtable upbringing, you'll never have sex again." Margaery laughed at her own joke on the other end. "Make it up as you go along with Sandor. He seems to really care about you."
Margaery can tell that just from the little she has seen of us together? Maybe she's right, maybe I am dwelling on the negative too much. When Sansa didn't respond, Margaery added, "He was gentle, right? I mean, you don't think he'd hit you or anything like that, do you?"
"No, he most certainly would not!" Sansa cried, alarmed, though the question made her realize that indeed, she knew he would never hurt her on purpose.
"Well, after Joffrey, I couldn't help but ask," Margaery tittered nervously. "Don't be mad, dear. So then, have fun, keep a bit of independence for yourself and try not to overthink it."
"But-" Sansa didn't finish her sentence, partly because she didn't want to give voice to it and also because she didn't want to go into it with Margaery. How do I do that? How can I make love to him, stay with him and yet be independent? Sandor said we would talk to Elder brother. I'll wait to speak to him.
"Honestly Sansa a bit less seriousness would do you some good. Maybe you're depressed or something."
"No, I'm not depressed Margaery. If I was, I would go to the doctor."
"Well, get over yourself, then. You found a great guy, just try to enjoy him."
Sighing, Sansa agreed and then after exchanging a bit more gossip, she hung up. A few moments later, Sandor's phone began playing Metallica's song, For Whom the Bell Tolls. "It's Brienne," Sandor explained, answering Sansa's inquiring look before he spoke into the phone. Turning away, Sansa busied herself with pouring the coffee.
"WHAT?" He shouted into phone, startling Sansa so that she dropped her mug, shattering it all over the floor. "Captured?"
A crushing surge of panic gripped Sansa's chest at his words. Captured? Jaime, Brienne's husband? In two strides he was beside Sansa, pulling her into his arms as he listened, and Sansa knew she needed to steady herself and be strong for him.
"How the fuck did that happen? Where was Barristan and Oakheart-did Bronn say?" Whatever the answer, Sandor slumped back against the wall, and Sansa rested her head on his shoulder while tenderly rubbing soothing circles over his abdomen.
"Are they sending in an extraction team? Well they'd fucking BETTER, god damn it!" Pausing, Sandor moved away from her and paced as he listened. "I don't give a fuck what he said! I've got your six, Brienne and we'll get this done, don't you worry." He glanced her direction, and so Sansa schooled her face into a look of passivity so Sandor would not see the fear rising in her. "Listen, Sansa's here but I'll be there ASAP. We'll go to the base and get this shit handled."
Faintly she could hear Brienne on the other end before he hung up, after which he pulled her into an impossibly tight embrace. Sansa squeezed his side, waiting for him to speak. "I'm sorry I made a mess. You scared me."
"Never mind the mess. I've gotta go. Jaime's been captured by the Taliban."
"Oh my god!" Sansa grasped her throat. "How is she?"
Shrugging, Sandor growled, "About as well as you'd think. Bronn shouldn't have fucking told Brienne that, thoughtless bastard. She's a soldier, aye, but she's still Jaime's wife. I'm going with her to the base." He ran his hands over his head. "I have to, Sansa, I'm her CO and Jaime, well, we've served together since we were boys."
Sandor has known him that long? Then did he know about her father? And Bronn…that name sounded familiar. Suddenly Sansa understood he took her silence meant her disapproval. "Of course! Of course, go, be with her. She needs you." She patted his chest and pulled his face down into a kiss. "I'll make myself busy."
"Don't go, Sansa," Sandor spoke through gritted teeth. "Please. I'll be back later."
"Take as much time as you need," Sansa kissed him again. "I'm going to go to my place to take care of Lady but I'll be here when you return." She forced a small smile.
"Bring her here, lass; I don't mind." Clicking his teeth, Sandor pulled her tightly against him and kissed her slowly, tenderly. "I didn't want our date to end like this."
She laughed in spite of herself. "Then we'll have to do it all over again later." Quickly she took out his commuter mug and filled it, then wrapped two donuts in a paper towel and gave them to him.
Sandor's mouth twitched. "Serving me even here, is that the way of it?"
"I'm serving you here because I care about you."
An awkward silence followed. "About Jaime-this kind of thing isn't common Sansa, it's just-"
"It doesn't matter," Sansa placed her fingers lightly over his mouth as she handed him his cup. "We'll speak of it later. Now, go, be with Brienne. She needs you. Tell her I'm praying for her and her husband, please." And for you, too, Sandor.
After one last kiss, Sandor hurried out the door. Anxiety filled Sansa as she watched Sandor put chains on the truck tires and then slowly back out of the driveway. Down the lane, Brienne was already hurrying toward him when he stopped and let her in. Once Sandor was out of sight, Sansa went inside and removed the carefully wrapped meesawme and then fell to her knees in prayer, shaking uncontrollably as she did so.