Chapter 4.
Sandor is off duty, he heads straight to his room to have that Dornish Red he's been needing for hours now. FUCK! He had forgotten about the maiden that was coming from Dorne. He had enough to keep him busy trying to keep the Little Bird safe from Joffery's wrath. Now there was another and he seemed taken with this one also. Was he going to have to watch out for two now! What was he thinking? Why did he have to look out for anyone? He wasn't some bloody Knight that all these maidens wanted. He was a killer! Not some, bloody nursemaid! Lady Shalene Martell of Sun Spear. A Sand Snake! She looks so small and fragile. She's even smaller than the Little Bird. This Desert Flower was so opposite of the Little Bird, being dark, sultry, raven headed and black-eyed where Sansa Stark was pale, pure, auburn haired and clear, blue eyes. He wondered how old this ward is. Sansa being only fourteen. She was tall for her age. A woman but yet a child. He knows she had flowered, but she is so innocent. So unaware of what the world is really like. He can't, for the life of him, understand how the highborn feel it is fair or proper to put young women out in the world and not make sure they are ready for the lives they will have to live in. What good were needle work and songs when circumstances could happen that left you in the world alone as they had Sansa Stark.
He shakes his head and is glad, again, he doesn't have daughters. He'd kill any man who looked at them. He makes a mental note to watch this new one, damn! He needs to hit someone so he makes his way to the training yard and for the next couple of hours, taking on all who thought they had balls enough to face him. He stands there with sweat rolling off his body and yells for his squire, Lucian, who comes and brings a wine-skin and helps him out of his armor. Sandor decides that he needs to spend a little time with Stranger and cool down before heading up for a bath. He drinks sparingly from the wine-skin, not wanting to get drunk yet, he has too much to think about. He goes into the stable and brings Stranger out into the yard to groom him in the sunshine, also to feel the wind on his skin, he takes off his tunic, throwing it over the fence railing and took up the curry, brushing Stranger's coat until it shines, running his hands over the beast, feeling the play and power of his muscles as he moves. He talks quietly to the warhorse, calming him, re-enforcing the bond of trust they have. Appreciating, again, the closeness he feels with the animal. His only companion. That thought startles him for a moment, he'd never thought that before. But he supposes it's true, he has no other friends. He didn't need anyone. He doesn't care for all the hassle that goes with it. He likes to kill, drink, and fuck. Not always in that order either! He takes another drink from the wine-skin, lost in thought, but not so lost that he doesn't hear the approach of armor. He turns and watches Boras Blount approach and starts getting angry. "What the fuck does he want? If that little blonde twat wants something, he can go fuck himself." Blount approaches with his hands raised, knowing full well that it takes only a look to set the Hound off. "What do you want!"
"Take it easy, Hound, I'm here because the Queen sent me. Believe me, I don't want to be around you any longer than you do me!"
"State your buggering business then and leave me be."
Blount stated," The Queen says that the new ward, that Dornish wench, has requested some pursuits as she called them and Her Grace has decided to allow it. And she has also decided that she needs to be watched and "assisted". Since you're the best equipped for the job, it's yours."
Sandor is having to use all his will power not to grab Blount by his throat and rip his head off! He takes several deep breaths and looks at Blount then asks, in that deadly rasping voice, "What the fuck do I look like, a buggering wet-nurse?"
Blount backs off, and when he's out of range, he says," I couldn't tell you. Maybe it's cause you're the perfect one... a watch dog. " Then he walks off laughing.
Sandor is seething. What the Seven Hells is he to do with some Dornish wench? What pursuits is he talking about? Bloody buggering Lannister's! He takes another pull off the wine-skin knowing that tonight he will be good and drunk, might even go to Chatalaya's. He needs a good fuck, maybe two and then muses, a red-head whore and a raven haired one, Hells, maybe at the same time! Then immediately he wonders why he thought that. He stands there, breathing deep, feeling the wind blow over his skin and becomes aware of having the feeling of being watched. Immediately all of his well honed battle senses are on alert and he gazes around, seeking the reason for his heightened alertness. His gaze drifts up, maybe it's the Little Bird, she has been known to sit on her balcony and do her bleeding needlework. Not her, but a couple of balconies from there he sees her. She is leaning against the balcony wall of her suite of rooms, looking at him. Hell, she's not just looking at him, she's looking at him like he's a feast and she's starving. He has never in his life had a woman look at him like that and he is instantly assailed with many emotions. Shock, fear, indignation, then curiosity, interest, and as he sees her lick her lips as she focuses her attention on his cock, he straightens to his full, staggering height and unconsciously tenses his body, flexing his muscles. The next feeling that hits him is a lust he has never felt, his cock is immediately rock hard and then she meets his eyes. He expects her to be appalled and look away, that's what he's used to. They all do it. After all these years he should be used to it, but he's not. It still shames him when it happens. But she holds his gaze, looks right into his eyes, she stands up and leans against the wall causing that "dress" to form against her tits and firm, flat abdomen. Her eyes never leave his, her nipples are hard and dark. He can see them through the material and she makes no move what so ever to hide that fact. She's breathing a bit heavy, he can tell. And damn, she licks her lips again. They are so full and red, now they're wet, FUCK! What he could do with those! It's like she could read his mind because she slowly smiles, her eyes gaze down at his throbbing, rock hard cock again and back up to his eyes. She slowly backs away and leaves him there, never breaking eye contact until she is inside her room. He stands there for a time, trying to figure out what all that meant. Maidens don't act like that or look at men like that. Especially not him. He yells at Lucian to come get Stranger. He can barely move, his cock hurts so badly. Gods, he's got to fuck something and his hand will have to do for now.
He readjusts himself and heads to his chambers where Lucian has already had a bath set up and a wine-skin waiting on him. He smiles, thinking that he'll have to give that boy an extra coin or two. He does know his job. He grabs the wine-skin and takes several long drinks. Feeling the warmth of the alcohol loosen his muscles. He kicks off his boots, unlaced his breeches and is soon as naked as his name day. He eases down into the hot bath, again mentally thanking Lucian because he made sure the wenches brought the biggest tub up. He eases down and soaks his body, eyes closed, drinking slowly and his thoughts drift to Sansa. Her sweet ways, her blue eyes, thick auburn hair, and he feels his cock aching again. He decides to finish bathing and washes his long, black hair. He is relaxed, mildly drunk and again, thoughts drift back to Sansa. As he slowly strokes his cock, he thinks about her porcelain skin, so smooth and pale, how pink her lips are, he thinks about kissing them, filling his hands with her hair as he's kissing her mouth, her neck, across her chest and down to those soft tits. He imagines her nipples, pink, like her lips, as they harden in his mouth. His grip on his cock is solid, strokes are long and he is quickly coming to that point of release. He can feel his body tense, his eyes are closed, lost in Sansa and her teats. As he increases the tempo on his cock, he uses his left hand to press on his lower abdomen, right above his pubic bone, Gods! He has found that for some reason, cumming is so much more intense when he does this. He lets his head fall back against the tub, he's almost there, fucking his hand hard and fast, his mind goes to those tits, but they are fuller, firmer, the nipples are hard and dark! He moans loudly, feeling it all over his body, his balls are so tight, he can feel it at the base of his cock, faster; he looks up into her eyes and he sees those black, sultry eyes, watching him, those full, red lips and she licks them, just for him and he can't stop, FUCK he cums so hard, stroking his cock and releasing his seed for what seems like forever! Slowly, so slowly, he calms his breathing and his heartbeat eases back to the steady normal thump that means control. As his cock softens, his eyes fly open. Seven Hells, now he's losing himself in two untouchable women and why the hell did Sansa turn into Shalene Martell! Gods, that was good, but what is he doing! Sandor decides; not tonight. He's not going to dwell on it. He's relaxed and clean, not sloppy drunk. Just leave it alone. He shakes his head and gets out of the bath, after one more drink he slides between his sheets and drifts off to sleep. That night the only thing that haunts him is innocent blue eyes and sultry black ones and sweet, red, full, wet lips.