Author's Notes: My apologies for the long break between the updates! There was a little thing called Christmas, and a completely different story to write for a holiday gift exchange, and this and that…
Warnings: This chapter contains dub-con in sexual context – if this is a trigger for you, please turn away…
Summary: Her whisper was hardly audible but not for that reason, but because he simply didn't trust his ears, Sandor pulled himself away and stared at her. "What the fuck did you just say?"
Sandor
Seven hells! It had been such a long time; Sandor could hardly remember how it felt to hold a woman. Such an animalistic notion to inhale the extraordinary feminine smell of her, to feel the urge to press, to squeeze, to discover the secret hidden recesses only a woman's body contained. Something made him lift her into a better position and he took a moment to run his fingers through her soft tresses. His hands were calloused from hard work, his fingertips rough, but still he felt the silkiness of her hair.
Gods, he wanted to fuck her hard and fast. His cock was twitching and he felt the softness of her body through the layers of clothes. She couldn't escape now; he had her in his grip. He could do anything he wanted with her; even if she screamed now, he could at least touch her before the guards ran in. In haste he skimmed his hand down her side and lifted her skirts, revealing pale thighs, and plunged his hand between her legs.
She didn't scream. She didn't struggle but only laid there, passively accepting what he did to her. Instead of pleasing him, it started to trouble Sandor. Hells, if she was a maiden as she claimed, shouldn't she struggle, shouldn't she be horrified by his assault? Sandor had never had a maiden but it was general knowledge that they were difficult and skittish. Or had her spirit been broken already?
His lust subsiding, he stilled the hand that had just reached the soft spot between her legs, still covered with smallclothes but feeling warm and so bloody tempting under his fingers. He lifted his head and stared at her.
"You claim to be a maiden but you don't behave like one. Is it so that the precious scrap of flesh in your cunt is preserved, but otherwise you have been well-practiced in bedsports? Did the Imp or Littlefinger play with you, did they do things to you? Did they make you to do things to them? Tell me, did they?"
Her body was taut but at his words it grew tenser still. Sandor swore. Being fucked was one thing, being played with was another.
A thought crossed his mind; there were other holes in a woman that could be used, the same as men had for those who preferred their own kind. It wasn't any hair off his arse – he had seen and heard all sorts of things in his many years of campaigning. Hells, some whores took it that way as well, but they usually charged a higher rate. Without realising it, his hands grabbed her shoulders and he shook her hard.
"Did they? Tell me, girl!" She stared at him and from her wide-eyed expression he reckoned that she didn't know the line of his thoughts.
"No, Tyrion never touched me." Her voice was thin and her expression strained. Sandor huffed, finding it hard to believe. The Imp was known for his whore-mongering – yet maybe the innocent little girl in his bed had been too much even for him.
"What about Littlefinger? He knows everything there is to know about fornicating, that being one of his trades."
At that she winced. Just as Sandor's fists clenched, having let go of her, she whispered, "He liked to touch me and kiss me on the cheek, make me sit on his knee." She raised her eyes and challenged him with her gaze. "I know what he wanted. But he never went further than that."
Oddly Sandor felt first relieved, then ashamed. He had just been about to take the girl, whether she wanted it or not, and here he was worrying about if she had been touched before. Even he realised the falseness of it. Yet the girl's behaviour bothered him.
"Maidens don't act like this, I'd wager. Not that I've had one before. Just wondering." He pushed his hand under her skirt once more, let his fingers travel up her thigh all the way to the sweet spot, brushing her cunt through the cloth. She startled and opened her mouth slightly while an involuntary gasp of breath racked her. Another notion came to him.
"Have you touched yourself –there?"
Her eyes fluttered close and a deep blush crossed her cheeks.
Fucking hells!
Sandor had never bothered to think about women's pleasures, but he had heard that some women enjoyed the act, even played with themselves like men did. Had the little bird…? Gods, this was too precious, the demure daughter of the honourable Lord Stark pleasuring herself like a wanton woman!
The thought excited him. He pressed his fingers briefly against her softness, then tugged hard at the strings of her smallclothes until the thin laces gave in and he could push the loosened fabric aside, letting his hand roam freely over her lower belly and between her legs. Her hips jerked but he had already slid one finger down to her folds and felt their wetness. Sandor closed his eyes for a moment, his whole being concentrating on the silken feel of her cunt. Being already this wet and ready, did it mean that she actually liked it?
"Is this where you put your delicate little fingers? Is this where you rub yourself to get rid of the itch? Tell me girl, do you dream of some handsome knight or a comely squire when you do it? Do you imagine one of them on top of you, do you?" he hissed into her ear, his voice breaking from the vivid image of her slender fingers pleasuring herself.
Despite every fibre of his body telling him to release his cock from his straining breeches and plunge it into her, Sandor allowed a few more moments for just touching her, sliding his fingers up and down between her lower lips, then pressing one finger against her opening. Slowly he slid it in, feeling how her flesh yielded under his onslaught and how her muscles tensed around him. He thought he felt a bit of resistance just at her entrance but hells, that could be the tightness of her virgin cunt. Bugger if he knew anything about what maidenhood was supposed to feel like.
Still she didn't struggle, and despite being awash with a primal desire to fulfil one last time the most powerful urge driving humankind, something made Sandor stop. His heated blood coursed through his veins and his head was spinning, but he stopped. He panted, resting his jaw against the top of the girl's head.
"Do it."
Her whisper was hardly audible but not for that reason, but because he simply didn't trust his ears, Sandor pulled himself away and stared at her. "What the fuck did you just say?"
She returned his gaze, lips tightly pursed and eyes flashing. "Do it."
Sandor shook his head in bewilderment. Do what? Did the girl mean what he assumed she meant – that she wouldn't resist if he fucked her? He growled, a deep rumble from within his throat, but the girl didn't wince or turn away.
Fucking bloody seven hells!
He resumed his movements, rougher than he had intended. If the girl wanted to be fucked, hells, he was going to grant her wish! She responded to his movements, first subtly, but as he moved his finger in and out a few times, then added another, her hips bucked powerfully against his hand. Sandor towered above her, their bodies flush against each other and his beard scratching her forehead. Oddly, he thought he felt her lips on his throat but that must have been accidental, resulting from her wriggling under him. He pressed her down harder.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! He was already too close to coming, he could feel his balls tightening, and he hadn't even entered her! With shaking fingers he tugged the laces of his breeches, pulled them down just enough to release his cock from its confinement. He shifted his position and parted her legs with his knees so that he was fully in between them.
His first thrust was achingly tight – he wasn't sure he could go all the way in even if he wanted to. He wanted to, he wanted it more than anything, but something held him back. Maybe it was the way she had pulled back when his cockhead had first slipped through her folds, maybe it was the strained expression on her face. Whatever it was, he found himself by some superhuman effort holding back, avoiding the temptation to plunge in fully.
Sandor groaned. He needed more than this! He gripped his shaft and started to stroke it, the familiar pattern of his lonely years, except this time the tip of his cock entered her sweet softness with every stroke. He felt Sansa relaxing slightly under him; her hips were not so rigid anymore. After a short while, during which Sandor was sure that he would release any minute, he felt her pushing hesitantly against him, taking more of him inside her. He pushed, inch by inch, slowly, gradually, stopping every time Sansa froze under him and her cunt contracted, until he was fully sheathed within her.
Sandor couldn't understand himself. What was it to him if the girl hurt? It was supposed to hurt the first time. What he needed was a good, hard fuck on the last night of his life. That it happened to be with a maiden, and with the girl who had caught his eye many years ago and now had miraculously come within his reach once more – that was just bloody good luck, eh? Nevertheless, he recognised that he didn't want to deliberately make her suffer. He was not his brother.
He fucked her in gradually deepening thrusts, and the feel of her tightness soon had its inevitable consequences. He felt the surge, he felt the need to let go, to spurt his seed deep, deep into her. At the very last minute, however, he pulled out and after a few jerky strokes with his hand released against her stomach. She held on to his shoulders, her grip so tight that her nails bit though his tunic. Vaguely Sandor sensed that she had lifted her knees and dug her heels against the mattress for more support. Strangely, even after he pulled himself away, she moved her hips as if to follow him.
His climax lasted a long time, every last wave of it, every drop and every spasm being felt throughout his whole body. Only his mind was totally blank. Eventually Sandor pulled back and collapsed on top of her but was mindful enough to support most of his weight on his arms positioned on either side of her head. He breathed in and out; deep, exhausted lungfuls, resting his head against her shoulder. Gradually they both stilled, Sansa's movements ceasing as well.
Then he felt it.
Her hand ghosted across the back of his head, hardly touching but still there. Sandor froze, sensing her fingers against his hair. He wasn't sure if he was only imagining it, but no, the feeling was true enough. He didn't move, didn't say anything, and soon it was gone.
Sandor exhaled, only then becoming aware that he had held his breath. So. He had fucked the little bird, taken her maidenhood. Lady Lannister, she was now in truth.
After a while, during which neither of them moved, he gathered his strength and raised his upper body, glancing down at hers. Her skirts were still lifted and her legs pale and fragile against the dark, homespun fabric. His iron chains had pressed against her flesh where his hand had been, and he saw the depressions clearly, as well as the welts that had already started to form on that unblemished skin. He saw smears of blood on her thighs, and glancing at his cock saw that it, too, had traces of blood on it. Seeing it made him flinch, but he steeled himself. There was blood during the first time, that was normal.
"So, little bird. You are a woman now. Mayhap it hurt but you will have time to recover and the next time will be easier," he grumbled, rising fully to sit at the edge of the pallet. She stayed down, her face strained and her eyes flittering around as if looking for an escape. Surely she knew that she was free of his grip and could rise and leave at any time?
Sandor reached for the hem of her skirt and wiped his cock with it, then lifted his breeches and tied the laces. As the girl was still just lying there, he clumsily used the hem to wipe the blood away from her thighs and she let him. There was not much he could do about her smallclothes, their laces torn, but he lowered her skirts to cover her nakedness, smoothing the fabric by patting it awkwardly. He wished the girl would do something, say something, move, anything – and not just lie there.
He took the wineskin, swallowed deeply, then offered it to her. She looked at it, shook her head and finally shifted. She got to her feet slowly, pushed her hand through her hair and tightened the laces on her front which had loosened when Sandor had nuzzled against her chest. He realised that he hadn't even seen her breasts and for a moment he regretted that he hadn't pulled her bodice open. He was sure they were as beautiful as everything else about her. Sandor almost raised his hand to pull her back and take a look, but didn't. He had had enough. He had had too much of her already, more than he was ever supposed to.
"Go on then, run to your quarters. I have nothing else to tell you, nor to that one-eyed savage when he comes asking. He'll kill me come tomorrow, but you still have a chance. Go to the North, Stark bannermen are stubborn if nothing else and they may yet regroup. Follow my advice, choose the nastiest bastard to take up your cause and you'll be fine." Sandor didn't look at her but spoke to the dying fire.
"Or mayhap it would be better for you to go back to Littlefinger; he will be disappointed, of course, at not having been your first, but he'll recover. He'll do everything you want him to do if you handle him right." He turned to look at her now, smirking. "Just tell him that the dog got to have you first. I'm sure he'd like that."
Sansa looked at him, long and hard, her expression inscrutable. Then she turned, took her cloak from the pallet and left.
"What, not even a goodbye, no thank you for the good deed I did you?" he shouted after her retreating back but she didn't look back. The tent flap fell back into place and Sandor stared at it for a long time.