Chapter Text
Sansa
A cool night’s breeze whirled through her bedroom, giving Sansa cause to stirr in her half sleep. Autumn had come to King’s Landing. The days were warm, she could still wear her silks, but the nights had become cold. No longer accustomed to the freezing temperatures of the North, Sansa shivered when the fresh air met her skin, prompting her to take a deep breath while she searched for her blankets. Her hands tentatively moved across the bed, venturing further and further from her body in a vain attempt to locate an extra bit of warmth against the night air. Her efforts were all for naught, as a huge arm wrapped around her, pulling her to the center of her bed and back to the man who had been sleeping there.
Smiling at his gesture, Sansa turned to face his massive chest, searching out the crook of his neck with her cheek and settling flush with his body. He was a man cast in the form of a god, the statues in the sept were a testament to that. As such, he radiated warmth, so much so that it didn’t matter where that silly blanket had wandered off to. The blood in his veins ran warmer than the Dornish summer, threatened to have her break a sweat though she lay together nude with him. That heat, combined with his large arm around her, was all that she needed. Breathing in his spicy scent, Sansa threw her leg over his, wincing slightly when the apex of her thighs came into contact with the hard muscles of his upper leg.
It didn’t go unnoticed.
“I told you.” Came Sandor’s raspy, yet playful voice from the darkness.
Sansa rolled her eyes at his words, knowing he couldn’t see them in the blackness of the room. He was referring to something he had told her earlier in the night, as she had urged him to couple with her once again. She blushed a deep red remembering what they had done that evening. Her change in skin tone was not because she was in any way ashamed of it — not anymore. It was because the very thought of laying with him as they were now, filled her belly with the ever more familiar feeling of desire. Sexual desire.
Sandor Clegane was a bull, muscled and full of energy. Their coupling had been vigorous and long, mostly at her urging. For once they had started she couldn’t get enough of it. Neither could he.
At first she had been afraid of what he might do and how it would feel to be taken by her husband in the marriage bed. As a woman at court you heard things. Sometimes these things were enthralling, other times they were scary. But her fears had evaporated soon enough. Sandor was, much to her great surprise, an attentive lover. There would have been no way to know that by watching him at court. Sansa smirked into his chest as she considered all the other things that she could not have known from seeing him standing sentinel behind the King.
Calloused fingertips deftly rubbed her naked back and shoulders, immediately sending even more warmth throughout her body. She sighed and snuggled in closer, though any logical person would have seen it was impossible to do so.
“You’ll get used to it with time.” He said his words with a bit of smugness that was tangible in the darkness of the night.
There was nothing she could argue against, after what they had done that evening and how often they had done it, he had every right to be proud of himself. Never in a million years or in a thousand dreams could Sansa have realized that a man like Sandor Clegane could show her such tenderness and caring. That he would inspire a lust in her so deep that she would now find her woman’s place raw to the touch. She ran her hand through his thick rug of chest hair and hoped that her body would adjust to him soon. So hopeful and lost in thought on the subject as she was, she didn’t notice her hand had traveled lower, down his stomach and to his belly button.
“You’re playing with fire woman.” He warned, softly taking her wrist into his large palm and stopping it from traveling below his waist.
“I thought you said you couldn’t any more. With words like that a girl should think herself safe.” Sansa was challenging him on purpose of course, knowing he was naturally competitive.
A growl emanated through his chest to the point that she could feel it in hers as well. “What I said was,” he paused for emphasis, “I couldn’t in that moment.”
Sandor took the opportunity to roll on top of her, his weight giving her a sense of calm and security. He nipped at her jawline and pulled one of her arms around his neck. “But we’re no longer in that moment are we?”
Now he was taunting her, calling her bluff. To think that hours before she would have been too afraid of him to even speak seemed silly now. To think that she had considered taking her own life even more so. Allowing him access to her neck and spreading her legs apart so as to feel the hardened caress of his ample manhood better, Sansa took a moment to run her fingers over the muscles of his shoulders and back. Their tips took in every peak and every valley.
Casually she reached out to the bedside table, dipping her hand into the small and still opened jar that stood there. In all honesty she did not know what the jar contained, only that the cream helped her take his size more easily. Without a word she reached between them and slathered it along his length, gripping him as firmly as her little hand could. He exhaled roughly in response. She knew he liked it. Sansa was proud of herself for learning what he liked so quickly, for pleasing him as she had that night. Ever since she had come to King’s Landing she had dreamed of being treated like a woman, but had been kept a girl. A thing to be stored and then looked at when the time was right. This behavior had taken any power she could have had away from her, it had stifled her confidence even moreso.
Being with Sandor had changed that, had slowly began to instill a confidence in her that she had not known was there. The King’s loyal servant treated her like a woman, desirable and worthy of love. Against all odds, and what she knew of him, he was kind. His beard tickled her chest eliciting a small giggle from her mouth. Sandor made her feel girlish again, turned back time to a moment where she had been happy. Pulling back his foreskin and swirling her fingers around the head of his cock a bit gave the desired effect.
His voice was throaty, “Seems I have a nymph in this bed instead of a lady.”
She moaned lightly in agreement.
Sandor’s lips came over her breasts as he spoke, “You won’t be able to sit right in court tomorrow. You know that don’t you?”
“Mayhaps.” She whispered, arching her back toward his lips. “But I’ll have a smile on my face thinking about why that is.”
He chuckled at her words and it suited him. In all the time she had known the Hound, Sansa could not recall him ever smiling or laughing, if it wasn’t out of spite or anger. But this night had been different. She had seen many sides of Sandor that she was sure nobody was accustomed to, his true smile being the one she held most dear. She was such a good girl after all, a dutiful one. For Sansa had only done what his Grace the King had wished of her.