Work Text:
Some bits and pieces!
Sansa is 24, Sandor 37, Bronn 35 and Margie is 30.
I set this in Erie, PA, which is where I'm from, so all the actual locations are real places. It made it easier to write, not having to make up locations.
I've never written smut before. I've read A LOT of smut however, and well, I'm a married woman, so I do have some experience in the field so to say.
As always, my headcanons are Clive Standen and Sophie Turner, and Natalie Dormer and Jerome Flynn.
picset 1 by willowfae82
picset 2
my tumblr!
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It was New Years Eve and Sansa Stark was scourging her closet for a dress to wear to a party she did not want to go to. If she had her way, she would have spent the night in her tiny apartment, sipping white wine and going over lesson plans for the rest of the semester, not driving out to some guy she doesn't even knows house to party all night long with her co-worker Margaery. Maybe if Marge had given her more than a couple hours notice, she would have been happy to go, but she had spent the majority of her day in over-sized sweats looking up easy art projects to do with her Kindergarten class on Pinterest, yesterdays make-up smudged under her eyes and cartons of take out from Jade Garden littering her coffee table.
If Margaery Tyrell was anything, it was convincing, and it only took a few brief minutes of back and forth texts to persuade Sansa to hop in the shower and make herself look acceptable for human company. Back in college at Edinboro University, there was nothing Sansa loved more than getting all dolled up for a party, finding the perfect dress and shoe combination, spending hours perfecting her hair and makeup, and being out to all hours of the night with her girlfriends Mya and Myranda and her wonderfully perfect boyfriend Harry. This, of course, was all before she found out that Harry was a lying, cheating, asshole who had knocked some sorority girl up while they were still together, causing Sansa to break up with him and throw herself into her student teaching completely.
Living and working in Erie had been a big change from the hustle and bustle of Pittsburgh, where she had grown up. Few things could top the itself city at night, up on the Duquesne Incline, over looking the Ohio and Allegheny Rivers and the lights from the Gulf Tower, it was magical. There were other things about the city she missed, her family for one, the shopping and restaurants for another, but the local mall was stocked with department stores and she squealed for joy when H&M opened in the fall. If only Marge had given her more notice, she could have spent her morning walking around with the crowd at the Millcreek Mall, Tim Hortons in hand, finding something new to wear tonight, even on her teachers budget.
Sansa was one of the new teachers at Lawrence Park Elementary school, tucked back into a semi private wing with the two half-day pre-school classrooms and the three other Kindergarten classes. Marge worked in the special education department, focusing on speech development and reading skills, her classroom was in the same hall as Sansa's, and they shared a lunch period. Marge was the first teacher in the building to make friends with Sansa, sharing lunch room duties and being one of the younger educators in the building, and the girls had built an easy friendship outside of school over white wine and similar past relationship experiences.
Looking at the time on her phone, Sansa finally decided on going for one of her many little black dresses from her party girl days and a pair of heels her bawdy friend Myranda would of referred to as CFM's pumps. It's not that Sansa wasn't tall enough as she was, being 5'9, but there was something inherently sexy feeling about wearing these shoes, and it had been two years since Harry's betrayal, so why shouldn't she feel free to vamp herself up a bit? She kept her hair simple, lightly curled and thrown over one shoulder in a long auburn rope, added kohl rimmed eyes and multiple layers of mascara until her blue eyes popped, with a simple pink gloss and her look was complete. Not over done, it was only a house party for Christ sake, but put together enough to not feel like the complete slob she had been a few hours prior. Texting Marge one last time to confirm the address, she grabbed her purple peacoat and Coach purse before heading out to the blistering cold of a typical winter in Erie.
By the time she thought she should have reached this guy Bronn's house, Sansa had to stop and check the directions on her phone again. Marge had told her that her boyfriend lived in a rather large house out in the boondocks of the Erie suburbs off Route 5, surrounded by acres of woods and fields with only the night sky to guide the way. What she forgot to mention was that the large house was indeed a converted barn and Sansa had drove right by it three times in search for the address her friend had provided.
Once she determined that this was the actual place she was looking for, Sansa pulled into the drive way and parked beside one of the many cars lining the front lawn. Closer now to the building, she could see the twinkle of Christmas lights still hanging from the rafters of the roof and hear the pump of the bass inside the house. Unsure if she should knock or ring the door bell, she stood awkwardly for a moment outside the entrance way before the door swung open, revealing an already half tipsy Marge and a man who was undoubtedly the infamous Bronn
“Sansa! I'm so happy you came! Here, come inside, get some wine, eat something.” Her friend said, throwing her arms around the taller girl for a quick hug and then pulling her by the hand to follow her.
Marge lead her through the push and pull of the crowd of bodies filling the dimly lit living area where a DJ was set up in one corner, and more holiday lights were strung across the high ceiling beams. Shedding her coat and securing it over one arm, she followed Marge and Bronn back to where she guessed was the kitchen, scanning the crowd for anyone familiar, though it would be impossible to recognize anyone in this light.
Sansa couldn't help herself from gasping when she first noticed this man who stood head and shoulders above everyone around him, her feet firmly planting themselves in place while her eyes grew wide in curiosity and wonder. He was tall, even from the other side of the room she could tell he'd tower over her, with broad shoulder and heavily muscled arms that strained against his tshirt. His eyes were dark and had locked in contact with hers, part of her felt like she should look away, embarrassed to be caught so shamelessly gaping, but something deep within was urging her to maintain this mystery mans stare. He had a full beard, and his dark hair pulled almost lazily into a knot on the back of his head. She couldn't quite tell from the distance, but she thought there was a faint outline of scars on the left side of his face, and while that should have been scary, it only thrilled her to her core.
It was then when she felt herself getting pushed by the surging crowd, and suddenly Marge was there beside her, pulling her back from the abyss and towards the brightly lit kitchen. Her friend gave her a knowing look while taking her coat and purse from her and handing them off to Bronn to put away, while she pulled out two stemless wine glasses and poured Sansa a much needed drink. Raising her glass to clink against Marge's, Sansa took a fortifying swallow while she could feel the heat rise in her cheeks under the scrutinizing gaze of the blonde sitting across from her.
“What was that about Sansa? You looked like a deer caught in the headlights.” Marge smirked, her perfectly shaped eyebrow raised in an arching question.
“I have no idea what you're talking about Marge. I just lost sight of you.”
“Yeah, because you were making sex eyes across the room to Sandor, little red.” Bronn laughed as he walked back into the kitchen, the barn door swinging shut behind him and effectively blocking out the noise from the party.
Bronn grabbed a beer from one of the many chests littering his floor before pulling up a bar stool next to Marge, giving Sansa a “Bottoms up” and a tink to her glass, before swigging half the thing in one breath. The man had a swagger to him, Sansa thought that maybe in another life he could have been a pirate or a sell sword to some high lord somewhere, but his laugh was in good nature and the way he wrapped his free arm around Marge's shoulder before kissing her temple made Sansa feel like she shouldn't be witnessing something so intimate.
“So you know him? Mr. Tall, dark and handsome out there?” She half whispered, leaning across the island they sat around as if she were afraid somehow this man would overhear them over the continuous pump of the bass.
“Well I'll be dammed little red, I've known Sandor since high school and I don't think I've ever heard someone refer to that mug as handsome.” Bronn said, chuckling mostly to himself while taking another swig of his beer, before sputtering when Marge smacks him in the chest.
“Don't mind him. What he meant to say was yes, we know him. He actually owns this place with Bronn. They met in high school and served over seas together, right baby?” Margie smiled, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder before placing a kiss on the older mans cheek.
“Yeah yeah. We played football together in high school and ended up enlisting after graduation, spent some time in the Middle East with the same company, and both got discharged around the same time. We happened upon this place on a construction job, found out that the farmhouse burned down and was cleared away, but the barn had sewage and electric and decided to buy it on a whim. Been fixing it up as we could pay for things, still an ongoing project, at least for Sandor, Mr. Fucking Perfection.”
It was as if his ears were burning from them talking about him, because no sooner had the words left Bronn's mouth than the barn door swung open with a gust of music and a man so deliciously broad that he took Sansa's breath away, literally, as she gasped at his sudden appearance. His eyes shot darkly towards her, giving her a once over before heading to the counter cluttered with various bottles of booze, filling his glass with an amber colored liquid before placing it to his lips and tipping it back. Sansa stared at him, entranced by the thick muscles in his throat as the worked to swallow his whiskey down, his Adams apple bobbing in cadence to the beat of her heart and the throb of desire building between her legs.
“Didn't know you felt that way about me, Bronny. I'm not sure your lady over there really appreciates it.” This man, this Sandor, says over his shoulder while plinking a few cubes of ice back into his glass and refilling it from the same bottle as before.
“Deep mutual man love Sandy. I can dig it.” Marge says with a laugh and a flick of her hair.
Turning around to them completely, Sandor rests his body fully on the counter, eyes narrowed at her friend, finger pointing as he growls out “Don't fucking call me that Marge. I hate that shit.” Before turning his gaze to her, sending a shiver up her spine and a rush of wetness between her thighs, giving her a full view of the scars on his face. They are a harsh pink and red around the eye, extending into the hairline and reaching to his temple, an almost waxy quality to them that made them less terrifying than they should have been.
“Who's this?” He asked with a jerk of his chin in her direction. She was caught like a deer in headlights for a second time that night, Marge giving her a look that clearly said INTRODUCE YOURSELF STUPID.
“I'm Sansa Stark. I work with Marge at the elementary school, I teach kindergarten.” She catches his eyes with hers, watching the menacing grin spread across his face as he barks out a laugh.
“Of course you do.” Sandor says, not able to take his eyes off this beauty in front of him. She's fucking legs for days, short skirt and fuck me heels, her hair blazing under the bare bulb lights hanging in the kitchen, reminding him of the fire he fears but drawing him in all the same.
“What does that mean?” This young thing snaps back at him, crossing her arms defensively across her chest, only to increase the view of her cleavage from the scoop of her dresses neckline. He can't help himself by noticing it, he is a fucking red blooded male after all.
“What I mean is,” He says, taking a step closer to the island his friends are situated around. “You look like a fucking kindergarten teacher.”
Then she's looking up at his with doe eyes, lips parted and he can hear her quick short breaths, and just about curses out loud when the tip of her pink tongue swipes across her lips before audibly gulping. He's standing directly in front of her now, staring down at this absolute vision who caught his eye out in the dark crowd of people, illuminated by the Christmas lights Marge directed him to put up earlier in the day. Her complexion is peaches and cream, almost luminescent under these fucking lights, and she has the brightest, bluest eyes he's ever seen.
“I'm going to take that as a compliment.” She says demurely, sipping from her wine glass like the proper fucking lady she probably is.
“Don't really know if I meant it as one,” Sandor says, gauging her reaction before adding. “Aren't you a little young to be teaching? You look like a college kid.”
“Sansa is 24. It's her first year in the school district, I've taken her under my wing so to say.” Marge intercedes on her friends behalf, half smile playing on her lips as she pours the other girl more wine first, and then some for herself.
“I take satellite classes with the university, I'm working on my Masters in Education. But what's the degree but a piece of paper if I have no experience?” Sansa says with a shrug of her shoulders. It draws his attention of the pale skin there, and he fights the desire to do is run his finger down her arm, wonders if she would shudder from his touch.
The sound of Bronn laughing loudly followed by a quick smack on the chest by Marge brings him back to reality, standing in the kitchen while the damned party goes on in full swing outside the door. He had only intended to come in to refill his drink, and maybe discover who the red head was if he lucked upon Marge, but all plans flew out the fucking window when he heard her throaty gasp as he walked through the door. The sound had made him half hard, his thoughts darkly wondering how to get her to repeat that noise, thankfully the liquor he'd already consumed was enough to keep the bulge in his jeans from being too noticeable.
“I think we should get back out there baby. There's a party going on and someone needs to play gracious host.” Marge says, shooting a pointed look his way before standing up and adjusting her skirt, dragging Bronn off his bar stool and giving a small wave to Sansa.
“So, I gave you my name, care to share yours?” Sansa says, leaning against the counter top while looking up at him through her dark lashes.
Sandor looks at her for one contemplative moment, because he knows undoubtedly that once she hears his last name, she'll immediately recognize it and know exactly the sob story that is his life. Breathing deeply, he lets out a frustrated sigh before lowering himself into one of the empty bar stools and scrubbing a hand down the good side of his face.
“Sandor. Sandor Clegane.” He says, extending his hand to shake her much smaller one. If she recognized the name, she made no noticeable reactions as she grasped his hand in hers.
“Nice to meet you Sandor.” He lets his fingers linger on the softness of her skin for a moment as she maintains eye contact and flashes a bright, white, dazzling smile. Clearing his throat, he let go of her hand before taking another swig of his whiskey.
“So, you said your last name is Stark, as in Stark Steel in Pittsburgh?” He asks with feigned curiosity, because he doesn't even need her to confirm it, a last name like that means she can hardly be anyone else.
“It's my father business, yes. I grew up in Pittsburgh, but I moved up here to go to college at Edinboro, they have a fantastic education department. I did my student teaching at the school I work for now, and I realized that as much as I miss the city, the small town feel of this area draws me in.” She's earnest with the way she talks about this place she now calls home, and he understands her completely, not originally being from Erie himself.
Sandor and Bronn had both grown up down south before joining the military after high school, the same little dusty Texas town where football was a way of life and everyone knew everything about absolutely everyone else. After being discharged from the Army, they both decided to settle somewhere far away from the shit hole country town they grew up in, Sandor in search of anonymity from his cursed surname, and Bronn because getting the fuck outta dodge had been a life long dream. Of course there was no escaping the last name Clegane, not with a face like his and a brother so notoriously known for his crimes across the country, but Erie was a pleasant place, despite it's biting cold winters and more snow than he'd ever seen in fucking his life.
“Bronn and I run a construction business, we've been contracted with Stark Steel before, nice people, good products. The reinforced beams in this place are actually Stark products.” He said with a laugh. “So, did ole' Bronn give you the tour of the place? The living space is obviously a little full right now, but there's plenty more to been seen.”
Sansa shakes her head no, and says she'd love to see the place, never being in a converted barn before, so Sandor leads her down the dark hallway that leads to the loft area used as their office space, and the basement that was once cattle stalls. She laughs and smiles as he tells stories of the work they've done in here and there, knows her fair share about construction, which is no surprise after learning about her fathers business. The loft space isn't that exciting, not when he starts telling her about the gutted basement and all the work they put into their personal living spaces.
With his glass of whiskey in hand and trying to keep his thoughts from the dangerous places they are going, they make their way down to the concrete and recycled wood basement. It's warm from the radiant floor heating they installed, and it's enough to increase that fuzzy buzz feeling from the whiskey. He thinks it would be so easy to push her up against one of these walls, kissing her, touching her, making her shudder under his attentions, he's overly cautious with women, having been played one too many times. He knows he's impressive to look at, his body is something he's taken pride in, but even that hasn't been enough to make a women stay, not with his face the way it is. He's certain Sansa has been flirting with him, the coy smiles and interest in his handiwork around the house, but he won't be the one to make the first move.
Sandor leads her back to the furthest room in the basement, pushing open the door and flicking on the lights, before setting the almost empty tumbler of whiskey on a self. Sansa's eyes go wide as she enters the room, his personal space that even Bronn has only entered a handful of times, blush creeping across her cheeks when her eyes land on the big bed at one end, and he can't help but notice the way she clenches her thighs together at the same time. It makes him laugh, before pointing to the over sized couch and the TV mounted on the wall, inviting her to sit down while he turns on the screen and settles on some New Years count down with Ryan Seacrest.
“If you don't mind me asking, how old are you? Marge so willingly offered up my age earlier, I'm just curious about yours now Sandor.” Sansa said, leaning back into the couch and pulling her feet up beneath her, those fuck me heels still on.
“Old.” Sandor offers before Sansa playfully swats his arm, telling him he knows what she meant. “I just turned 37. So I'm old little bird.”
“Little bird?” She asks with a quirk of her eyebrow, grin on her face.
“Yes, little bird. You chirp, all the nice things you have to say about the craftsmanship of our work, all your knowledge of the construction industry, probably all sweet words you learned at home, no doubt to spew to investors you'd meet at company functions for your fathers benefit. A perfectly trained little bird.”
She looks taken back by the venom lacing his words, and he instantly regrets acting the way he just did, probably ruining any chance of anything between them now. But she composes herself, shrugging her shoulders and gulping down the last of her wine before setting the glass gingerly on the side table.
“Of course I learned about construction from my father. Only because I wanted to though, not because they made me.” Sansa said, reaching out and grasping his large hand in her own, running her fingers over the calloused skin of his palm. “Are you so unused to compliments that you feel the need to snap at every one?”
“Not too many compliments get thrown my way.” He said, pulling his hand away from hers because if she keeps touching him, he's going to loose what little self control he's holding onto right now.
Sansa bites her bottom lip in thought, tugging on it with her perfect white teeth and it almost makes him groans out loud, something so innocent being so fucking sexy. She looks back over at him contemplatively, before standing up and browsing his bookshelves, running her finger over the spines of worn out novels and giggling to herself while pulling out a book and turning back to him excitedly.
“James Patterson? You read James Patterson novels?” She said with a giggle, holding the latest book in the Alex Cross series to her chest.
“Is that a problem, little bird? Alex Cross is the fucking man, he takes on all sorts of bad guys, saves his family from every evil.” Sandor said, jumping to his feet and grasping his copy of Hope to Die from Sansa hands as she keeps on laughing at him, clearly amused by his impassioned defense of the fictional detective.
He takes notice of how close they are standing, here with this book between them, and suddenly Sansa does too, her eyes lingering down his frame and her laughing stopping completely. Her breath is coming out in ragged puffs, and he's so close that he can feel the heat her body emanates, or maybe it's just the electricity between them that he's sensing. Slowly, Sandor returns the book back to the shelf before turning back to Sansa, stepping into that last sliver of space between them, her back pressed fully into the wall as he places one hand above her head, and the other one on the dip and curve of her waist. Sansa moans, actually fucking moans, at the physical contact before raising her head up and smiling wickedly at him, snaking her arm around his neck and pulling him down to press her lips fully to his.
It takes Sandor a whole five seconds to actually respond to her kiss, despite the fact that he was the one that trapped her against the wall. His initial reaction is timid, pressing his lips back to hers, but making no effort to deepen the lingering kiss, so Sansa takes matters into her own hands. With a gentle swipe of her tongue to his bottom lip, she begs him entrance, and his will gives way to the softness of her hot, wet mouth on his. Sandor tastes like whiskey and mint, and if the wine didn't already have her head buzzing, the intoxicating way his mouth moved with hers would have done the trick.
Sandor takes over the kiss, pushing and pulling with his tongue, his hands roaming her body as she gasps and sighs into him. His teeth are nibbling on her lower lip, tugging and sucking as she reaches behind him to release the tie from his hair, grasping a thick handful to keep him in place, to keep his mouth on hers. Just when Sansa thinks there's no way they could possibly get closer, he reaches down and hooks his elbow beneath her right knee, pulling it up as he pushes himself flush against her, the skirt of her dress rising up the expanse of her thigh. She gasps as she feels his erection pressing fully on her center, a fresh wave of wetness hitting her, and an amount of pride swelling in her as she realizes that she's turned him on this much already. It's his turn to moan as she grinds herself up against his hardness, capturing his lip between her teeth as he rocks his hips into hers.
He pulls away from her then, leaving the contact of their lower bodies intact as he looks her in the eye, looking for some sort of signal to continue their course of path. Holding his gaze, she smiles and rocks her hips back into his, causing them both to moan with a sense of pleasure, and that's all the confirmation he seems to need. Grabbing her underneath the left knee, he hefts her up into his arms, and on instinct she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders while her buries his head into her shoulder, sucking and nipping at the exposed skin there as he walks them slowly back to his bed. One moment he's palming her ass, and the next she's being tossed onto the center of the bed, breathless and full of desire for this man in front of her.
“This isn't something I do often, little bird.” Sandor admits almost regretfully while climbing onto the bed, crawling up to where she's laying, his gray eyes taking in her mused hair and swollen lips.
“It's not something I do often either. I'm more of a long term, commitment type.” Sansa said as she spreads her legs and gives Sandor room to settle himself between them, thrusting her hips up to meet his while he groans lowly in the back of his throat.
“You don't seem the type to have a one night stand, little bird.” Sandor said with a chuckle, his lips finding that spot on her neck that made her squirm just minutes before. “If you're willing to give me a chance, I promise it'll be much more than tonight.”
“We can start with breakfast in the morning.” Is her only reply before she starts tugging at the back of his t-shirt.
Unable to remove it herself, Sandor sits up and reaches behind his head, pulling to cotton over his head in one swift motion, revealing the hard expanse of muscle that are his chest and shoulders, dark hair covering his chest and extending down under the waist of his jeans. She can three black hounds chasing a lioness tattooed in black ink across his shoulders when he turns to chuck his shirt away from the bed, and she reminds herself to ask about that later. Sansa reaches out and runs her nails down the ridged lines of his abs, watching in amazement as he sucks in a breath which only defines the lines even more. Little bird he groans, grasping the tops of her thighs to give them a slight squeezing before pulling her up into the sitting position, kissing her hard as he fumbles with the zipper of her dress, finally getting it free and pushing the offending item down and off her shoulders as Sansa reaches around to free herself of the strapless bra she's wearing.
He leans her back onto the bed, tugging her dress down her hips as she lifts her ass so he can pull it off completely. Within seconds she's laying there in just a pair of black lace panties and her black heels, her rapid breathing pushing her bare breasts up in offering to Sandor, who's eyeing them up with a lick of his lips before leaning down and kissing her softly on the lips, unhurriedly moving to her cheek, then to where he gives a long lick to the white hallow of her neck, making her shudder underneath him. She can feel him smile into her skin, and then he's tracing his tongue to the tip of her right breast, circling her dusty pink nipple before slipping it into his mouth and sucking on it hard. His right hand reaches up to cup her left breast, and she arches her back as he repeatedly bites the flesh in his mouth and soothes it with a swipe of his tongue.
Her moans are becoming louder, and her hips grinding into his chest, trying to get some friction into the area where she most needs it. Releasing her breast from the attentions of his mouth, Sandor leans himself on his elbows, looking down at her before putting his weight on one arm, reaches between her open legs with his right hand and runs his forefinger down the damp piece of lace covering her slit. Sansa's hips jump at the contact, and while she's panting heavy it's Sandor who moans out loud, cupping his hand over her mound while rubbing her over her panties.
“Fucking hell little bird. You're soaked down there. All this for me?”
“I've been turned on since the moment I laid eyes on you tonight.” Sansa whimpers as Sandor works his fingers against her.
Leaning in to kiss her neck, then moving down to circle one nipple and then the other, he kisses the flesh of her stomach as his fingers hook under he edges of the flimsy lace, pulling them free of her legs. Sansa reaches down to kick off the remaining high heels she's wearing, before Sandor stills her hand and tells her to leave them on, that if she's going to wear the fuck me heels that she's definitely going to get fucked with them on. It's the most erotic thing a man has ever said to her, she gulps as she tells him okay, and before she has time to think he's throwing her legs over his shoulders and she can feel his warm breath on her most private parts before he gives a firm lick up her center.
Sansa cries out, fisting the sheets as Sandor works her over with his mouth, focusing on that bundle of nerves that is causing shocks to echo through her body, pricks of pleasure rising as the scruff of his beard rubs her raw. Sandor runs a finger through her slickness, while lapping away on her clit, and slides the digit in her slowly, her body feels stretched but not full enough. His movements are deliberate, the slow slide of his finger compared to the rapid way his tongue is attacking her nub, but she can feel the pressure building, and rocks her hips against Sandor's mouth to get to that peak that's just out of reach. Sandor seems to notice her movements, and adds a second finger inside her while increasing his pace.
“So close... Sandor, please.” She whimpers, right on the edge of bliss when Sandor wraps his lips around her clit and sucks. It's enough to send her over the edge, and her back arches off his bed while he continues his administrations, helping her to ride out the wave of after shocks as long as her body will allow her. She finally tugs his hair, pulling him up and out of her, and there's a devilish gleam in his eyes as he pulls her jelly legs off his shoulders.
He crawls back up the bed to lie next to her as she recovers from her orgasm, kissing her with a fierce desire and she's not at all repulsed by by the taste of her on his mouth, it mixes so well with the lingering whiskey that she thinks his kisses should always taste like that. The urgency is still there, his hands roaming her body, continuing his previous explorations, and when she finally has the strength to lift her head fully off the bed, he's pulling her to him, crushing her chest to his, the friction made by the hair there enough to cause a fresh wave of wetness in the spot his fingers so recently inhabited.
It's then that she realizes that in her post orgasm haze, he's shed his jeans and is in a pair of black boxer briefs that do nothing to conceal the hardness within. She pulls herself away from him gingerly, letting her eyes roam his body and Sansa is unsure if she's surprised by the size of him, even if she can't fully see it, because Sandor's a big man everywhere else and deep down she'd have been disappointed if he didn't match up in this department. He catches her looking at him, and his eyes grow very serious for a moment, before throwing himself flat on his back and rubbing his hand across his face.
“Sansa. I feel like a fucking idiot for even feeling like I should ask, but.. you're not a virgin are you?” He asks, peaking at her from under his fingers. She want's to laugh about it, tell him of course not, but then she realizes that she appreciates that he's even thinking of her like that.
“No Sandor. I lost my virginity at 18, to my ex boyfriend Harry. I've been with one other guy since then I broke up with him two years ago. But thank you for asking.” She says, placing a sweet kiss on his lips while running her fingers through the hair on his chest, pushing at the waist band on his briefs, urging him to lift his hips so she can shimmy them down his legs.
With kick of his feet, the briefs land somewhere near the pile of their clothes at the foot of his bed, and he reaches into his nightstand and pulls out a condom. Sansa stops him for a moment, running her hand up the length of him, and he groans when she wraps her hand around his hardness, giving him a quick pump while he grows even harder than he was previously. She's amazed by the smoothness of him, a contrast to the thick, coarse hair covering the lower half of his body, and she settles into a steady rhythm while places kisses on his chest, his neck, his mouth, anywhere she can reach. He let's her keep up her pace for a few minutes, his breathing becoming shallow and the groans, grunts and curses egging her on.
“Little bird. If you keep this up, I'll never get inside you.” He near growls, grabbing her wrist and stopping her motions.
Sansa just smiles at him, rolling away from him as her grabs the discarded condom, before tearing the package open and sliding it over his manhood. Sandor crawls back to where she's laying, her knees bent and spread open for him to fit between, settling himself into position. With a hand on her hip and the other on his member, he rubs the length of her slit, brushing her sensitive clit with the head of his dick before lining it up with her entrance. Sansa can feel him linger there, and she looks back up at him, nodding her head and thrusting her hips up as he enters her slowly. She's not a virgin, but there's more pain there then she really expected, and she winces enough for him to pull out just a bit.
“You okay Sansa?” He asks, and she responds by wrapping her legs around him and digging her heels into his ass, guiding him back into her.
Sandor presses himself into her with a new reassurance, stretching her to the fullest she's ever been, and when he's buried to the hilt he stops his movement completely, letting Sansa adjust for a moment before pulling back out, and the plunging back in with a snap of his hips. Sansa reaches her arms up to wrap around his neck, but Sandor has other ideas as he grabs them with his own hands and pins them to the sides of the bed. Its a gasp of shock, and instant arousal, with him taking complete control of the situation, and he bends his head down to catch her lips in a brutal, searing kiss. Sansa feels the pressure starting to build up again, and starts matching his rhythm thrust for thrust, lost in the passion of his kiss and the feeling of how full he makes her.
It's not long before she's balancing on that edge, whines coming from her lips, throaty moans and noises she didn't even know she could make escaping her mouth as Sandor continued to pump into her with a force unlike one she's ever experienced before. Sansa wraps her legs tighter around him, her high heels dug deep into his ass, and she's certain he'll have bruises there in the morning. She's knows he can feel it, the way her inner walls are starting to clench around him, and so he releases her hands and reaches down between them at their joining, and starts furiously rubbing on her clit. Just a few circular motions is all it takes, and with a blinding white light behind her eyes, she comes with a near scream as she falls apart completely, Sandor not to far behind her, his hips losing all rhythm as he comes with what could be describe as a roar, finally collapsing in a heap as he rolls them onto his back.
How long they lay there, she don't really know, but the after glow of their coupling has them both in a daze. Sandor moves first, sliding himself completely out of her and getting up to toss the used condom into the trash bin, and Sansa can't help but pout at the sudden loss of him there, but when he grabs a blanket off the back of his couch and wraps her up with him after pulling her shoes off for her, she feels safe and like in time she could love him, and he could love her too.
They fall asleep there, wrapped up in his blanket, and when Sansa wakes again she finds Sandor with his fingers between her legs, lightly stroking her where she aches for him. This time though, Sandor pulls her on top of him, letting her ride him nice and slow, meeting her with thrusts in a sensuous way that has her falling apart all over again.
When they've finished, Sandor actually pulls the sheets back, crawls under them with Sansa wrapped in his arms, and she then realizes that the bumping bass that's be in the background all night is now missing, and it must be the new year. Already half asleep, she mumbles “Happy New Year” into Sandor's chest, and her heart jumps at his deep rumbling “Happy New Year, little bird.” as she dozes off into a full sleep.
The last time she wakes up, there's light peaking in from the half window above the bed. Sansa snuggles back against the warm, muscular body behind her, trapped between Sandor's strong arms as she lulls in and out of sleep. She feels his manhood, hard and thick, nestled between the cleft of her ass, and she grinds herself down on it, and by the way his hands grasp her hips to still her motions and pull away from her, she knows he's awake too.
“So fucking eager. Let me get a condom little bird, and then I'll give it to you however you want it.” Sandor whispers hotly into her ear, causing her to shudder in building anticipation.
Crawling out from under the covers to boost herself up on all fours, ass up in the air and bearing herself completely to him. When he turns back to her, she hears him groan out loud, the words “Oh fuck me” coming out as he grasped her ass, running his calloused hand over her smooth skin, giving it a light smack that made her squeal in delight.
“No Sandor. You're fucking me.” Sansa says, looking over her shoulder at him as he's entering her, causing Sandor to roll his head back with a groan, grasping her hip tightly at the feeling of this new angle, wrapping one arm around her middle to play with her nub as he slides in and out of her.
When they are both completely stated, they lay there with Sansa's head on Sandor chest, her fingers running through his chest hair, and his mouth nuzzling the top of her head, placing lazy kisses on her crown as he traces circles in her skin. Sansa then remembers his back tattoo, the three dogs and the lioness, and asks him about it. He considers her for a moment, motions stilling on her arm as he sits up and turns his back to her. Sansa runs her fingers over the line work, the broad expanses of his shoulders smooth and warm, though she notices the goosebumps that raise on his neck when she touches him, and smiles at this power she has over him.
“My grandfather used to work as a field guide, taking rich old men on Safaris over in Africa. There was a man he frequently traveled there with, a fellow named Tytos Lannister, who had this huge things for lions, it was a symbol his family used for everything. On a safari they got between a lioness and her cubs, and she went after Tytos, a fucking idiot who had left his riffle in the truck, my grandfathers three hounds chased the lioness off but lost their lives in the process, and Tytos Lannister owed his life to my grandfather. It was my favorite story to hear as a kid, so I got it commemorated in ink when I turned 18. Just about the only happy story you'll hear about the Clegane's though little bird.”
Sansa leans in to kiss him again, long and deep this time, expressing the new found emotions caused by this man. Sandor cups her face with his large hands, kissing her back, but this time it tender, filled with what could be love instead of the lust fueled kisses they had shared last night. When she finally pulls back, she rests her forehead against his, running her fingers over the ruin of the left side of his face, and when he flinches she vows to herself to get that story out of him next.
“We'll have to make our own happy stories then, won't we Sandor?” She says and he laughs, leaning in to grab her lips in his own again, smiling against them when she mumbles something about that breakfast he owes her.
By the time Marge wakes up, it's nearly 10, but then again she was up until 2am, her and Bronn deciding to fuck on the kitchen island after all the guests had left and they couldn't find Sandor. They did eventually make it back to his room, falling into a heap on his bed as the slept off the booze they had been drinking all night.
As she laid there with Bronn's arm thrown possessively across her body, she realized she hadn't seen Sansa since they left her alone in the kitchen with Sandor, not once seeing her in the sea of bodies that crowded her boyfriends makeshift dance floor. Sliding out from under Bronn's arm, she found her purse and pulled out her cell phone, noting the missed calls from he parents and the text message from her brother Loras, who was on a second honeymoon with his husband Renly and couldn't make it out to the party. None of the text messages in her inbox were from Sansa however, so sliding on her robe, she decided it was time to do some investigation.
She padded quietly down the hallway, past the stairwell that led to the basement and Sandor's room, out through the kitchen and into the living area. It was a mess still, twinkle lights hanging from the rafters and empty red plastic cups littering the floor, beer bottles lining the shelves and she even found a pair of red women's underwear in a house plant, shuddering in disgust and reminding herself that every inch of this room would need sprayed down with Lysol. Peeking out the front window, she held back her squeal of excitement when she saw the Jeep Grand Cherokee she knew to be Sansa's sitting in the spot she had parked it in the line of cars last night, the yellow and black parking tag for their school hanging from the rear view mirror as confirmation.
Hurrying herself back into the kitchen, she opened the coat closet in the hallway where Bronn had stowed Sansa's things, mouthing a yes when the bright purple peacoat and Coach purse were still present and accounted for. Hoping for the best, Marge walked down the hallway to the stairwell that led down stairs, tiptoeing her way to the basement, wishing for once Sandor had left the door opened enough for her to sneak a peek inside. Marges heart jumped to her throat when she saw that the door had in fact not been pulled tightly shut, and she snuck a loook into this mystery room, one she was never invited into, to see an empty, unmade bed and a pile of clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor. She pumped her fist in the air with silent victory, when she heard the en-suite shower turn on and the unmistakable laugh of Sansa Stark ring out.
“Sandor. Sandor stop. I'm trying to get clean.”
“I'm just gonna get you dirty again little bird.”
Marge turned tail and booked it upstairs when she heard the water turn back off and the sounds of throaty moans coming from the bathroom, not needing to hear any part of her dear friends sex life. She half walked, half ran to Bronn's room, throwing the door closed behind her, leaning against it with a sly grin when she notices Bronn sitting up in bed, a questioning look on his face.
“Okay doll face, what's up?” He says, catching her grin and knowing it must mean something.
“Remember when I told you that we had to introduce Sandor to Sansa, and you kept putting it off because.. well, you're you?” Marge asks, making her way back to the bed, discarding her robe along the way.
“Yeah yeah, which is why you wanted me to throw this party in the first place. So they could meet, since you knew your friend had nothing better to do but sit at home all night.”
“Well, let's just say I was totally right about them hitting it off.”
“Whatcha mean honey? We couldn't find Sandor anywhere last night, figured the son of a bitch decided to brood down in his den of despair.” Bronn said with a shrug of his shoulders, opening his arms for Marge to nestle down into. She didn't take note of the wicked grin on his face, or the knowledgeable twinkle in his eye.
“What I mean is, I didn't see Sansa at all last night, not after the kitchen. So I did some detective work. Her cars still parked out front, coats and purse hanging up in the closet, and when I just snuck downstairs-”
“You snuck downstairs? Who the fuck are you, Alex Cross?” Bronn cuts her off, and she shoves his arms off from around her.
“Are you really comparing me to a character from a James Patterson novel? Right now, when I'm trying to tell you Sansa spent the night with your moody best friend? Jesus Bronn, it's not like I went into the room or anything, just peeked inside and saw their clothes. I came back up here when I could hear their moans from inside his bathroom.” Marge says with an exasperated sigh.
“First of all, Alex Cross is the fucking man, it's a compliment to be compared to him. Second off, fucking hell Marge, I don't need to hear about Sandor's sex life when I actually heard them fucking last night. I was trying to get that memory out of my head, but now it's gonna be ingrained there thanks to you, Miss Detective.”
“Wait. You heard them last night? Where was I?” Marge says in confusion, wondering how she could miss something so obvious.
“After we came back to the room, I'd left my phone in the kitchen. I could hear the moans coming from the basement, checked the closet, and put two and two together. You're not the only one who can snoop in this place sweetheart.” He says with a wild grin, pulling her close and kissing her soundly.
Marge wanted to protest, to tell him that she needed to go seek Sansa out and get all the dirty details, but Bronn's mouth was way too good at convincing her to spend the rest of the morning tangled up together in bed, thinking she'd just have to get the details from her friend at a different time.