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Sansa Stark had a huge problem.
It all started two weeks ago, when she broke up with Joffrey. Well, actually it all started a year and a half ago when she first met him. In the beginning he’d seemed perfect. Well mannered with shining golden hair and gleaming green eyes. Sansa had fallen for his gallant tricks. It had only taken around a month before the two had started dating.
With her new boyfriend had come a new set of friends. Well, not friends. More like employees. Joffrey hung around with his grandfather’s employees almost every single day. The group was composed mostly of the company’s security team as well as the pretty secretary. The secretary, Margaery, was of course Joffrey’s favourite. Sansa had come to form a real friendship with her overtime, and she’d stayed in her life ever since then. Meryn Trant and Boros Blount shadowed Joffrey constantly, probably in the hopes of gaining some kind of favor through the boss’s grandson. The head of security, Joffrey’s Lannister uncle Jaime, had anointed the scowling Sandor Clegane as Joffrey’s personal guard. Which meant the man was around constantly, his tall form following in Joffrey's pathetic shadow. He was also the only one beside Margaery that Sansa had kept in her life after Joffrey.
And he was Sansa’s eyesore. Not because of his scars, because Sansa had grown used to them in a matter of weeks. No. The scars were simply a part of him. He had originally become her eyesore because he was horrible. He was grumpy and growling, always snarky and mean. He acted as if simply by existing Sansa had offended his very being. But once Sansa had started seeing the real side of Joffrey, Sandor’s unpleasantries had transformed in her eyes from spitefulness to the truth; that he was trying to warn her, to protect her, in his own stupid way. From then on Sansa started feeling attracted to him. He became her eyesore because she slowly but surely fell for him while still dating his client, Joffrey Baratheon. Every time she saw Sandor, she had to work hard not to let her feelings show. He’d look down his nose at her and say something witty with that small curl to his lips, and Sansa would have to excuse herself because she could feel the blush creeping up her neck to settle brightly on the apples of her cheeks.
Her crush on him was hopeless. There was no way he would ever feel the same way. Scars or not, the man had a hidden charisma that came forth once you got to know him. Sansa was sure he was swarmed by women, and the thought made her sick with jealousy. Sometimes, though, she would think back on every little thing he’d done for her, every little thing he’d said to her. And she’d wonder if there was something more behind his actions. She wondered if he was playing with her. Stringing her along. Maybe he thought there was some mutual agreement between them. Or maybe she was reading into things too much, going slowly insase with her constant musings. Sansa was oblivious to the truth and desperate for an answer.
She wasn't sure why she’d stuck around Joffrey after he’d shown her his true colors. Every day started with his snide comments about her clothing choices. He tried his very best to control everything she did. The best he liked parading her around town like some shining trophy hanging off of his lean arm. He wanted everyone to look at her, but when they did, he’d get mad at her for it. Behind closed doors he’d call her a whore or an attention seeker. Moving in with him had probably not been her best idea.
With time, things only got worse. Degrading and insulting her with only words got boring for Joffrey. He started acting more forcefully during sex. He’d suggest things and when Sansa would say no, he’d do them anyway, whether she submitted to him or he had to hold her down for it. She hadn’t considered it rape, since she was his girlfriend. But every time after he’d finished and would fall asleep, Sansa would lie naked amongst the cool sheets for hours, listening to his quiet snores, feeling dirty. Feeling tainted. Feeling like she needed to crawl out of her own skin. But Joffrey had been her first real boyfriend, and the first man she had ever slept with. For a long time she’d thought that was what sex was supposed to be like.
But with Sandor, she had discovered something. It was innocent and harmless, though it also felt like a dangerous simmer right under the surface. A pleasant swirling in the pit of her stomach that wormed its way up her gullet and clouded her brain. She felt misty eyed whenever she’d have a conversation with him. Her eyelids would blink slow and heavy when he’d lean in - ever so slightly - to whisper something trivial or something completely inappropriate in her ear. When he stood close enough, Sansa could feel the heat radiating off of him, seeping through her shirt and penetrating her skin. With only his presence he made her feel drunk. High, even. And Joffrey had never made her feel like that. That was her first clue.
Two weeks ago Joffrey had taken her out to dinner. His birthday would be the next day and he’d made clear that spending it with her was not a priority. Despite this she’d dressed up in her best dress and donned her nicest heels, twisted her long auburn hair in a neat bun at the back of her neck. While she had been getting ready she had wondered why she was putting so much effort on her malevolent boyfriend, but later realised she’d known Sandor would be there at the end of the night to escort her home. It had all really been for Sandor, not Joffrey. Which was why Joffrey’s sneering and judging glares hadn’t felt as bad as they usually did.
Joffrey had swallowed his appetisers with healthy amounts of wine to wash it down. During the main course he’d ordered more Arbor Gold to go alongside his half drunk glass of Dornish Strongwine. By the time dessert was served, he had been drunk off his ass. But even when inebriated, Joffrey was as cruel as on a good sober day. He’d paid the bill to the round cheeked waiter with mousy hair before he’d dragged her outside by a painful grip on her wrist.
He’d started with screaming. That’s how he alway started things. But that night he’d escalated. Sansa wasn’t even sure why he had been so mad, but his wormy lips had formed insult after insult while his bloodshot eyes burned with hate. All she had registered was his long pale finger, pointing at her accusingly while he called her every nasty name under the sun. And then he’d hit her. He’d never hit her before. No one had. Not like this. Arya’s slaps from their childhood held no comparison to the sting that spread over her jaw then.
She’d been capable of simply turning her head back to stare at him, her eyes filling with tears as she had tried to understand what she’d done to earn that. In his eyes she’d found nothing but loathing. When he’d pulled his hand back to take another hit, slightly swaying on his drunken legs, Sansa had swung out her own hand and slapped him across the face with all her might. She was a wolf! No one could treat her like that. She was only angry it had taken her so long to realise it.
Joffrey had almost hit the ground due to the impact. If Sansa hadn’t been so hurt she would have laughed. Instead she'd screamed right in his face before turning on her heel and fucking out of his life.
“I’m breaking up with you, you evil little shit!”
She’d been so proud of herself. Scared, yes, but proud as well. She’d managed to walk down only a few blocks before she was jerked around by a large hand on her shoulder. She’d almost been ready to throw another punch before her eyes had met with the steel grey of Sandor Clegane and she’d relaxed right into his grip.
He had been panting, puffs of air rising in clouds from between his lips in the cool autumn air. His brow had been low, his mouth twisted down in a frown.
“What happened, little bird?” He’d asked, concern laced in his voice.
“I broke up with him”, she had answered, calmer than she felt. But then again, Sandor always made her feel at ease. Made her feel like she was safe.
He’d gaped at her for a time, before his penetrating eyes had caught the bruise forming on her jaw. Slowly his hand had smoothed from her shoulder and up her neck to gently cup her face, carefully avoiding her throbbing jaw as he angled her face up to his. His thumb had run over it twice, softly like the touch of a feather while his eyes had turned black with hate. With murder.
“He hit you?” He had asked in a low, even voice.
Sansa had nodded, feeling his fingers press into her skin with the movement.
“But I hit him back”, and that time she had smiled.
Even in his bloodthirsty mood he had been able to snort once, delight dancing somewhere far off in his gaze.
“I bet you did, little bird”, he’d smiled down at her, hand still warm against her cheek, “Little wolf.”
And so that night he’d offered to have her stay with him since there was no way in the seven hells she was going back to Joffrey’s place. Ever again, as a matter of fact.
And so she'd walked home with him, his large blazer around her bare shoulders while his smell evaded her mind.
And one night had turned into another. And then another. And now two weeks had gone by and somehow, through an unspoken agreement, she had become his roommate. And therein lay her problem. It had seemed sensible to move in with him at first. The man she trusted as much as her father, the man she knew would protect her. But she’d forgotten to consider the fact that she would be sharing his two bedroom apartment with him. With her big fat crush.
A week after the incident, Sandor had quit his job. He’d said he didn’t want to work for “those Lannister cunts” anymore. Sansa hadn’t minded. Actually she’d been happier for it. But that had also ment Sandor had been home with her all the time . There was no personal space, and nowhere to hide when she felt herself be too obvious. That was why she thanked the gods today when he’d told her he was going out for an interview.
Thankful for all the kindness Sandor had shown her, Sansa had started her morning by cleaning his place. She’d began right after the door had shut behind the suit-clad Sandor. She’d clamped her noise cancelling headphones tightly over her ears and blasted her music at full volume to accompany her.
Once both her room and the toilet was clean, Sansa had moved onto the small area she liked to think of as the living room. Vacuuming had taken longer than she’d thought, and it had been more tiresome than simply dusting. After she was done, she’d taken a small nap on the sofa to regain some energy. She had fallen asleep to the Secret Sisters singing into her ears.
Sansa woke startled when ABBA’s Super Trouper started in her ears. She sat up, gingerly swiping a line of drool from the corner of her mouth. She looked down at her phone and realised she had been sleeping for an hour. Oh well, back to work.
She moved onto the kitchen area, swaying her hips to the beat as she walked.
“Tonight the super trouper lights are gonna find me, shining like the sun! Smiling, having fun! Feeling like a number one!” She sang, flailing her arms around while she danced in circles around the small dinner table.
With the music her spirits lifted once more. She felt a lightness in her chest as she swung around, singing along to the words at the top of her lungs.
When the song ended, she stood panting in the middle of the room, the dishrag dangling from her fingers. For a second everything was silent, and then the next song started. She recognised it immediately, the low notes drumming in her ears. Sansa threw the rag into the sink and reached for the dish brush, holding it to her lips like a microphone as she sang.
“So I wanna know, what’s the name of the game? Does it mean anything to you? What’s the name of the game? Can you feel it the way I do? Tell me, please! ‘Cause I have to know!” She sang, swinging her hips around, grip tight around the dish brush.
She kept singing absentmindedly as she washed the last plate in the sink. As she wiped the clean plate with a rag, the words sunk in. Your smile, the sound of your voice. And the way you see through me. Got a feeling, you give me no choice. But it means a lot to me. So I wanna know, what’s the name of the game?
Sandor. The song was as if written about her and Sandor. She gasped at the accuracy of the lyrics. As the song ended, she rewinded it and listened to it all the way though again, leaning against the counter while she held her breath.
By the fourth listen the shock had resided and she started singing along once more. She grabbed for the dish brush and sang into it, feeling each word in her gut as they left her lips.
“Would you laugh at me, if I said I care for you? Could you feel the same way, too? I wanna know! Oh, yes, I wanna know the name of the game!”
Sansa danced her way from the kitchen to the sofa, swirling around as she clung to the brush.
“What’s the name of the game? Can you feel it the way I do?” She turned on her heels, pirouetting down the hall, ”What’s the name of-”
Sandor.
He stood calmly leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, arms crossed over his broad chest as he smirked at her with the wickedest glint in his eyes.
Sansa stood several paces away from him, dish brush still lifted to her mouth as her jaw sweeped somewhere along the floor. Well, at least it was a clean floor .
Slowly her hand lowered the brush while she remained standing utterly still in her grey sweatpants and loose t-shirt she’d borrowed from Sandor. Her heart beat fast while her breath had ceased to come. The music had stopped and she removed the headphones warily, placing them around her neck.
Sandor looked so pleased with himself that the smoulder in his eyes and the preying aura that surrounded him like a cloud of smoke made Sansa’s hands shake while the pit of her stomach warmed pleasantly. Yet still her embarrassment waded its way through the pleasure and heated her cheeks and forehead while her voice disappeared like mist, mouth dry and throat clogged.
“Please, do feel free to continue”, he drawled in his low voice. In the complete silence beating against her eardrums it was like a shout at the base of her ear.
“How long… How much did you… Wha-”, Sansa mumbled, stumbling over her words.
“How much did I see?” He smirked wider, a mischievous thrill dancing in his eyes, “Was it Super Trouper you began with? Ah, and those dance moves. You’re quite the enchantress, little bird, twirling around and swinging those hips in the apartment of a red blooded man with not a care in the world. A dangerous move, tempting a dog in his own pen” He leered, looking almost wild as he stood upright from the doorway.
Sansa watched his advancing with humiliated horror as she realised he was no longer wearing a suit, instead in his t-shirt and loose pants. He has been home for a while. She gulped. He has been home ever since my nap. Oh no. Oh no no no.
She was utterly embarrassed. Red-faced and ashamed, she stood rigid with nerves as he closed in on her. Every step slow and calculated. A predator approaching its prey. Her body was humming with electricity. Her skin felt sensitive enough to feel the dust particles floating around in the air around her.
He stopped right in her face, sock covered toes against her bare ones. His face lowered towards hers as he leaned in. A long, thick finger placed itself under her chin, warm despite her vigorous blush.
“Who were you singing so passionately to, little bird?” His voice was naught but a whisper, but the ghost of his breath spreading over her face was enough to make her lightheaded. She flinched when the dish brush fell from her slack fingers and thumped loudly onto the floor.
Sandor wrapped his other hand over her hip, pulling her gently against him. He stole her breath away.
Sansa could hold it in no longer. She couldn’t hide it anymore. She was head over heels for him and now she was wrapped in his strong hold, eyes locked and lips inches apart.
“You.” It was all her dry mouth could manage.
Sandor’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he continued to gaze at her. The finger under her chin drew a line along her jaw bone - no longer tender to the touch - and slid down the side of her neck. He was barely grazing her skin, yet the tip of his finger was enough to make heat pool between her thighs.
He grabbed the headphones danling around her neck and threw them to the floor. Sansa couldn't find the grace to care for their fate in the moment. His hand wrapped around the back of her neck, fingers shielded under the loose wall of her hair. His hold was wide, spanning the whole back of her head. Sansa bit her lip to keep in her whimper.
At that his eyes flicked down to her lips while the hold he had on her waist tightened.
“You sing prettily, like a true little bird”, he murmured as he started to walk her backwards.
His hand smoothed from her hip to her lower back, warm and vast against her spine. She could feel his rough skin through the thin fabric of her shirt.
“Do you like ABBA?” She blurted, attempting to conceal the loud thrumming of her heart.
He walked slowly, holding her tightly against him all the while. His tall, broad form swallowed her up, engulfed her until she wasn’t sure which leg belonged to him and which to her.
Sansa gasped when the back of her legs hit the edge of the sofa. Sandor’s eyes flitted over her features carefully - as if assessing her - before he pushed her back more, causing her back to arch into him. She choked on air when she felt him press against her lower stomach, hard as a rock.
“I do now”, he drawled as he pushed her the final stretch and she fell onto the soft sofa cushions.
He was on her the next moment. Hands against her sides, hands in her hair, hands ghosting over her face. One of his thighs pressed hard between her legs while his other foot stayed planted on the floor.
His lips descended on hers, teeth sinking into her soft flesh and tongue slipping inside her mouth, sliding against the roof. Sansa ground against his leg and licked at his lips while his tongue ran along each of her teeth as if counting them. He tasted spicy and warm. Her hands snaked into his hair and she ran her nails against his scalp, humming into his mouth. Sandor growled against her cheek as he came up for air. Sansa giggled, feeling as if she’d drunk an entire tankard of Dornish Red all on her own.
“I want you. Only you. That’s the game”, he said against her jaw, lips ghosting over her skin while his stubble scraped her pleasantly.
“Huh?” She asked, confused and far away in her Sandor-land.
“I could feel the same way. I do. Buggering hells, the only thing that kept me away was that I didn't know you felt it, too. That’s the name of the game, pretty bird.”
And then he kissed her again, deep and all consuming. Sansa felt her body respond to his every touch like she'd never felt before and she knew she was in the right arms.