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“I want to leave this place.”
Sansa’s mouth is moving but Tyrion cannot be sure he heard her words correctly. His lady wife has never spoken so candidly in his presence and he has to wonder if he is dreaming.
“Sansa?” he asks tentatively. Her head is turned to the window and he can only make out her shadowy profile in the faint glow the moon is casting into their chambers.
Her face is turned to look upon him fully when she utters her next words. “I cannot stay here,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze is pleading and he has suddenly become aware of the weight of her words.
“You know not what you ask of me, Sansa,” he says somberly, but her eyes are telling him that she knows just what she is asking. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of sharing her bed; any man would be so fortunate to share a bed with a woman as beautiful as she with her long auburn hair and her piercing blue eyes. But as his respect and fondness for his reluctant bride flourished, all improper thoughts of her seemed to diminish. Tyrion Lannister thought much too highly of her to think of her in such a light when she had so much more to offer.
Sansa rises from her perch at the window and comes to kneel before him so that she is eye level. He notices that her eyes are wet with tears not shed and knows that she is sincere in both her proposition and fear of King’s Landing.
“Please, Tyrion,” her anguished voice beckons. It’s the first time she’s ever used his given name and he’s surprised when his heart quickens in his chest.
She surprises him once more when she plants a kiss on his lips. Her lips are unsure from lack of experience and he offers a small smile once she pulls away.
“My dear wife,” he begins, his tone only the slightest bit amused. “Are you quite sure of this?”
She is nodding and her eyes are bright with ferocity. The dwarf takes advantage of her current position before him and kisses her properly. Slow and passionate; a reflection of the months spent wishing she would smile at him and love him in the way he could love her.
The way her lips move with his comes as one of the most natural things in the world, although that does little to stop her trembling. She struck with an underlying fear that has been long embedded into her mind. Lying with her husband was something to be endured and the breaking of her maidenhead was to be a painful affair. Rationally, Sansa knew she had endured pain much worse from Joffrey’s Kingsguard, but that did nothing to alleviate her worries.
Tyrion’s fingertips ghost along the side of her face and brush hair from her eyes. He desperately wants her to be at ease, but a maiden’s fears are hard to quell. “Talk to me, Sansa,” he says. “What troubles you?”
Her gaze turns downward and she seems to be overcome with embarrassment. “I’m afraid of the pain, my lord.” Tyron lets out a sigh when he realizes she’s retreated back to her formalities.
He reaches and takes both of her hands in his. “Look at me,” he commands gently and only continues speaking when she does. “A girl as strong as you knows of true pain and you, my dear, have nothing to worry about. I am going to make sure our bedding will be as pleasurable for you as it is for me and that I promise you.”
His voice was sincere and Sansa swallowed the lingering traces of doubt so that she may place some trust in this man who had shown her nothing but kindness. She could only nod to convey her thoughts and then his lips were on hers once more. She found herself enjoying his kiss more than she ought to and his light caresses on her face and neck caused her heart to flutter. When his lips left hers to trail along her jaw she thought her heart may burst from her chest. She felt his hands tug gently at the ties holding her gown together in a silent request for permission. Sansa responded by reaching down and undoing the laces herself, letting the purple silk fall to the floor. She remained in her smallclothes, shivering only slightly from the sudden cold. She found that being nearly bare before her husband was not quite so terrifying and when his hand sought hers she gripped back with equal intensity.
He is leading her towards their marital bed and her knees shake with anticipation. She perches herself on the plush mattress and awaits Tyrion’s next move. Sansa is momentarily bewildered when he saunters away, but he returns with two goblets of wine and she gratefully accepts the offered drink. The liquid warms her limbs and her mind and with each sip she feels more tension drain away.
Tyrion finishes his drink before moving to walk around the bed. He then removes his outerwear and climbs atop the structure which is much too tall for his short limbs. He smiles as his wife moves to lay beneath the blankets and she steals nervous glances at him as she does. She is only in her shift and he can see the outline of rosy nipples in the glow of the candlelight. Her hair is splayed on the pillow beneath her head, framing her ivory skin in the most lovely way and his breath catches in his throat. He is caught off guard when Sansa reaches one hand up to stroke the side of his face, and then tracing his scar with her thumb. He closes his eyes at the contact. Tyrion cannot remember a time when someone touched him so tenderly and he is overcome with adoration for Sansa Stark. She looks upon his face with wonder, not disgust.
He leans over and resumes his kissing of her neck. Her hand comes up to tangle in his hair as his lips reach her collarbone and she finds herself becoming warmer. There is a heat settling between her legs that she cannot identify and Tyrion’s wandering hands only intensify that sensation.
Tyrion lifts his head from where it was attached to her skin and looks her in the eye. “Sansa, if you want me to stop at any moment, please do not hesitate to tell me,” he tells her with all sincerity.
“Please don’t stop,” is all she says before he runs his lips along her jaw. His hands stroke down her sides and to her legs before he comes to the hem of her shift. He slowly begins to lift it and Sansa takes over to remove it from her body completely. She lays before him as naked as her nameday and his eyes rake over every inch of her beautiful skin. Her breasts are small, but full and her middle as smooth as he imagined it would be. There is a thatch of auburn curls between her thighs and her legs are as long as they are graceful.
Sansa takes hold of his head and brings his face to hers for a kiss. It is a kiss that conveys the gratitude she will not say aloud and the determination she feels for escaping King’s Landing. The heat she feels between her legs is beginning to grow unbearable and she gasps when she feels Tyrion’s hand on her breast and then descending lower still. He breaks away from the kiss and shifts his body lower, running his lips down the space between her breasts and onto her stomach. Her breathing comes in pants now. When his lips come close to the juncture of her thighs, she is panicked.
“Tyrion?” she questions, her voice laced with doubt. He looks up.
“Worry not, Sansa,” he tells her reassuringly, but says no more to extinguish her confusion. His mouth is suddenly on her there and she forgets how to breathe. His tongue lavishes her and finds the small bundle of nerves with ease. She can feel his tongue bringing her intense pleasure and nothing more. His hands have a strong grip on her hips but it barely registers as a tight feeling just below her belly begins to emerge. Tyrion’s attentions do not cease and only gain fervor as she approaches her peak. Hands grip his hair and legs twitch as an extraordinary pleasure washes over her. Tyrion is already by her head kissing her and she can taste herself on his tongue. Her eyes close as his lips release hers and he grows hard at the sight of it.
His mouth is upon hers, this time more forcefully. The fire between Sansa’s thighs begins anew and she can feel her some husband stiffen against her body. She reaches over to assist him in the removal of his remaining clothing. She discovers that his manhood is not so little and bit of nervousness comes back to her. That dissipates when his hand reaches down to touch her overly-sensitive clit and she gasps.
Sansa holds her breath as he positions himself at her entrance. His eyes meet hers and she gives him a small nod before he slowly pushes inside her tight heat. She lets out the breath she had been holding and he stills inside of her. There is discomfort but it is overshadowed by her urgent need for him to move. He nips at her collarbone and then begins to thrust. The pace is slow to start but she moves her hips eagerly with his and he is forced to pick up the speed. With each thrust he becomes more forceful and his fingers dig into the soft skin of her hips. His wife is now moaning beneath him deliciously and it almost sends him over the edge.
She can feel the beginnings of another orgasm and she says his name like a prayer. He is close as well and he reaches between them to rub her clit feverishly and bring her to her peak. He comes with a shuddering breath inside of her as well as her name spilling graciously from his lips. Her orgasm follows soon after with a moan loud enough to raise the dead. Tyrion collapses atop her sweat-slicked body.
“Thank you,” she says breathlessly, and Tyrion laughs harder than he has in a long time.
He removes himself from within her and presses a kiss to her forehead before laying down beside her, one arm draped over her midsection. They are both fast asleep within minutes.
A few moons pass before Sansa knows there is a child in her belly. She waits impatiently in the solar the day she makes the discovery. Tyrion takes what seems like days to return to their chambers and she is before him with excitement in her eyes. He knows immediately that she is with child from her expression alone and that night Sansa thanks him over and over and over.