Thanks everyone for their wonderful reviews. I feel a little bad that this is only a two-shot, something that i should have specified in the beginning. I"m sorry, and I hope you guys like it. Thank you.
Sandor sighed loudly. He couldn't even take his meals in peace without one of the Starks becoming a nuisance. This time it was Arya with her mocking grin, and laughing eyes. A more infuriating woman he had never met. She should learn some decorum from her older sister.
"You should have seen the smile that bloomed on her face when she first saw your ugly face. I hadn't seen her smile like that since father gave her Lady to care for. Easier pickings you wouldn't have found in a brothel."
He abandoned his food long enough to cuffed Arya on the head. "Don't talk about your sister like that."
Arya laughed. "Truth is true, regardless of how it sounds." She stole a bit of his meat pie. "What did you do?"
"Stay out of it, wolf-girl."
She whistled softly. "What are you going to do now? Sansa was always partial of poetry and songs. I'm sure a pretty song from you will win back her heart. You can also pick her some wildflowers…."
"Seven hells, woman!"
"What'd you do?"
"I called her a whore," he confessed, not knowing why.
Arya's smile dropped from her face, something cold and dangerous replaced the laughter in her eyes.
"Are you going to kill me, Wolf?"
"Sansa would be sad," she responded. "She has taken a fancy to you, my sister, I thought it would vanish as soon as she had contact with you again. It looks to me like the opposite has occurred. The Starks owe you ad debt, but if you plan to hurt Sansa you're better off asking me for however much gold you want now and leaving. "
"I want your sister." He had always wanted her, at first for her pretty face and later for the way she touched his face. Now because she smiled and sang for him whenever he passed her.
"She wants you as well, for some unfathomable reason."
"You stupid," she said after a pregnant pause. "Have you apologized to her yet?"
"Yes, in a way."
"Did you say, 'Sansa, please forgive me, I promise to never hurt you again. I was a stupid man and I should cut my tongue out for saying such vile words to you' while begging on your knees. If you haven't, get to it. Honestly, do you know nothing of women?"
He scoffed. "My knowledge of women consists of paying one for a tumble."
Arya lowered her fierce gaze.
"Now you feel sorry for me. You're strange one, Arya Stark, one minute wanting to kill me, the next pitying me."
"Apologize to her and treat her kindly. She deserves to be treated kindly."
"I'm not some knight or lord; I've never had a lady before." He was confessing to her gain, not knowing why.
"Joffry was highborn, and the men he sent to beat her were as well. So was Harold, and Littlefinger tried to pose as one. I think Sansa has had enough of knights and lords."
He waited for her in her room, sitting down on her bed, like that night so long ago. This time she wasn't startled when he called her name, just stared coolly at him. She was so beautiful standing there by the light of the fire, her auburn hair shining. Again he wondered how someone like her would want a man so ugly and broken. But better not tempt his luck, she wanted him, and he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Sansa." He couldn't say anything, all the words that he had planned to say to her sound false and petty.
"You think you're the first person to call me a whore? I've learned to live with it. I've had two men in my life, just two, and I'm a whore. How many women have you had?" She didn't wait for his response. "I'm used goods, they say, as if my only worth resided between my legs. You scorned me for something I had no control over. If I would have gone with you that night…"
"No," he said. "Don't delude yourself about the man I was, the man I still am. It could not have ended well."
"You didn't hurt Arya. You saved her life."
"Arya didn't have your teats," he said coarsely. "I only wanted her for the ransom. I would have kept you."
"Because of my teats," Sansa said mournfully.
"And your face, and your eyes, and your pretty hair, and that sweet voice of yours, and your wide eyed innocence. I would have kept you, and I would have fucked you with wine on my breath and left you to your fortune when I was done. Is that the man you want?"
"No, the man that I want would have protected me, would have taken me away from the people that wanted to harm me. He would have seen me to safety and saved me from my stupidity, Ser Dontos and Littlefinger."
"Is that what you have been dreaming about all these years? That man does not exist."
"You think I do not see you as you are? I know who you are and what you've done. I know you are of a higher caliber that most men."
He laughed roughly at that. "You've had some very bad men in your life, little bird, to raise me up in such a way." He didn't know why he was telling her all this, the purpose was to have her, not to push her away. He couldn't stop himself, she had to know what he was.
She ignored his rebuttal. "What did you want from me? To be the first? To have an unspoiled lady? Was that all?"
"I wanted more to see you smile at me the way you did for Ser Loras, or any bloody knight with a pretty face a good speech." He turned his face away from hers, as if ashamed.
"I was a fool. But this fool learns from her mistakes."
He caught the subtle insult. It made him smile, pulling the scars tight across his face. "I learn too," he said standing up and walking over to her.
She welcomed him readily into her arms, her lips seeking his urgently, passionately. This is how it's supposed to be, she thought, how she was supposed to feel when a man kissed her. Her whole body burned for him, she wanted more and more. His hands were rough and desperate leaving trails of hot sensation on their wake. He backed her to the wall, his body flushed against hers, the hardness between his legs a wicked tease on her belly. She moved against him, as desperate as he.
His hands left her body only to rip apart the bodice of her gown. His mouth was soon on her nipples, sucking greedily. Sansa was panting, the feelings and emotions almost too much to bear. She gave a small moan of objection when his mouth abandoned her breast, but quickly quieted when he felt him lift and hook her leg onto his hip, and felt his big hands tearing at her smallclothes.
He found her warm and wet, so wet. "Sansa," he groaned roughly.
"For you," she said between kisses, "Always only for you."
He unlaced his britches one handed, the other braced against the wall, and position himself at her entrance. He sank into her in one fluid stroke, into her wet tightness. Sansa saw stars, and colors and her ears rang with sound, her muscles contracting as she felt him spend himself inside of her.
"That has to be the shortest fuck since I had my first woman," Sandor said afterward, his breathing still harsh, week-need and leaning heavily on the wall for support, Sansa plastered to him, not seeming to mind in the slightest.
"I've no complains," she said kissing him softly on his chest. "It was perfect."
They found time to be together during the day, and at night Sansa would come to his rooms and leave till early morning. Never in his miserable life had he felt such contentment. Every night he would retire for the day and find her waiting in his bed, sometimes completely naked, sometimes with a book and a cup of moon tea in her hand.
He couldn't ask for more and yet there was something missing. Sansa wasn't his, not completely.
It was her name day today and her family had surprised her with a small celebration. He watched her dance gracefully with a lord, smiling at something her partner said. Her eyes found his and she wrinkled her nose in amusement. Sandor wasn't jealous, couldn't be, not when he still bore the marks of her passion on his back, knowing it was his name she called out when she came, knowing that she was always ready for him, only for him.
It wasn't jealousy that had him reaching for his tankard of ale again and again. It was possessiveness. He wanted every single man in the room to know Sansa was his. He stood up abruptly, his mood obvious to the people that watch him leave.
As always, Sansa was finely attuned to Sandor. She saw that he was drinking much more than he usually did now a days, she saw his expression sour as the night went on, and followed him with her eyes as left the Great hall. She wanted to leave with him and soothe whatever was bothering him. It would be terribly rude of her to excuse herself so early at her own party.
By the time all the guests had retired, been seen too, and the hall cleared it was very late at night, or really early in the morning. She waited until the servants had gone to bed before donning a simple black cloak. She made her way slowly across Winterfell, knowing the way instinctively now, eager to be with her lover.
She entered quietly, not wanting to wake him, only to lie beside him. She was surprised to see a small fire going, although Sandor was sprawled on the bed, snoring softly. Sansa started undressing, ready to join him, when a small movement by the fire caught her eye. It was a puppy, a beautiful black chubby puppy from the bitch that had just birthed less than a month a go. She picked up gingerly, loving the weight and feel of the warm fur, squirming sleepily in her arms.
"It's not a wolf,' Sandor rumbled from the bed. "but a worthwhile pet nonetheless. Dogs are kind and loyal creatures, she'll love you well."
"I will love her as well," Sansa said, smiling like a loon, the emotion all bursting from her. She had told him how much she missed Lady, how lonely she felt without her. "Thank you."
He nodded somewhat stiffly.
She went to kiss him, "Thank you," she said again, cradling his face with her hands. He pulled away softly, his eyes a mystery to her. "Is something amiss?"
"Nothing," he said, "Just tired. Come to bed, you'll only get a few hours of sleep tonight before having to leave."
Sansa did as he said feeling somewhat bereft at his strange mood. The puppy she placed next to her, petting the soft fur, like she used to do with Lady.
"That dog is not sleeping in our bed," she felt the soft rasp on her neck.
"Just for tonight. The poor dear probably misses her mother."
"Only for tonight," he said with a resigned sigh, bringing an arm around Sansa to pet the little dog.
Merry, as Sansa named her little puppy, loped beside her in adorable little puppy gait. Her days were busier than usual since Bran had gone to King's Landing at the Queen's behest. Bran had left her in charge, the duties were burdensome but it did leave her with less time to steal with Sandor.
Which was why after her appointment with the steward, Sansa was going for a quick walk to the training grounds. If she just happened to stop to say hello to the Master of Arms to see how things were going, who would blame her? She would only be doing her duty to Winterfell by having a well provided guard.
She stopped short when she saw Lotty, a kitchen maid, giving something wrapped in cloth to Sandor. It had taken some time for the staff to get used to him, his scars and his often coarse manner, but it seem that finally Sandor had been welcomed at Winterfell by everyone. She was happy for him, truly, although the men would sometimes take him away from her when they invited him for drink or a hunt.
The women had taken longer to come around, but come around they did, and it didn't take long for them to notice other things besides his hideously burned face. He was finely built, her hound, tall with broad shoulders. He wasn't a gently bred nobleman, but a true warrior, with a warrior physique. His fighting prowess was legendary, as was his strength…
Sandor unwrapped the parcel and popped the contents into his mouth, Lotty grinned up at him.
"Should you not be in the kitchen tending to your duties?" It came out harsher than she had intended. The girl scurried away without a word. The big brute just stood there impassively. Sansa gave him a baleful glare, to which he just blinked stupidly, before taking off. It was such a small thing, but Sansa couldn't help the anger and the hurt, the jealously she felt.
Sansa was in such a foul mood she did not go to him that night. Instead she sulked in her room, knowing it had bee petty of her to scold the poor maid. She went to bed full of doubts. He had to care for her, he had to. A man couldn't make love to a woman the way he made love to her without caring for her. Or could they? She hugged Merry close, the warm body calming her racing thoughts and lulling her to sleep.
She was woken up by kisses and a heavy body atop hers. He had undressed her already, his lips already busy at her breast, his hands running down her body. He lowered his head to take one puckered nipple into his mouth, sucking roughly. Sansa moaned and bucked underneath him. He brought a hand to her center, always testing her desire for him. Two of his fingers went inside of her as he said, "Why didn't you come to me tonight?"
Sansa couldn't think, let alone speak. His head burrowed lower, trailing kisses down her stomach, licking at her naval, and finally between her legs. She gave a loud groan, her legs lifting and her feet curling besides his face as he lapped at her wet folds, as his tongue darted insider her. The first wave caught her as he sucked at the most sensitive part of her, using his fingers again to penetrate her. He brought her down slowly, softly cupping her mound.
His eyes were fierce, quite the opposite of his gentle hands. "You belong in my bed. Every night," he snarled, poised at her entrance. "Is that clear?"
"Yesss," she moaned, as he filled her completely. She had never known until him that it could be like this between a man and a woman. She hadn't known it could be beautiful. Her second climax caught her unawares, and in the mists of the euphoria she groaned out, "Marry me. Marry me." Sansa felt him shudder, felt his control snap, felt the desperation in his thrusts and his release.
"Marry me," she said again, quietly this time, her voice now filled with insecurity.
His face said it all, the shock, and the disbelief. Sansa pushed him away angrily, feeling the fool, always the fool. Why would he want to marry her when he could fuck her anytime he wanted to? That's all he had ever wanted anyway.
He pulled her back to bed, staring into her eyes; the bulk of his body preventing her from throwing him off her. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall, but she couldn't help her chin from trembling, couldn't help feeling completely humiliated. "By the gods, you're serious."
He let her go. "I have nothing. No lands. No title. No money," his voice was a soft rasp, barely audible.
Sansa stared at his profile, at the burned side of his face. His voice was laced with pain. She understood then."I don't' care," she said. "You should know me by now and know that I don't care about any of that anymore."
"You would be content to be the wife of a master of arms?"
"No, I would not," she told him, resting her head on his chest. "I would be happy."