Author's Notes: Thank you so much to all you amazing readers/reviewers. You guys really are super sweet and it makes me smile to see you all so happy. This is the third and final chapter of this fanfic. I hope you enjoyed it!
His breathing hitched midway down his throat as his hand hovered cautiously over his lap, still holding himself stiffly against his palm. His eyes held onto her small frame atop the soft bed covers across the room. She was still writhing, still trying with a new desperation to find her final pleasure so she could collapse against her pillows at last, content and satisfied. 'What did she just say?' Sandor asked himself in disbelief. He had imagined it, heard only what he wanted to hear and not the actual truth. In reality, the girl must have simply moaned and to his ears, it came out sounding like his name. He was trying to convince himself of it, but he had heard it so clearly that he couldn't shake it out of his head no matter how many times he cursed himself and reminded himself that he was nothing more than the King's dog. What would she want with him?
'You're going too far... sitting in the soon-to-be queen's room, watching her in such an indecent position. The King will have your head for this, fool.' He meant to tear his eyes away from the bed, to stand up, tuck himself back behind the laces of his breeches, and leave without another thought, but he could only look away for a second before returning back to her. His head tilted to the side slightly as he realized he could see her dampness all the way from across the room every time she pulled her fingers away from her opening to run them up to the sensitive nub between her thighs. The scarred side of his face twitched involuntarily as a devilish grin grew over his lips and he repeated his previous thought with renewed desire. 'Such an indecent position, little bird…'
The flush of her cheeks had deepened as she squirmed against the bed covers, trying to reach her climax. Her eyes pressed closed tighter as she thought she may have reached her max. With so little experience to use as judgment, she wasn't entirely sure what she expected. She knew her final release wouldn't be as visual as Sandor's, but she hoped it would at least give her the same sense of utter peace and relaxation that she had seen on his face afterwards. She tried to remember the way he had stared at her, not only that night in his bed chamber but the following days afterwards. The way he undressed her with his eyes right there in front of Joffrey and Cersei during their midday meal. Perhaps they were too busy to notice but surely Ser Meryn and Ser Boros had spotted the heated, silent exchange between the blushing Lady and the King's Hound. Had they dared address him with it later, to remind him of his place, his lower status, and to warn him not to lose his head over a girl? 'No,' Sansa thought. 'Everyone's afraid of him. Too afraid to even look at him, let alone tell him what he can't have.' As she laid with her back against the fluffy feather bed, Sansa wished he was there with her instead of ordered to stand outside her door. She had been so cruel, taunting him from inside her bed chambers when she knew he had to restrain himself. For all she knew, it may be frustrating enough to give him cause to pick up a whore for the night. If she wasn't able to warm his bed, some other girl with bright blue eyes and fiery red hair would be just as willing for the right amount of coin. The thought bothered her. She kept working her fingers against her skin, slipping inside to feel the shuttering sensation within her core. If he were with her now, she would show him that she was different from them all. She would look at him when no one else could, see straight through him and leave him wanting for nothing. She'd be all the woman he'd need and she wouldn't ask for a piece of gold in return.
She was going deeper, getting lost in her thoughts. He could tell by the way her hand seemed to move with a mind of its own. She wasn't the one touching herself now, in her mind. There was someone else she was thinking of. Sandor watched, guiding his own hand down the length of his shaft as he held his own images of what he wanted her to be thinking of. He wanted to be the one she dreamt of, the one caressing and loving her. He would take her the way she deserved, the only way a true Lady could be taken. Not like the whores he had bedded in the past— turning them over and taking them from behind like the dog that he was. No, she needed more than that. He wanted to drag his fingertips down her arms, over the ticklish sides of her stomach, hovering lightly over her womanly bits, and continue down her long, endless legs. They hadn't been kissed by the summer sun like the rest of her exposed skin had been during her time here in King's Landing. Her long gowns and dresses had hidden them safely away from prying eyes but now he got to see all of her. If given the chance, he would lavish her body with his lips, ignoring the fact that half his mouth was ruined by the scar he had to endure, and he would know that he was the reason she'd be squirming against the feather bed. He'd whisper to her, telling her every sinful act he wanted to do to her, all the while massaging the thickness of her upper thighs. 'It'd make her wet,' he thought. 'Being touched and teased.' She'd need some coaxing if he wanted to fit inside her. The little bird was untouched and with his sheer size, his thick fingers alone would be too much for her. He'd take his time, kissing her passionately until she was moaning against him, needing more. His hot breath would leave her, grazing along her jawline and making her skin prickle and shiver. If only he could touch her instead of being forced to sit silently across the room, soundlessly watching.
Sandor looked over at the bed, drawing an invisible trail with his eyes down her long, fair neck where he wanted to leave his marks. One right below her ear, behind the lobe where the skin was most tender. Another on the side against the rapid thumping of her pulse. He'd feel it beating against his tongue and do everything he could to refrain from taking her then and there. One more deep red reminder would be placed delicately in the crook of her neck where her flesh curved against her collarbone and met with the shoulder. She'd be wearing him for days and every time she'd look in the mirror, she'd remember how it felt to have him so close to her, in her room, on her bed, with his fingers lingering where no man's fingers should be. 'None except her beloved king's.' His thoughts mulled over in his head as he tried to warn himself again not to go any further than he already had. 'She doesn't want him, doesn't love him anymore. Not after the cruelty he's shown her.' The Hound's eyes rolled closed as he leaned back against the chair and felt the sensation of his own warm fingers encircling around him. 'I'll love her for him. Keep her happy, keep her safe. I'll never be cruel to her as he has.' his thoughts became weaker as he tried to convince himself of the false life he had wanted for so long. '…and she'll love me for it.'
Her whispered groans and hushed moans brought him back to the girl lying on the bed in front of him. He was getting close and judging by the frustrated, tired look on her face, she was too. 'Just get on with it, dog, so you can leave her in peace.' He urged himself inaudibly, hurrying the pace of his hand around his engorged member. The sooner he found his release, the sooner he could sneak back out of the room without her catching him and calling for the castle's knights to drag his perverse self out of her bed chambers. His eyes began to flutter close as he let his head drop back to rest heavily against the door behind him. He wanted to moan with her, let her know what she was doing to him, but he had to silence himself. The two toyed with themselves for another few strokes before he heard her again. "Sandor." It was surrounded by sweet little noises, but he had heard it, he was sure of it this time. He couldn't have possibly imagined it twice so definitively. She was thinking of him. She wanted him.
It was a sign, he had decided in that split second. A sign that she wanted him just as he wanted her. Even if it was just the vocalization of her lust-driven fantasies, it was all he wanted to know. He stood from the chair and felt his mouth go dry as he strode wide paces across the room to her bed. Her face was still scrunched, her eyes closed as she worked her fingers deeper into her craving slit. He didn't want to startle her, didn't want to make her stop—she looked so unrestrained as she carelessly tossed her head to the side, her mouth hanging open as the little noises escaped her. He didn't want to ruin it, but he needed to touch her, if only for a moment. 'Careful, dog…you don't want her screaming bloody murder and waking the whole damned castle.' His heart pounded against his chest as he slowly reached down and cupped her small hand with his own. Her eyes flashed open, suddenly aware that she wasn't alone, and her hand stopped. Sandor frowned down at her. He hadn't wanted her to stop and now, the way she was looking up at him, he knew he had made a mistake. He had read all the signs wrong. He was unwelcomed and worst of all, he hadn't even bothered to tuck his hardened cock back into his breeches before approaching her. 'You fool…' There was no hiding his intentions. He was a dead man, no matter how he handled his current predicament.
Sansa peered up at him through clouded eyes, unsure of whether or not she was dreaming. Perhaps she had been trying to reach her peak so hard for so long that she simply grew tired and had fallen asleep with him still consuming her thoughts. He was meant to be standing outside, as she had bid him to do earlier in the evening. She was teasing him, showing him that the wolf in her was just as strong and dangerous as the hound in him. And yet the hand covering her own felt so real, so hard and rough, yet warm and comforting. Her bottom lip quivered nervously, her eyes staying locked with his. Slowly, gently, her hand began its movement again, taking him along for the ride. He was dumbfounded and aroused all at once. He wanted to bring a knee down onto the bed beside her, drawing himself closer to her so he could feel her, see her, smell her, but he knew that would surely be going too far. Wouldn't it?
The movement of her fingers was shifting his hand, dragging his fingertips over her folds, causing her to moan louder, deeper, and as he glanced down away from her face to watch their digits gliding together, he started to feel her wetness coating the side of one of his fingers. He hadn't entered her but the friction as his hand ran over her lips and touched her own soiled fingers had left him with her left overs. He looked back up at her face, shooting her an unrecognizable stare as he watched what he couldn't have. The girl was so engulfed in her own pleasure, surely she wouldn't notice if he slipped his hand away from hers, if only for a moment. 'Just for a moment…' he warned himself sharply. He pulled his arm back, his hand leaving her center, and brought his fingers up to his ruined mouth. His eyes closed as his tongue ran over his own index finger, tasting her on him. It was too much. She tasted too sweet, smelled even sweeter, and when he opened his eyes to peer back down at her angelic face, she was watching him with intrigue. Her lips curled upwards beautifully into a smile and he nearly weakened at the knees when she softly called up to him, "Sandor, please."
He growled, his patience and self-restrain thrown aside. 'Fuck Joffrey. Fuck the Queen.' His mind raced. He may be a fool for bringing himself so close to the King's Lady but he'd be twice the fool for not giving her what she so clearly needed, what she was begging him for. No man could resist her with the way she sounded as she whimpered out his name. His knees hit the feather bed, one falling on the outside of her right thigh seconds before the other planted directly between her legs. His cloak went first, nearly torn from him as he freed himself of the heavy material. With an impatient twist of his torso as his arms lifted over his head, Sandor pulled his tunic off and tossed it aside just as sloppily. He pressed a palm flatly against the pillow beside her head and brought his face down to hers, joining at the lips. If he didn't hurry, she might change her mind. She might tell him to get off of her, to withdraw from her deliciously bare flesh and leave her room. He needed to show her that he could please her, that he would please her. His lips grazed hers for a second before he felt her pressing back against him. Her free hand had reached up to wrap around his neck, resting her forearm gently on his broad shoulder. She twisted his hair between her fingers and pulled him further down onto her, needing more. He obeyed.
She felt a large hand wrap around her hand that was still buried between her legs, and cause it to withdraw. Sansa let out a disapproving grunt of protest but it was muffled weakly against his wrecked mouth. As if reading her needs straight from her mind, Sandor moved his hand back to the warmth of her entrance. A thick, steady finger hastily replaced her smaller, thinner one, and she moaned at the excitingly blatant difference in size. She felt him smile against her lips. His mouth fell away from hers as he caught his breath and she felt his weight shift as he lowered himself down onto the bed beside her, still managing to keep his face above hers. He wanted to see her, wanted to watch her as he played with her below her waist. She was so close to her release but he didn't want it to be over so quickly. This might be the last night he would get to spend with her, the last night of his life entirely if the King found out about their experiences together. If he was going to make her scream, it would be his name on her lips, but not until he explored every bit of her. Sandor's hand withdrew.
Sansa pouted weakly and he felt her hips buck up in an attempt to keep him within her. He was sure she would have protested further, if he hadn't returned his mouth to hers just as his fingers left her. She seemed to melt beneath him. It sent waves down his spine and straight to his groin. If she kept squirming and wiggling beneath him like she was, this wasn't going to last as long as he'd hoped. He had to keep her still. Breaking their kiss, he brought his body to hover over her, his chest above hers and his hips teasingly brushing against her waist. He lowered his face down to her chest and walked his forearms down the bed covers until he had inched his way comfortably between her breasts. The stubble of his beard brushed over her delicate, pale skin and she started to squirm again. He felt himself harden, the weight of his erection tugging down against the opening of his breeches. Swiftly kicking them off his long legs and down to the base of her bed, Sandor rid himself of the confining garment at last, the ache beginning to build inside him once more. He had to push it from his mind otherwise he couldn't concentrate on the task at hand.
It was his hot breath that she felt first, followed by the incredibly tender muscles of his tongue, before his entire mouth dropped down and covered her right nipple. Her back arched as the unfamiliar sensation shivered through her. She had never imagined a man touching her in any way other than with the thought of procreation in mind. The breasts were meant for nursing newborns, not… 'this,' she thought breathlessly, unable to find a word for what he was doing to her. But it felt so amazingly good. She didn't want him to stop. He felt her hand come to rest on the back of his head, a gentle gesture to urge him to continue. She was wanting him, needing him, and how could he stand to deny her? His queen. His hand lowered back down to her opening. She moaned and he could have sworn he could feel the beating of her heart beneath his tongue quicken and skip as he entered her. He growled against her flesh and shifted to her left teat, giving it the same lavish pampering as the right. She was clenching and straining around his finger, her slick folds proving to be just as alive with desire as her eyes had been moments ago. 'Fuck.' Sandor cursed as he felt the head of his cock become wet with his own desire. He felt her pressing her hips upwards, trying to get him closer to her, bringing his hand deeper against her core. His head lifted to find her eyes. They were just barely open, deep blue orbs peaked at him under her lids and when she saw him looking up at her, she smiled. He propped himself back up on his elbow and brushed his lips against her neck. He wanted to mark her so badly, but if the King saw her with love bites littering her sacred flesh, he'd hang them both. Sandor pulled his lips back over his teeth, disgruntled at their limitations, and lowered his head so that his forehead rested gently against her shoulder. She could feel his breath tickling the curve of her neck and she nuzzled towards him with her cheek. Sandor's eyes closed as he swore, this time aloud. "Fuck." She could feel him burying his face closer to her neck, wanting to take her but fighting the urge the entire time. "Tell me to stop, little bird." He rasped beside her ear. A bitter thought took him over as he told himself for the umpteenth time that he couldn't have her. He shouldn't have her. She wasn't his. He turned his face away from her shoulder and grazed his lips seductively over her earlobe, knowing it would send shivers straight down to where his hand was still toying with her. "Tell me to leave so one of your gallant knights can give you what I can't." He tightened his eyes shut as could feel the need taking over him. If she remained silent much longer, he knew she may not be able to stop him when she finally came her senses and realized it was the hound she had in her bed and not some pretty prince. But he couldn't do that, couldn't take her when she didn't want it freely from him. He wasn't his brother. He refused to force her, but he knew they were toeing a dangerous line. His cheek, the burnt, ruined side, met with the side of her cheek as he breathed in the sweet smell of her hair. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll leave." He pleaded with her.
Her voice was soft, whispering back to him, the desire still dripping off her tongue. "But I do want it." She turned her head towards him and stole a tender kiss from his lips. "Stay, please." Her hand reached up and cupped the side of his face, the wrecked, rough side that no woman had ever dared touch. Not even the whores he paid to pretend to enjoy him had wanted that side of him. He took them from behind to spare them the sight of his scars, but she seemed unbiased to his disfigurement. She focused on what his fingers were doing to her and when his eyes finally opened as he lifted his head to look at her, she was staring right back at him. Behind the desire and need of her big blue Tully eyes, he saw the fear of an unwedded maiden. "Be gentle." She warned softly, knowing that her words meant very little as a man his size had her so defensively on her back. In response, Sandor twisted his finger out of her and moistened his cock with the leftover juices on his hand. His lips found her neck again, sprinkling the sensitive skin with light fluttering kisses. He could pin her down and take her with little regard for her feelings or her pain, but she knew he wouldn't. "You won't hurt me."
It had come out so quietly, he almost mistook her but as he brought his eyes back to hers, pulling his mouth away from her throat, he saw that she was honestly concerned, her tone a mixture of uncertainty and innocence, with a subtle lacing of confidence buried deep down underneath. She wanted to believe he wouldn't cause her pain but her time in King's Landing had taught her nothing but pain. The pain from the knights of the King's Guard as they beat her on Joffrey's order. The pain as Joffrey himself hit her for not looking at her deceased father's head. It was all she was beginning to expect from men and yet somewhere deep down in her soft little chirping, he could hear the tiny bit of hope that she still held on to. The Hound gazed down at her, examining her for a moment longer before kissing her hard, deepening their embrace with the lift of his chin and the feeling of his tongue against hers between them. When they finally broke apart, he rasped, "No, little bird. I won't hurt you."
With a gentleness she hadn't expected from the Hound, she felt the silken smoothness of his lower head rub slowly up and down her slit, gathering any extra amounts of her natural lubricant that it could, before slipping inside her sex. He heard her gasp as she felt him enter her and met her with a low groan pressed against her throat. He needed to taste her, to smell her, to feel her. His mouth returned to hers as he began to move his hips, lowering them down as he eased himself into her. He felt her tighten and knew he would regret taking her maidenhead in the morning, but for now, it was worth every risk in the world. If the King took him up to the ropes the moment the sun rose, he could at least say he died a happy man. But she felt so damned tight. Their lips parted and he breathed out, "Relax." She couldn't. It wasn't her fault. Her body naturally defended against intrusions of this sort. He would have to take his time and let her wait until she could bare him moving against her, even if it killed him.
His hand lowered down to her waist, resting on her curves as he stilled his hips. Every so often, he shifted to the side or urged forward slightly, but he'd stopped every time he saw her wince or tighten her jaw in pain. He hated hurting her, so he went slowly. As he shifted the weight of his waist again, he felt a little more moisture form between them and willed himself not to look down. The sight of red would only cause her to panic and give him a guilt that he couldn't stand to bear under the current circumstances. He just needed her to be happy. He needed her to relax and melt away with him. He just needed her to let him love her. His hips had waited for what felt like forever, so long that when she finally started moving beneath him, inching her sex slowly away, and then bringing it back to him, it caught him by surprise. "I'm okay." She chirped softly beneath him when she felt him try to steady her.
'The worst is over,' Sandor told himself as he felt her begin to relax her thighs, allowing him to enter her freely. The initial pain was subsiding, nothing left behind except a dull ache where her previously untouched muscles were now being explored. He reached an arm down and wrapped it underneath her back, pulling her upwards as he brought his back down against the sheets. They had reversed positions and as Sansa's upper body laid on top of his chest, he took advance of their close proximity and stole another kiss. "Sit up." He told her, guiding her up with his hands on her hips. "Fuck," he exhaled as she sat back, sheathing his manhood inside her completely as she moved. His eyes had closed with the sensation and when he opened them, he saw her smiling down at him as she started making little circular movements with her hips, grinding against his pelvis. His head fell back against the pillow as he pressed his eyes closed again. 'If she only knew the things she's doing to me,' Sandor felt his fingertips tighten, gripping the curves of her hips as he tried to orchestrate her movements on top of him.
But as he tried to slow her rhythm, tried to guide her to match his own pace, he realized she was forming a rhythm of her own. His eyes drew up the porcelain skin of her torso and fell on her face. He was surprised to see her eyes staring down at him, watching his face through bedroom eyes. His marked cheek twitched. 'How can she stomach to look at me and still want to…' His thoughts were cut off as Sansa leaned forward, planting her palms firmly against the thick muscles of his chest, giving her a deeper angle of him to enjoy. His head fell back again, his eyelids dropping closed, and his massive hands slid down her sides until he felt the roundness of her bottom against his palms. Sandor let out a deep groan as his hands kneaded her against him, grinding into her every time she rocked her hips back with his.
Without warning, Sansa leaned down, her hardened nipples brushing against his furred chest, and kissed him. She felt like the seven heavens. Her warmth wrapped tightly around his shaft, the way her hair fell down over him and brushed his neck and cheek as she kissed him, and her lips. 'Oh gods,' he thought. Her lips parted his effortlessly, wanting to taste him, wanting to capture his breath and breathe it into her lungs, taking him with her where ever she went. She didn't seem to mind the way the scored side of his lips felt rougher than the unscathed portion. And when he brought his hand to rest against the back of her neck, deepening their embrace and forcing his tongue against hers, she didn't pull away. She didn't refuse. Instead, he felt her hand press against the ruined side of him unbiased as she joined in his fevered excitement.
'She wants you.' His scolding and self-loathing warnings had vanished somewhere between hearing her blissful moans and the feel of her face so close to his. His mind rushed with all the lustful desires he wanted with her, now that he had her. 'Be a good dog and show her what a real man feels like.' Sandor groaned deep in his throat; he was sure she could feel it vibrate straight through his chest and into hers. Their lips parted as he lifted her off of him. Confusion and longing flashed over her eyes when she felt him slip out of her, but he wouldn't leave her empty for long. Sandor twisted their positions once more, laying her flat on her back as he pushed himself up on his forearms, lingering his stretched body over hers. She could feel his erection pressing against her opening and wanted to feel him back inside her, but he held her immobilized with his eyes. They bore into her and despite her lack of clothes, she felt more naked in front of him than she had thought possible. His head lowered, his lips seeking hers, but as they met, he let them only brush gently before pulling back and going instead for her jawline. He laced her skin with a stream of brisk kisses and stopped at her ear. She could feel him breathing heavily against her neck and it sent shivers down her spine. She needed him inside her, needed him to finish what he had started. Sandor rasped his demands. "I want to hear you chirp, little bird. Will you sing your song for me?"
He was teasing her. She bit her bottom lip and closed her eyes, lifting her chin in frustration as she felt him rubbing the head of his cock up and down her slick folds. Sansa moaned and tried to pull his hips down between her long legs but it was like trying to move a mountain. His stormy grey eyes still staring down at her, Sandor reached down with his hand and hooked her leg into the crook of his right arm. She was limber enough already, Sandor mused deviously. 'She'll be walking on wobbly legs when I'm done with her.' The thought made his cheek twitch as he grinned down at her. Her pouty pink lips, those clear blue Tully eyes, and her sweet smelling auburn hair. She was all his, if only for the night. When she tried to buck her hips down towards him again, he let her. He slipped inside her sweet opening and dropped his hand back down on the feather bed by her side, leaving her leg pressing up against the right side of his chest. It left her open for him and as he thrust himself into her for the first time, she audibly gasped, feeling him filling her completely in the single stroke. She tightened around him with a moan and felt him pulling back out of her. Before she could shift towards him again, he was back inside her, harder and quicker than the first thrust. Sansa cried out. Sandor grunted as he picked up his pace.
At first, she was like a ragdoll, just letting her body get used to him while she enjoyed the fleeting kisses he left over the skin of her shoulders and chest. But as Sandor began to feel himself losing his rhythm, his thrusts and lunges becoming sloppy and primal, Sansa's other leg found its way up to his hip, wrapping around his waist desperately. It drove him mad, feeling her tiny body clinging to him as she tightened and spasm around his shaft. "Sing." He growled, dipping his head down to her chest and suckling her nipple into his mouth. His tongue danced around the hardened bud as his teeth grazed around its edges dangerously. Her eyes pinched closed, and her bottom jaw slacked loosely. The little bird sang.
Sandor felt her squeeze around him, both with her legs and her womanly flower, sending his own orgasm spiraling to the surface. He couldn't place whether it was the sweet, peaceful gaze in her half-lidded eyes that got him, or her delicious moaning, but in the last second, he pulled himself out of her, cursing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" His body lurched forward, his cock pressed tightly between their bodies just above her belly button. His face twitched and winced, not only his scarred side, and she felt his warm release shoot between them on her stomach. He froze as his body rode out the last legs of his climax. As he felt himself softening at last, his breathing still harsh and uncontrolled but beginning to steady, Sandor rose up on his palms, arms straight as he gave some distance between their bodies while he hovered over her. He looked down at his seed still smeared on her stomach, as well as his, and cursed once again. "Fuck…I didn't want…" He pushed himself off of her and rolled over on the bed beside her. Grabbing the first piece of fabric he found—his cloak which he had carelessly discarded at the foot of her bed when their exchange became heated—Sandor tried to drape it over her midsection respectfully. He wiped his own stomach roughly with his hand until his cum became less visible. "If you're found carrying a bastard, they'll sooner slit your throat than bother with a formal hanging."
Sansa frowned. He was known for spoking bluntly, harsh and direct, but always honestly. She nodded silently and rubbed his scratchy cloak against her abdomen until she felt as clean as she could be. They laid besides each other as their breathing slowly returned to normal, their bodies still covered in a thin coating of fresh sweat. So much time had passed without a word that Sansa had thought Sandor had fallen asleep. She realized she was wrong only when he broke their silence with a question. "What will you do with the bed sheets?"
It was a simple enough question but Sansa hadn't even begun to think of it as she laid there beside him, still enjoying the endorphin rush from their tussle. She shook off his question with the first thing she could think of. "I'll say I've had my moon blood."
They fell mute again as they both thought. Sansa turned over onto her side and draped a hand over his broad chest. This small bit of affection, following so closely after what he had just done to the poor girl—entering her room without permission and taking her maidenhead when he had no claim to it, made his heart beat quicken all over again. Still, the sudden concern for what he had done wouldn't leave him and he refused to let her think she was safe when he had put her in so much more dangerous than she would have ever been in without him. 'Damned dog, you've soiled her and now no one will have her. The King will have her hung for this!' Sandor brought his hand to his chest to cover hers, enjoying the feel of her so close to him. "Joffrey may be stupid enough not to notice you've been bedded, but the Queen and her examiners won't. They'll check to see if you're fit to be wed as a maiden before the King will have you, and when they realize I've…" he hesitated, not wanting it to sound as horrible as it was. "had you, I won't be able to protect you, not from the whole Kings Guard." He hated admitting his faults and limitations, but he needed her to see past all the silly fairytales and songs.
Sandor wanted to turn to her. He wanted to grab her hand in both of his and stare into her eyes so she could see that she could trust him. He could steal her away, drag her out of Kings Landing at the first chance he got and never look back. He wanted to save her, but his damned mind wouldn't stay out of it. 'You're no Lord. No Knight. You're a dog. You have nothing to offer her. No land, no honor, no gold. You'll be mad to think she'll leave all this to go anywhere with you.' His eyes shifted around the room, hesitating as he spotted the expensive furniture, the beautifully detailed gowns that no doubt hung in the oversized wardrobe across the room, and even the bloody sheets they were lying on were far softer than he had ever felt in his life. He couldn't compete with even just the left overs that the Lannisters had to offer her. If he did drag her away, where would he keep her? She'd be sleeping on the dirty earth, underneath the trees, with the exception of the occasional inn or rented room when he could afford it. It was no life for a lady, let alone his little bird. He shut his eyes, not wanting to look at the ugly truth any longer. For now, he would just lie on this bed and enjoy feeling her warm, womanly body next to him. He would take care of the bed coverings before the sun came up, burning them far away from the Keep where no one would ask whose blood it had been. When the sun did finally rise, he would go to Joffrey and stand as his guard, as he had always done, with an extra careful eye for his little bird. He would do everything he could to protect her, as they waited for the lions to attack, because as long as she stayed in Kings Landing, he knew it would happen eventually. It was all he could do and he knew that it wasn't enough.
Sansa shifted against him, pulling herself tighter towards his unclothed torso as she hugged the muscles of his arm. She was breathing so softly and she smelled so sweet. He wanted to bed her again, taking her for as long as he could before they would be forced to part for the remainder of the night. "Sandor," she called gently to him. When he realized she was waiting for him to respond, he grunted roughly his acknowledgement, and she continued timidly, her voice falling just above a whisper. "Will you take me away?"
ANs: Well, that was fun to write. ;) Please feel free to leave a review as I love reading them. They brighten my day. And thank you again for being so kind. You're all incredibly wonderful.