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Serpentine - Ch. 8

No woman had ever smiled at him like that. Sandor’s heart lurched. She was so fucking beautiful. He wanted to wrap her in his cloak and hold her close and tell her he would keep her safe from anyone or anything that ever tried to hurt her again. He wanted to push her back into her room, kick the door shut, and make her his, fuck her on her silk sheets and feather pillows and hear her cry out his name in sweet release.

He wanted her to realize, right now, that she loved him.

Sandor Clegane was no fool, and had learned at a very early age how to read people. When Sansa smiled at him just now, he knew she was probably in love with him, but she had to come to that understanding by herself. He hoped it wouldn’t take long, because both of their lives were going to be vastly changed in the next few weeks.

At the turn of the next moon, he was going to become Lord of the Crossing and marry Sansa Stark. House Clegane would no longer be in the Westerlands. He was being given the Twins.

There had been trouble in the Riverlands since Walder Frey had orchestrated the murder of Lady Stark and Robb Stark at the Red Wedding. House Lannister could deny their part in the travesty all they wanted, but everyone in Westeros knew better. The Riverlords refused to pledge loyalty to Riverrun since it had been given to a Frey and his Lannister wife. The North was still unsettled as well. Roose Bolton lost his allies in the North after he married the false Arya Stark to his bastard and allowed that abomination to take Winterfell. The Hound had heard talk around the Red Keep that the Riverlords would join with Stark’s bannermen to help Stannis take King’s Landing. And the Battle of the Blackwater took out most of the King’s Landing forces along with those of Stannis—but he would be getting thousands more men for his army if the Riverlands united with the North.

The Queen had called him into her solar three days ago to announce that the King was dismissing him from the Kingsguard. “He intends to reward you with a lordship and lands for your brave and loyal service.”

Sandor’s face was hard to read. The Queen slowly turned her wine goblet in her hands, watching as the gems on her fingers glittered in the firelight. When he didn’t respond, she looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “I want you to take the Twins.”

“The Twins?” he rasped, astonished.

“I had a raven yesterday. Jamie infiltrated the castle from within and rid it of all those wretched Freys. We need someone to rule it, and we need a way to make peace. As Lord of the Crossing, you will have the status necessary to marry Sansa Stark. The Riverlords and the Northmen will bend the knee to the crown if the girl is returned to them… The Tullys and the Starks were the heart of the Riverlands and the North. Sansa is both.”

The Hound’s laughter was a harsh bark. “High lords won’t swear fealty to a dog, Your Grace.”

“They will, for the sake of Sansa Stark. These are men who value honor more than power. They will abandon their plans of alliance to Lord Stannis when the daughter of Ned Stark & Catelyn Tully brings her household to the Twins. Sansa is everything a lady should be—beautiful, sweet, courteous, and personable. She will make them love her… and you. There are no other suitable lords in the Riverlands or the North, Sandor. And your loyalty to the crown has been proven.”

Sandor could see the sense in it. But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t be the bloody Lord of the Crossing when all he’d been his whole life was a sworn sword to the Lannisters. He knew how to be a warrior, not a lord. He could be Sansa’s sworn shield… But that would mean letting her marry someone else. His blood boiled at the thought. Seven bloody buggering hells, he thought desperately. He should have left King’s Landing during the Blackwater, as he had originally planned. But in the end, he couldn’t find it in himself to abandon Sansa. Fool. Now is your chance to take her away from here. If he married Sansa, he could damn well make sure that no one ever, ever hurt her again. He really had no choice.

His face was a hard mask. “As you command, Your Grace.”

He spent the next three days in a blur of training, guard duty, and meetings late into the night with the Small Council before he finally found a chance to escape. He’d barely had time to drink a flagon of wine each night lately, but if somebody offered him a cask right now, he would have told them to bugger off. He wanted Sansa.


Sansa schooled her face into the mask she wore outside of her rooms and timidly thanked him. “I will fetch my cloak.” He stood aside as she left her rooms and fell in behind her as they crossed the drawbridge and climbed the serpentine, all in silence. Sansa walked with her head down so that if her mask slipped, her face wouldn’t be visible to give away the slightest hint of the elation she felt.

When they entered the godswood, Sansa stood awkwardly beside the Hound. Like the last time she met him here, she was not quite sure what to do. She instinctively sensed that he would not be the one to start things. He seemed to be… waiting? Waiting for something. Perhaps. She wasn’t sure if that made sense, but it felt like it did. Perhaps he thought she might not really want him to take her maidenhead after all, but she had never been more sure of anything in her life. She wanted to have at least some happiness to remember when she was married off to some high lord who only wanted her for her claim.

As much as she wanted to start kissing the Hound, it felt wrong for her to be in the godswood and not pray, so Sansa went to the heart tree and knelt. Please gods, please make the Hound still want me. Help me to please him as much as he pleases me. Please let me see him again on the morrow, please don’t make me wait again for so long, I could not bear it. And please, let him take my maiden’s gift when I offer it to him again. He is the only one who doesn’t want me for my claim; he is the only one who deserves it. She thought for a moment about that. About what would happen when she was betrothed. She would be married to some high lord that she didn’t care about and could never love, because Joffrey had made it so that she was no longer capable of loving a man who was not of her own choosing. She would move to her lord husband’s home… and she would never see the Hound again. All she would have were her memories of him. The thought made her want to weep. No, I will shed no tears in the godswood when I am with the Hound. The gods have helped me, I will not waste it.

Sansa finally stood and looked at the Hound. After a moment, he joined her at the heart tree. She took his hand lightly in her own and lifted her other hand to his face and cupped his cheek. The burned side. “I have missed you so, my lord,” she whispered.

“Little bird…” Sandor drew his fingers through her auburn locks before softly kissing her, and then gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. She wrapped her arms around his waist and lost herself in the smell of leather and sweat and wine. She was acutely aware of how big he was, how strong and fierce, the muscles of his entire body hardened by past battles and daily training in the practice yard. And yet here he was, holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. She felt a possessive sort of pride in knowing that she was the only woman in all of King’s Landing to be in the Hound’s arms tonight.

Sansa leaned her forehead against his heavily muscled chest and exhaled slowly. His manhood was already hard, and she felt a low, sweet ache building between her legs and knew she was getting wet. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait another moment. She pressed her body firmly against him and reached up to pull his face to hers, and then they were kissing each other, fiercely, desperately, trying to make up for lost time. With her hands tangled in his hair, Sansa thrust her hips against the Hound’s, and he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her closer. He cupped her breast and squeezed and then moved his hand lower and began stroking her between the legs. A sharp stab of lust pierced Sansa’s belly. She broke the kiss with a gasp and a soft cry, and then swept her tongue over the Hound’s bottom lip before claiming his mouth again with a hard kiss. He groaned and placed his hands under her thighs and lifted her up. She eagerly wrapped her legs around his waist and bucked her hips, feeling the hard muscles of his belly shift underneath her.

The Hound was tearing at the laces of her bodice, knotting them in his haste. He cursed, and Sansa pushed his hands away and deftly undid them. Her breasts spilled free and he took one in hand, cupping the soft flesh and stroking his thumb over the hard pink bud of her nipple. She arched her back and pushed his head lower to take the other one fully in his mouth. He sucked hard and flicked the tip of his tongue over the sensitive flesh, and then grazed it with his teeth, and Sansa cried out as she rocked her hips wantonly against him.


Sansa.” Sandor gasped her name and cradled her head in his hand and kissed her hard, and then more softly, and then lowered her to the ground, panting. He was fighting to control himself. Her body… Gods. Her body was so utterly feminine; slim and supple, long legs, full breasts, and nipples that would drive any man wild just by the sight of them, round and pink and hard as they were right now. And the feel of her firm, round arse squirming in his arms with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist… His cock was so hard and Sansa was so eager, every one of his instincts as a man was shouting at him to just flip her skirts up and fuck her hard, and he knew she would let him, knew she wanted him to. He could hear her breath shudder as she tried to calm herself.

“The pool, Sansa,” he rasped breathlessly. “We need to go to the pool. We’re too exposed here.” They were still standing in front of the heart tree.

“Yes, my lord,” she said. She smoothed her skirts and covered her breasts with her cloak.

The Hound gripped her chin in his fingers and looked her in the eyes. “I have a name, Sansa. Say my name,” he growled.

“Sandor, my lord, pardons,” she said, blushing.

“I’m no lord, either. Especially when you’re shoving your teats into my face,” he said irritably. “Remember that.”

He let go of her chin, and she licked her lips nervously. “I am truly sorry, my lord. I must remember that my courtesy isn’t needed when we’re… together, here in the godswood.”

Sandor grunted his acceptance and they made their way to the pool in silence. He had hoped that the walk would ease his erection, but his cock was already so sensitive that just the fabric of his breeches rubbing against it kept him hard as a rock. By the time they arrived at the pool, he thought he had grown even stiffer, if that was possible. He spread his cloak on the ground and quickly adjusted himself while his back was turned so that his cock was resting flat against his belly. The head of it showed over the waistband of his breeches, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was that, or have it straining painfully against his laces. Besides, his tunic covered it.

Sansa sat and waited shyly as he removed his sword belt and sank down next to her. Sandor could tell she was nervous. He reached out and gently stroked her cheek, brushing her hair behind her ear. She blushed and quickly looked away, but when she looked up again, her eyes were deep with desire. She licked her lips and put her hand on the back of his neck and whispered, “Sandor…” before moving in to kiss him, slowly and deeply. He pictured her soft lips and warm tongue teasing his cock instead of his mouth, and groaned. Her arms were around his shoulders now, and she was leaning into him so insistently as they kissed that she was almost in his lap. He gently pressed her backwards until she was lying down.

She smiled softly and touched his hair. “Will you take my maiden’s gift now, Sandor?”

He kissed her again. “Not yet, little bird.”

Sandor supported himself on an elbow and unfastened the brooch on her cloak and pushed the fabric aside. In the moonlight, her nipples stood out hard and dark against the creamy white skin of her breasts, and he almost, almost changed his mind about taking Sansa’s maidenhead. She was gazing at him in excitement, her naked breasts heaving wantonly in time with her ragged breathing. His muscles were tense with the effort of holding himself back. He placed a heavy hand on the curve of her waist and slid it slowly up and over her breast, watching as her flesh yielded under his touch. Sansa exhaled sharply when he brushed his thumb over her nipple. He explored every inch of her breast with his fingertips as he dipped his head to close his mouth over the other nipple, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive tip, rolling it between tongue and lips and teeth as he’d done earlier, vaguely aware of Sansa’s soft, fast cries of pleasure. He realized he had thrown his leg over hers and was thrusting his hips against her, desperately seeking relief for his aching cock.

He pulled her hand away from where she was clutching his shoulders and put it between his legs, rubbing her palm against the heavy bulge in his breeches. When he let go, Sansa continued to stroke him. After a moment, she parted her legs and arched her hips, whimpering impatiently as he kissed her. Sandor slid his fingers between her legs and groaned. The fine cloth of her gown grew damp as soon as he pressed his fingers into her cleft, and he thought about how it would feel to slide his cock into her hot, wet--

He tore his mouth away from hers abruptly and rolled to the side, breathing heavily.


Sansa felt like she couldn’t catch her breath. She was trembling with desire. The ache between her legs was unbearable and her lower belly felt tight with the need for release. She wanted the Hound’s touch, she needed it. But when she reached for him, he gently rebuffed her.

“Be still for a moment, Sansa, or I won’t last much longer.”

“Sandor, please… I want to see you. I want to please you,” she pleaded. When he had placed her hand on his manhood, she felt a flood of arousal soak her smallclothes. She wanted so badly to see what it looked like. She’d rubbed him as firmly as she could with her fingers and hand to try and picture it, but she still didn’t know any more than she did the last time they saw each other. Maybe even less—this time, she didn’t even felt the bulge at the end of his manhood.

The Hound made a sound that might have been a laugh. “You are seeing me and pleasing me.”

She blushed fiercely. “That’s not what I meant…”

“Then say what you mean,” he said, his voice harsh.

Sansa swallowed and felt a flash of guilt for how easy it was to disregard all those years of training with Septa Mordane when she was with the Hound. But she wasn’t a child anymore. She would be a woman grown at the turn of the next moon, and she wanted the Hound badly, so if she must say… womanly things to seduce him, then she would. The last time they were together, she actually told him she wanted him to fuck her with his cock, and what was worse, she had actually almost enjoyed saying it.

“I want to see your… your manhood, my l-- Sandor. Your... c-cock. I want to touch it. Please,” she said, her voice trembling. She felt as if his eyes were looking into her soul.

After a long moment, he propped himself up on his elbows. “Go ahead, then,” he growled. “Take your look.”

With shaking hands, she reached out and gingerly pushed the edge of his tunic out of the way so she could get to the laces on his breeches. She moved closer and tried to steady herself as she fumbled at the waistband, looking for a loose end. Her fingers brushed against something and she froze, heart pounding in excitement. She pushed his tunic higher, and then she saw it. It was the bulge at the end of his manhood. The reason she hadn’t felt it earlier is because it wasn’t even contained within his breeches. She licked her lips in fascination as she traced her fingers over it. There was a dent in the middle of it, and it was… it was leaking a clear, slippery fluid, and she wondered if the Hound was about to have his release. She touched the liquid again and spread it around with her fingertips, and he moaned.

“Sansa…” he warned her. “Take it out. Now.”

She anxiously pulled at his laces. He sounded so urgent, almost as if he was in pain. His cock was straining to be free, and when the last lace came loose, Sandor gave a groan of relief. Sansa sucked in her breath and stared at his manhood in fascination. It was huge. She knew it would be big, but… She touched it with her fingertips and it twitched. The skin was hot, and so silky. She had always thought a man’s… cock would be rough, like his hands. She’d never dreamed it could be so hard, and yet the skin be so soft at the same time. Sansa couldn’t stop stroking it; she had never felt anything like it. When she wrapped a hand around the base of it, her fingertips never touched. She added the other above the first, and she still only held half of his cock. I would need four hands to hold all of it. She was awestruck. She had nothing to compare it to, but somehow she couldn’t imagine a man of smaller stature having such a large…

The Hound thrust his hips. “Stroke me Sansa, with your hand, just like that. Faster. Oh, gods,” he moaned, panting.

Sansa wanted to peel off her smallclothes. They were soaked, and she could feel her wetness trickling onto her thighs. She wanted to crawl on top of him and rock her hips against his with his manhood buried deep inside her. The Hound sat up abruptly, tore off his tunic, and flipped her on her back. She pulled her skirts high up around her waist and spread her legs.

Please… F-fuck me, Sandor! I promise I won’t ever regret it. Please!” she begged him, shamelessly.

Sandor pulled off her smallclothes and positioned himself between her legs. “No, Sansa,” he said. “But I won’t disappoint you.” He lowered his hips, and suddenly she felt his hot, hard cock sliding along the folds of her lady’s place, and she wrapped her legs around him so she could buck her hips hard against it. It felt so good, better than anything she had ever imagined. Waves of pleasure radiated from deep in her lower belly and built and swelled until she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, even though she never wanted it to stop. The bulge on the Hound’s manhood slid against her swollen nub, and she cried out, cried out again, and then finally the waves crashed and she shook with her release, arching her back and calling his name. “Sandor, Sandor!” He whispered her name desperately and then she felt the hot, sticky liquid of his release pooling on her lower belly, still blooming with her pleasure.


Sandor lay on his back with Sansa in his arms. His future wife was resting her head on his massive shoulder and languidly tracing the scars on his chest with her fingertips. The seed on her belly had long since dried. Gods, just thinking about it made his cock start going hard. He tried to think of something else because if he did this with Sansa again, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back.

“Sansa. Why do you want me to fuck you?” He suspected he knew the reason, but he wanted to hear it from her.

Sansa lifted her head and looked at him.

“So I can have something happy to remember, after I’m married off to some high lord who only wants me for my claim,” she said softly. “Besides, you’re the only man who wants me for myself. You deserve it.”

He knew it. He looked at her, smiling softly at him. He could tell she truly thought she would be doing something noble and romantic, just like in one of those bloody songs she loved so well.

“Throw the old dog a bone, is that the way of it?” he asked roughly.

“That’s not how I meant it!”

“Yes, it is. That’s exactly how you meant it. Think about it later, when you’re alone and not trying to ride my cock.”

“That’s unkind, Sandor,” she said. She actually sounded almost angry. Bugger that. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d provoked her.

“You want me to fuck you. Do you even know what that means?” he mocked. He was having a hard time controlling his temper.

Sansa blushed furiously. Sandor could see her face redden, even in the moonlight.

“Of course!” She sounded uncertain.

“No, you don’t, not if you think I’m going to take your maidenhead and then hand you off to some other man. If I fuck you, Sansa, you’re mine. And I won’t let anyone take what’s mine.” His breath was coming fast and hard, as if he’d just finished beating some buggering knight to a pulp in the practice yard. He wished it was daylight right now so he could do just that. He knew he was going to marry Sansa, and he knew she would be happy about it, but he needed her to see that he was a man, not some slavering dog waiting eagerly for a juicy bone.

Sansa was quiet.

“I’m more than my cock, Sansa. I’m a man. Understand that.”

“Yes, my lord. Sandor,” she whispered.

Anger was surging inside of him. He needed wine, a lot of it. He stood abruptly and turned his back on Sansa as he dressed. She put her hand on his arm.

“Sandor…” she said timidly, but he shook her off.

“Best head back to the Red Keep. It’s getting late,” he said, not even looking at her.

They walked back in silence. He didn’t speak again until they were standing in front of the door to her rooms.

“You’ll not be seeing me again so soon. I have duties to attend to.” Sansa gasped and covered her mouth. Her eyes were wet with tears. He hated to hurt her feelings, but he would fix it later. Right now, he needed wine or blood, and it would be easier to get the wine. He nodded stiffly at her and walked away. The little bird never said a word.

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Thank you! And I'm afraid you're right, she is going to have some sad days ahead of her.

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