Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5957035.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, Game_of_Thrones_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sandor_Clegane/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Sansa_Stark, Sandor_Clegane, Margaery_Tyrell, Joffrey_Baratheon
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-02-09 Words: 3628
****** His Voice In The Dark ******
by Alaynes_Mirror
Summary
     Sandor Clegane was unable to escape during the Battle of the
     Blackwater and is given guard duty as punishment. After that night
     Sansa Stark finds herself lost within dreams that allow her to escape
     the confines of her prison.
     The promise of finding peace in slumber eluded Sansa lately and she
     was brought strange dreams to chase instead.
     She was sat in a beautiful sunlit garden with Loras Tyrell, who
     looked as charming as ever with the way his golden curls framed his
     face. With a smile, he plucked a cupcake from one of the little china
     plates that lay on the table beside them and held it to Sansa’s mouth
     for her to bite.
      But Sansa wrinkled her nose at it and sat back in her chair, arms
     folded.
      Loras’s face clouded over.
     “I thought you liked cupcakes,” he mumbled.
      Sansa sighed. “They are awfully dull, you know. And the icing never
     tastes as good as I hope it will.”
      With a pout, Loras replied. “Well what do you want then?”
      “I know what she wants,” said a familiar rasping voice from behind
     Sansa. She gasped as his presence seemed to rip the vision in two and
     she felt big arms coil around her middle.
Notes
     I ticked the 'underage' box as a warning because chronologically I
     suppose Sansa would be underage here, but in my head she's aged up to
     around eighteen, but do what you wish with that! I suppose this is
     another dream-related fic, but for this one I wanted to focus on the
     idea of Sandor being linked to Sansa's sexual awakening. I wanted to
     explore the feeling of what it would be like for Sansa to experience
     such a heavy mixture of emotion and desire for the first time! Enjoy
     ;)
Soothe the wrath and tame the fury...
Sansa hummed absent-mindedly under her breath, her head resting on the
windowsill as she gazed out over the city. It was a sunny day and she could
hear the sound of seagulls circling around the castle turrets above. Everything
was quiet today; Joffrey had taken what felt like half the kingdom out on a
hunting trip to impress the Lady Margaery, his beautiful new betrothed. Sansa
did not mind being left behind, for she knew she would have hated every moment
of the trip, having to pretend to enjoy herself and fake pleasantries with
everyone. Better that she was left alone and free to be honest with herself,
although Sansa could not help but admit that it would have been nice to have
someone to talk to.
Sansa’s only source of company was the man who stood guard outside her room,
Sandor Clegane. A few weeks ago he had told her he was leaving the city for
good but, despite his intentions, had been found passed out in the stables, too
drunk to even saddle his horse. For his desertion his status from the
Kingsguard was revoked and, judged too fickle with his loyalty to do any more
work of importance, he had been given guard duty until the foreseeable future.
Sansa was pleased he had not gone. Ever since that night she felt as though the
two shared a small secret, something fragile kept between just the two of them
and it gave Sansa a source of comfort and strength.
Sansa could see the shadow of his boots under the door as he stood sentient,
yet occasionally she would hear him clear his throat or shift his position
slightly. She enjoyed having him so close by and continued to hum a few lines
of the song’s refrain, wondering what he could be thinking about.
After Blackwater she had felt the walls come down a little between them.
Cornered by the threat of dying at the hands of what he feared the most, Sandor
had turned to Sansa and climbed her tower in search of a song. As green flames
engulfed the sky outside, they had stared at each through the gates of hell and
Sansa had seen something in his eyes that night. She had seen the broken bits
of the man left behind the mask he wore so well, and the sight of it had washed
her fear away, replaced by something new.
Sansa tried to bring herself out of those thoughts before they threatened to
consume her, because there was more to that night than she cared to admit.
It always came back to the kiss; that stolen embrace, those cruel honest lips
that had pressed against hers so urgently. Sansa would always find her heart
racing when she remembered it and doing so always seemed to have a curious
effect on her.
While she did not see much of The Hound during the day, she always found him
again at night in her dreams. It was as though she were a wolf, picking her way
through the deep dark woods of her unconscious mind, knowing where to go to
find him. But why? Once Sansa would have been terrified at the thought of
Sandor Clegane hunting her in her dreams with those dark eyes of his, but now
the thought meant she eagerly anticipated the night, knowing she would be able
to see him again.
Sansa felt herself blush and tried yet again to divert her attention to
something else, scolding herself with the reminder that ladies should not have
such improper thoughts. She should be sewing instead or working on her
pleasantries, not dreaming of Sandor Clegane and what it would feel like to
have his great hands wrapped around her.
It wasn’t late, but Sansa felt herself growing sleepy in the afternoon sun and
decided she would have a small sleep before dinner. Yawning, Sansa wound her
hair into a loose plait and, deciding to wear nothing but a simple shift dress
because of the heat, clambered into bed and soon found herself drifting off to
sleep beneath the soft sheets.
But the promise of finding peace in slumber eluded her and Sansa was brought
strange dreams to chase instead.
She was sat in a beautiful sunlit garden with Loras Tyrell, who looked as
charming as ever with his golden curls framing his face and his eyes sparkling
in the sunshine. With a smile, he plucked a cupcake from one of the little
china plates that lay on the table beside them and held it to Sansa’s mouth for
her to bite. But Sansa wrinkled her nose at it and sat back in her chair, arms
folded. Loras’s face clouded over.
“I thought you liked cupcakes,” he mumbled.
Sansa sighed. “They are awfully dull, you know. And the icing never tastes as
good as I hope it will.”
With a pout, Loras replied. “Well what do you want then?”
“I know what she wants,” said a familiar rasping voice from behind Sansa. She
gasped as his presence seemed to rip the vision in two and she felt big arms
coil around her middle. Sandor Clegane kissed her throat, nibbling at the soft,
pale flesh in a way that made Sansa’s toes curl in pleasure.
But then he was suddenly kneeling by her side, grinning wickedly up at her. “So
that’s how the little bird wants to play the game, is it?”
Sansa looked down and realised she was holding out a piece of lemon cake in the
palm of her hand, offering it to him.
Sandor laughed low in his throat. “Don’t you know a lady shouldn’t feed her dog
at the table? It might encourage bad manners,” he grinned again, putting
emphasis on the word ‘bad,’ and took the cake in his mouth from her open hand.
Sansa’s eyes widened at his boldness and watched as he began to kiss up her arm
hungrily which made her giggle. Then he nuzzled into her neck again, continuing
to kiss her there and the whole time Sansa felt a warm sensation beginning to
throb inside her. She lost herself in the feeling of having Sandor’s rough lips
caress her soft skin, and then his teeth nipped her a little harder than before
and it made Sansa cry out with pleasure.
The sound of her voice seemed to carry her out of the dream and dropped her
back into bed. It took but a moment to realise what had happened and Sansa
clapped her hands to her mouth, praying that no one had heard. She was aware of
her own quickened heartbeat, and the sweat that made her dress cling to her
skin.
There was a loud banging on the door and Sansa flung herself under the duvet,
as though trying to convince even herself that she had been sleeping
innocently. There was a moment more of silence before the door burst open and
Sandor Clegane barged into the room, his eyes wild with alarm.
“What is it?” He barked.
Sansa was too mortified to say anything and hid her face beneath the duvet.
Sandor strode to the window searching for any signs of a disturbance, but
finding none, he turned back to her with a questioning gaze.
Sansa felt very aware of how flustered she looked and knew he could see it too.
Fearing he might try to discover the reason for her flushed cheeks, she
scrambled to find her voice. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’m
fine, please don’t worry.”
But perhaps he could hear the silent plea in her voice and read it wrong, for
he walked towards the bed, his voice softening slightly.
“Are you ill?” Sandor asked.
“No,” Sansa trailed off, unsure of what to call the feeling even if she did
want to tell him the truth.
Sandor’s gaze hardened. “Don’t lie to me, girl. A dog can smell a lie.”
“I know,” said Sansa quickly, not wanting to seem as though she was deceiving
him. “I just... had a funny dream that’s all.”
She watched his eyes narrow with suspicion. “Dream? What kind of dream?”
A new wave of heat rushed to Sansa’s neck and cheeks as she recalled her
vision, but she took a deep breath and tried to recount it a little more
innocently than it really was.
“Well, Ser Loras was in it...” She began, remembering the way she had eyed his
cupcake with disinterest.
But Sansa’s trail of thought was broken by the sudden visible change in
Sandor’s expression as his jaw tightened while he surveyed her guilty
glistening skin and heated cheeks.
“I see how it is,” he growled, anger seeming to rip through his voice. “So the
thought of one of your pretty knights got too much for the little bird’s dainty
head, is that it? Then I’ll leave you to your precious daydreams.”
And with that he strode towards the door but Sansa, feeling a flutter of panic
at his leaving in anger, called out in desperation. “I dreamed of you!”
Sandor froze for a moment and Sansa knew he was trying to decide what that line
meant. “The last time I checked I was no buggering curly golden knight,” he
said, finally.
Sansa fumbled for a description that didn’t make her seem like a wanton woman.
“Well, Ser Loras was there and he offered me something but I didn’t want it.”
Sansa took a deep breath, begging her cheeks not to betray her sinful thoughts.
“Then you offered me something else instead and I took it.”
After a pause, Sandor looked round at her with an odd expression. “What did I
offer you?”
He’ll know if you lie,she thought to herself and decided that silence was
better. She looked away, hoping he would give up and quit the room so she could
scream into her pillow to relieve the feeling of humiliation and desire that
still burned inside her.
But she heard his footsteps approach the bed and felt it sag under his weight
as he sat down beside her. Sansa allowed herself to steal a glance at him and
saw he was looking at the ceiling, which made her feel a little more relaxed at
not having his intense gaze on her.
Sansa chewed her lip anxiously. She knew she could trust Sandor, he would not
tell anyone about the dream, but he might laugh at her, or even worse think
less of her for it and be disgusted that she had thought of him so intimately
without his permission.
“Would you think badly of me if I told you?” She asked, nervously.
Sandor shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for being honest.”
She hugged her knees and took a deep breath. “You ate a... a lemon cake from
my...” Sansa’s voice died away and with a squeal she buried her head in her
hands, unable to reveal any further the wickedly pleasurable scene she had
beheld.
Sandor inched closer to her. “A lemon cake?” He chortled. “I don’t know what
kind of dream that could have been.”
But from the way Sandor looked at her she got the curious feeling that he knew
exactly what kind of dream it had been. Though that thought confused her it
also gave her an odd sense of confidence, for it was the shock and scandal of
it that Sansa feared most from his reaction.
“You ate a lemon cake from my hand and you...” Sansa swallowed, recalling the
delicious details. “You k-kissed my arm and my neck and it...” at this
confession she felt herself burn brighter than before, remembering the feel of
his lips on her skin. “It felt nice.”
She watched his face for signs of revulsion or horror, but he merely seemed
surprised.
“You liked it?” Sandor asked, and there was the tiniest whisper of a boy’s
shyness beneath it all.
Sansa nodded, biting her lip again.
Sandor looked at her with a soft expression and for a moment he seemed to have
an air of vulnerability about him. But then as quickly as it had come, the
emotion snapped from his gaze and he wrenched her chin towards him, the way he
always did when searching for lies. “Are you laughing at me?” He growled.
Sansa was shocked at the change in his voice, but more than that she was sad
for him, to see that someone admitting a feeling of affection for him could
warrant such suspicion and fear.
“Never,” she whispered, and something in her clear blue eyes made him believe
her.
His grip on Sansa slackened and he sat back, a great sigh escaping his lips. He
ran a gloved hand through his hair and shook his head.
“Why do you do this to me, little bird?” He muttered, more to himself than to
her it seemed.
Sansa frowned. “Do what?”
“Tease me.”
Sansa stuck her chin out defiantly. “I can assure you that it was you who
teased me.”
Sandor chuckled, a rough scratching sound in his throat. But then he eyed her
with a look that made Sansa’s insides tighten and he suddenly moved so close to
her that they were but a breath apart.
“I wonder what the little bird would do if a dog truly did try to bite her,
like he did in this dream of hers?”
Sansa coloured at his words and felt the throbbing come aching back, as though
his voice alone brought it tumbling from her dreams.
Sandor leaned forward as though he meant to kiss her, but his cheek brushed
against hers and he turned to rest his head on her shoulder.
“Don’t you know what you do to a man when you blush like that?”
But then he looked up at her again, his dark eyes full of want and wonder. “And
I’m the one who did that to you?”
Sansa smiled faintly, hardly knowing how to react with him so close. “More than
the once, I confess.” She paused. “I often dream of you kissing me.”
“I want to do more than just kiss you, girl, believe that,” he said hungrily.
From the way he looked at her, Sansa knew that too and though the thought made
her a little nervous, it also added to the warmth that was gathering in the pit
of her stomach. “I wish you would,” she whispered.
Sandor watched her carefully for a moment and then raised a thick eyebrow. “Was
I armoured in this dream?”
“No,” Sansa admitted.
With a smirk Sandor removed his gloves and began undoing the buckles of his
armour. Sansa watched him intently. She had never seen a real man remove his
armour before and found the act oddly intimate. He then sat before her, wearing
only his breeches and a rough tunic, the neckline of which revealing a patch of
dark curls. Sansa was suddenly very curious to find out what it felt like, but
then without further warning Sandor pinned her arms against the headboard,
grinning.
“Why don’t you tell me exactly what I did in this little fantasy of yours.”
Sansa’s breathing became shallow. He was going to do it! He was going to kiss
and touch her, the way she always loved when her head was settled amongst the
clouds.
“You were behind me.”
Sandor pulled Sansa towards him in that oddly gentle way he had, and settled
her in his lap so that her back was against his chest. For a moment nothing
happened and Sansa was about to turn around to see if something was wrong, but
then she felt hands pulling at the ribbon that held her plaited hair in place.
Sansa was surprised at his actions but closed her eyes as he began running his
hands through the long silky locks that now tumbled freely down. She
unconsciously leaned her head back, sighing contently. Any feeling of
nervousness died away in that moment and she allowed herself to entirely relax
in Sandor’s hands.
Sandor nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of
her hair and took a moment to simply hold her like that.
But then Sansa’s breath hitched in her throat as Sandor raised himself up to
sit on his haunches, meaning Sansa’s body was stretched out befor him, her
dress now barely concealing the shape of her body.
“Like this?” Sandor breathed against her ear, sending goose-bumps down Sansa’s
pale skin.
Sansa nodded, the throbbing down below increasing as one of his great hands
held her ribs while the other settled on her hip. Then his hand moved to trace
the tender inner flesh of her thigh and Sansa moaned softly as his hand moved
up her leg, pushing the dress up.
“Fuck,” he groaned, as he realised she was entirely bare beneath, with no
smallclothes on.
He continued to push up under her dress, running his hands over her stomach and
ribs with her smooth skin stretched out for him so readily. He cupped one of
her teats which filled his hand and squeezed it, the sensation making Sansa
breath heavily and she felt further tension building between her thighs. She
reached behind and put her arms around his neck to allow him better access to
her body. He noticed this and rubbed a calloused thumb over her nipple, making
Sansa shudder with pleasure as the feeling sent shooting bursts of desire
through her body.
“Do you ache, little bird?” He murmured. “Do you ache for me?”
“Yes,” Sansa panted, needing him to do something, anything to relieve the built
up feeling inside her.
He chuckled and she felt how the noise made his chest and throat vibrate
against her body.
Sandor then placed his hand beneath the curly auburn locks nestled in between
her legs and stroked her slit with one finger. Sansa whimpered at the
sensation, feeling her cheeks burn as it made her body twitch.
Sansa knew this was all very unladylike and utterly wicked, but Sandor felt so
good that there was no way she would ever tell him to stop. She had never felt
such an intense feeling of pleasure before, with the only touches given to her
by men usually ending in pain or tears. But with Sandor it was different; he
brought her something that was entirely new.
He continued to stroke her, the wetness there pooling around his fingers. Sansa
cried out and raked her nails through his hair. Sandor groaned at the feeling
and Sansa felt his great hips move beneath her. That brought a new wave of
desire ripple through her body and it unconsciously responded as her bottom
grinded against his crotch.
Sandor growled and the hand on her hip gripped a little harder as he moved
underneath her again, his fingers continuing to stroke the bud that brought
Sansa so much sweetness.
“Let me taste you,” Sandor murmured.
He turned Sansa so they looked at one another, eyes reflecting warmth and
desire. Sandor ran a hand through her hair and pulled her towards him. He
kissed her deeply, hungrily which made Sansa open her mouth to his and with
surprise, felt his tongue touch and caress hers. It felt incredible and Sansa
moaned, locking her legs around Sandor’s thick waist to bring him closer to
her. Sandor ran his other hand over her bare bottom, squeezing it and Sansa
felt him grin through the kiss.
“Gods, Sansa,” he groaned. “Has there ever been a more perfect arse than
yours?”
Sansa giggled, devilishly pleased that he admired her body. Their lips grazed
one another’s as Sandor began to grind himself against her again, quicker this
time, and Sansa felt something begin to coil up inside her.
“Sandor, I-” she panted, unsure of what her body was doing, only that it felt
wonderful.
“It’s alright, little bird,” he replied, his voice thick with desire. “Sing for
me.”
He held her tighter and Sansa ran her hands beneath his tunic, caressing his
body, the feeling of his thick muscles and rough curly hair making her feel
light-headed as she tried to take it all in.
Sansa’s head rolled back and her breathing became shallow as the pressure began
to build steeply inside her. Sandor too, seemed almost at breaking point.
Suddenly Sansa saw stars behind her eyes and her entire body felt as though
fireworks were shooting up inside her. She cried out and wrapped her arms
around Sandor’s neck, and felt her lower muscles clench and unclench. Then
Sandor swore and moaned her name again and again as he pulled her tighter down
on him, his hips pounding against her bottom. Eventually they both slowed,
their breath ragged. Sandor was panting and Sansa smiled serenely at him.
Gently Sandor lowered her down onto the bed and fell beside her, his shoulders
shaking slightly.
They lay beside one another, reveling in the sweetness of their tumbling
downward spiral.
Sansa gazed at Sandor, taking in his shaking shoulders, his closed eyes and his
pounding heartbeat. She felt as though he too, had somehow given himself to
her.
She knew, now, that she would no longer settle for lonely encounters with a
ghost of Sandor in her dreams, she needed his warm skin, flushed cheeks and his
low voice in the dark; she wanted the mask and the man behind it.
Sansa nestled herself in Sandor’s arms and he held her to him. It felt as
though between them they had built a small sanctuary within the walls that
restrained the two of them so completely.
“I think I’m going to like guard duty,” Sandor chuckled.
Sansa grinned and kissed him. “I look forward to our time together.”
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