Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9859223.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Game_of_Thrones_(TV), A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin, A
      Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_&_Related_Fandoms
  Relationship:
      Sandor_Clegane/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Sandor_Clegane, Sansa_Stark, Joffrey_Baratheon, Meryn_Trant, Cersei
      Lannister, Robb_Stark
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon, Explicit_Language, Explicit_Sexual_Content,
      Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Underage_Sex, Shameless_Smut,
      Gratuitous_Smut, Porn_with_Feelings
  Series:
      Part 3 of White_Bird_and_Black_Dog
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-21 Words: 4357
****** Say the Word ******
by mynameisnoneya
Summary
     After Joffrey cruelly torments Sansa, thanks to her older brother's
     victory at Oxcross, Sandor chastises himself in the privacy of his
     chambers for not rushing to her aid. After drinking too much, he
     tries to channel his raging anger and lust by attempting to take
     matters into his own hands. Sandor is interruped by Sansa, his
     beautiful little bird who decided to come to his chambers and to try
     to regain some feelings of control.
Notes
     This story continues to explore the ongoing sexual relationship
     between Sansa and Sandor while she is still betrothed to Joffrey. I
     have not indicated her age, but since I'm blending this story with
     canon, Sansa would most likely be under 18. The sex depicted in this
     installment of the series is not rough and is completely consensual.
     This one was added to establish that Sandor and Sansa are in love
     with each other, not just using each other for their pleasure.
     Although this story can stand alone, it is meant to be read after
     Leave It On, and Come Out To Play, the two stories in this series.
     Please note that I made sure to tag any and all characters that
     appear in this work, whether they have a speaking role or not.
     General disclaimer: GoT characters and quotes belong to GRMM - I own
     nor claim nothing!
     If you enjoyed this work, please let me know by leaving comments and
     kudos!
See the end of the work for more notes
She wouldn’t say it.
Damn her all to the seven hells, his brave little bird wouldn’t say it.
Oh, how he wanted her to say it, though.  No matter how much he willed her to
say it as he stood there like the obedient dog they all thought he was, he
silently begged her to just open her pretty pink mouth and say the fucking
words.
Say it, Sansa, please say it, and I swear that I’ll gut the lot of them for
you, right here, right now.
But she just sat there and took it instead.  Took their abuse again as always,
damn them all.  She readily knelt before that little sadistic fucker who didn’t
deserve to be king and let him wave his crossbow at her like she was some
animal about to be slaughtered for sport.  She sobbed and begged him not to
kill her…fucking hell, it was too much to for a man to bear.  How much longer
did she really think that he could do this, day after day, standing there and
watching them try to break her?
Say it, girl!  Say it!
All she had to do was just say it, and he would have leapt from his post on the
steps.  He would have charged Joffrey and jabbed his greatsword into that evil
monster’s throat as he watched the life pour out of the bastard’s hateful green
eyes.  Then with sheer delight, he would have spun on his heels, smiling widely
as he spilled Meryn Fucking Trant’s guts onto the floor and would have spit in
the fucker’s horrified face as he bled to death at the feet of his dead,
beloved king.  And then he would have taken down the lot of the Kingsguard,
picking them off one by one, until they finally managed to overtake him.
He would have done all of the above if she had just said the words he needed to
hear to know that she could no longer stand playing this little game.  The code
words he had given her long ago after Joffrey had made her look at her father’s
head on a pike.  If she would just say it, scream it, shout it…that would be
enough for her to unleash him and all of his years of hate on this fucking
city.
He didn’t lie to her when he told her that he would die for her.  He meant it. 
Every word.  He loved her.  He loved her more than anyone or anything in his
own miserable existence.  Even when they finally brought him to his knees, he
would have her name on his lips and would have not regretted one goddamn moment
as they removed his head from his neck. 
But Sansa Stark was an infuriatingly stubborn young lady when she wanted to be.
After he had witnessed the half-man boldly stand up to Joffrey like no one else
dared, Sandor was ashamed.  Ashamed that once again, he waited patiently for
Sansa to let him have his way for once and let him attack the bloody buggers
who had murdered her family and who were bent on destroying her.  He might not
succeed, but fuck the lot of them if he didn’t go down trying his damnedest.  
Hearing that little imp’s speech, watching him march in and march right back
out with Sansa on his tiny arm, Sandor wanted to bellow from the depths of his
lungs that she was his.  No man, whole or half, should dare to touch her. 
Why in the name of The Stranger would she not just say the goddamn words?
Seeing how pitiful Sansa looked while kneeling before Joffrey yet how regal she
appeared when she exited the room, Sandor knew that the entire kingdom thought
that she was a stupid, silly little high-born girl whose head was full of fairy
tales and noble knights on valiant steeds.
The young woman he knew was a far cry from that.  She was brave.  Fierce,
even.  They had no bloody idea.   She would destroy the lot one day when the
opportunity arose, she had told him once while they were snuggling in the
darkness of her chambers.  And if he would just have the fucking patience to
wait for that day like she begged him to have, Sansa would damn well do it,
too.
Yet, the longer he stood stoically watching her suffer time and time again at
the hands of Joffrey and his bitch of a mother, he knew that his fortitude was
about to snap.  He could not bear this little game any longer.  Either she had
to let him end it or he would go mad in the process.
Hours had passed since the moment he had to endure Sansa’s beating for her
foolish older brother’s moment of glory at Oxcross.  Now finishing his third
flagon of wine, he felt even angrier than he had when Trant smacked Sansa
across the ass with his boy whore of a sword.  Sandor knew he shouldn’t be
drinking so much tonight.  His blood was up, damn him, and he felt like he was
on fire, like he was about to burn up from the inside out.  And fuck them all,
he was well-versed in how burning felt.
As he sat on the slightly too small chair of his room, Sandor tossed his empty
cup on the hearth, taking slight pleasure in hearing the sound of it smashing
into a million shards as it smacked against the stones.  Running his hands
through his shoulder-length black hair, he tried to breathe deeply to calm his
frazzled nerves, just the way Sansa had showed him how to do when he sat with
her in the seclusion of the godswood.
Breathing in any manner, unfortunately, wasn’t helping at the moment.  Sandor
wanted to fight.  Fight or fuck, either one, come to think of it.  Or both
perhaps, not necessarily in that order, and preferably at the same time if he
could somehow manage to pull that off.
After Tyrion’s little show, Joffrey thought that he would send the Kingsguard
to arrest his uncle for his display of disrespect, but thankfully, Sandor had
stepped in and talked the cunt down off the ledge.  After Cersei finally made
her appearance, she led Joffrey to his solar and relieved Sandor of his duty
for the rest of the afternoon.
Fuck her orders, fuck her son, and fuck the buggering lot of those blond inbred
bastards.
Yet, Sandor tacitly obeyed, desperate to get as far, far away as he could from
his handlers.  He wanted to go see Sansa, but that was impossible.  When shite
like what happened today occurred, he knew that she would be surrounded by
handmaidens and maesters, all trying to tend to her cuts and bruises, yet not a
one of them offering any real comfort.  He decided that he would go to her
chambers in a couple more hours after she had dismissed them all for the
night.  If she were so inclined, he would lay with her and hold her as long as
it was safe if that was all she wanted…
Fuck, now he was imaging her laying on her bed, probably wearing only one of
those infernally transparent shifts and her small clothes…
Wait, no, he was going to do this right.
Now he was imagining Sansa lying completely naked smack-dab in the middle of
her bed, her legs fallen open to his hungry gaze.  With one long, thin finger,
she would slowly trace the inside of her wet folds, moaning in want.  Her blue
eyes, the color of the summer sky, would stare at him like the wanton little
bird that she is, biting her lip to keep as quiet as possible as he knelt
before her, lowering his head to feast upon her womanhood like a man half-
starved.
Licking his palm first, he shoved his massive hand down his unlaced breeches,
stroking himself leisurely to rid himself of a least some of his tension as he
daydreamed about Sansa.  Just as things were starting to feel damn good, he
heard an almost inaudible tapping on his door.
Bugger me!  Who the fuck is that?
No one, and he meant no one, except for his idiot of a squire dared to show
their face all the way down here in the bowels of the holdfast where his room
was located.
“Whoever the fuck is out there better get the hell out of here before I open
that door,” Sandor bellowed, shutting his eyes once again as he pulled and
tugged on his long cock.
“Sandor,” he heard faintly, “It’s me.  Open the door!  Please, hurry, before
someone sees me!”
Bloody hell!
Yanking his hand out of his breeches like a scalded cat, he leapt to his feet
in one swift motion.  Sandor strode the length of his room in no more than two
steps, grabbing his dagger from its sheath on the small table by the fireplace
on route, before he jerked open the door to his chambers.  Without saying a
word, he grabbed Sansa firmly by her forearm and pulled her inside his room. 
When he stuck his head out of the door, quickly assessing the situation in the
halls, he left out a small puff of air that he had been holding the entire
time.  He had anticipated one of the spider’s minions lurking in the shadows
and had prepared himself to make swift work of the bastard.  Thankfully, Sansa
appeared to be alone.
As he shut the door, he spun on his heels to face Sansa.  “What the fuck were
you thinking, girl?” he rasped, his silver-gray eyes narrowed in confusion,
“You’re not supposed to come down here.  It’s too dangerous!”
Sansa smirked at him, clinging to her hooded cape that was wrapped around her
lithe form, “Oh, stop it.  You sound like my Septa used to sound when she
caught me doing something naughty.”  Taking a slow look around Sandor’s room,
Sansa grinned.  “I’ve never been in here before, have I?”
“No, and you shouldn’t be here now, either!” Sandor huffed, ignoring her
momentarily as he stalked past her to the small table near the fireplace. 
Lifting the flagon, he remembered that he has consumed the last of the wine not
so long ago.  “Fuck, and I’m out of wine.  Perfect.”  Highly irritated and
downright horny, he shook his head, mumbling inaudible curses as he tossed his
dagger onto the table.
Sansa pursed her pink lips together as she walked toward Sandor, “You’ve been
drinking again, I see.”
Turning abruptly to face her, Sandor shot off a snarky reply, “Man’s got to do
something around here to stay sane.”
As Sansa closed the distance between them, she made sure he was looking at her
when she opened her cape.  She was naked.  Naked as the day she was born. 
Miles of pale skin on complete and total display.
“Perhaps I can think of a way to help your sanity,” she said, one ginger
eyebrow raised in challenge.  Approaching him cautiously, she began to move
toward him.
Feeling slightly buzzed from his earlier wine consumption, Sandor groaned
loudly at seeing her small snatch of auburn curls and her rounded, milky white
teats on full display.  “You’re going to be the death of me, girl.”
“Sandor,” Sansa whispered as she finally stood directly in front of him,
raising her hands to cup his face in his hands, “I need you.  I need you to
help me to forget about this cursed place.”
“Sansa,” he moaned as his eyes shut.  The sensation of her hands sliding down
his chest, lightly scratching her nails as they descended down his tunic,
finally reached her target.  As her hand dipped into his breeches, stroking his
member slowly and with great precision, Sandor knew that she very well might
undo him in record time tonight.  “You’re hurt…I don’t think I can…fuck, I
shouldn’t…”
Lost in the glory of her hands stroking him, Sandor cracked open his silver
gray eyes, staring at her in an angry, lust-filled, alcohol-induced fog.
“Do you see the bruises, my love?” she asked as she released his member without
warning, taking two steps backward.  He saw them then.  Hateful, purple marks
on her stomach, no doubt left by Trant’s fists.  Pulling her hair over her
shoulders and allowing her copper tresses to flow down her breasts, she turned
to show him her backside.  “And these too?” she added.  This time, he could see
the reddened welts left behind by Trant’s sword.  As his rage began to jockey
for position in the list of Sandor’s heightened emotions, he growled
viscerally, fully aware that his rage just might overtake him at the sight of
those fucking marks.  She slowly turned around once again to face him, raising
her chin with an air of dignity not befitting the situation at hand.
Sandor wanted her.  He wanted her so badly that he wasn’t even sure that he
could manage to bring her to completion before he would need to pull out and
spill his seed on her stomach.  The anger inside of him for the suffering he
had witnessed was boiling him alive, and the flagons of wine as well as her
ethereal beauty were messing with his ability to think straight.   Damn him to
the seven hells, he wanted to bend her over and take her as fast and hard as
she would let him, but seeing her taut belly covered in bruises…he felt like a
monster for what he wanted.  She was hurting, standing before him completely
exposed, just a young girl -
“I am Sansa Stark,” she declared boldly, her words interrupting his thoughts,
“This is my body.  And they will never break me.”
Sandor’s eyebrow shot up to his hairline.  Before he could reply, she spoke
again.
“And you won’t break me either, Sandor Clegane,” Sansa added with just a hint
of a grin, “So, stop worrying like an old woman and fuck me already.”  And with
that salvo, she turned around and sauntered over to his bed.  Crawling to the
middle of his bed, she laid down in the center, scooting herself toward the
edge.  Her legs parted, giving him a completely unhindered view of her lady
parts.  “I’m waiting,” she purred as she began to stroke her slick folds with
her fingers.  He could smell her from where he stood, she was already that wet
for him.
Well, you heard the lady, didn’t you, dog?
“And how does milady want me to fuck her tonight?” Sandor muttered while he
yanked his tunic over his head, tossing it behind him to the floor.
“Hmm…” she moaned.  She closed her eyes while inserting one slender finger
insider her cunny, “That’s a tough decision…”
“Chirp quickly, little bird,” Sandor warned as he shoved his breeches and
smallclothes to his ankles, reaching down to rid himself of the last vestiges
of his clothing, “Or I’ll have you the way I want to have you right now.”
Sansa continued to ignore him, fully intent on driving him crazy with desire. 
She widened her legs further apart, groping her breast with one hand while
rocking her hips in time with her finger that was pumping in and out of her,
“Oh, Sandor…please, I need you!”
“That’s enough of that, you naughty little bird,” Sandor growled, “That cunny
is mine!”  And with that declaration, he lunged forward, straddling her hips
and grabbing her hands both from her breast and from her nether region.  As her
eyes flew open, he chuckled darkly as she gasped at the sight of him taking her
wet fingers in his mouth, sucking her juices until her fingers were clean.
“Fuck me, please,” she begged when he lowered his head, kissing his way down
her collarbone toward her breasts, “I don’t…not slow…I want it to be rough
and…”
As he continued to kiss her body, he heard her request.  Sandor knew that she
was begging him to take her like he had wanted to take her just moments ago. 
But for some reason, in that moment he couldn’t.  He couldn’t play their little
game tonight.  He no longer wanted to fuck her senseless.  He didn’t want to
relentlessly pound his stiff cock into her cunny while he held her down.  He
didn’t even want to take her from behind like he had dreamed about doing last
night while all alone in the darkness of his chambers.
No, tonight, Sandor wasn’t going to play her game.  She wanted him to dominate
her, to show her The Hound.  And then after a while, she would bare her teeth,
unleashing the wolf inside of her that she had to bury each day just to survive
this wretched place.
Even if she didn’t want it this way, tonight he was damn well determined to
show Sansa how she deservedto be loved.
“No, little bird,” he whispered, pausing to suck one of her pert pink nipples
into his mouth.  Releasing it with a pop, he raised his eyes to meet her
confused expression, “I’ll not be rough with you tonight.”  He lowered his head
again, resuming his slow, deliberate kisses down the valley between her
cleavage.  As he kissed the underside of her breasts, he paused again, raising
his head to look at her, “Pretend it’s your wedding night and the handsome
knight of your dreams is about to make love to his beautiful bride.”  With his
vow, Sandor lowered his head yet again, placing gentle kisses on each of the
marks her tormenter left behind on her abdomen.  “Let me try to make you forget
this place, even if it’s just for a while.”
He could hear Sansa begin to cry softly as he kissed each of her hipbones,
sliding down off the bed until he was kneeling like the most unworthy subject
he felt like he was at times.  Working his way down to her curls until he
reached her womanhood, he looked up into her pale blue eyes.  “You’re the most
beautiful little thing, do you know that?” he rasped right before he lowered
his mouth to her core.  He lazily licked her folds, teasing them slightly with
his nose before lightly inserting his tongue into her tight little hole.
“I am yours,” she sniffled, her hands finding their way to his hair, “I am
yours.  Yours alone.”
He parted her with his right hand, revealing the little pearl hidden in the
depths of her folds, and began to suck it slowly.  Each time she moaned or
praised, Sandor wished that they never had to leave the solace of his
chambers.  If he were to die tomorrow, this is what he would remember as his
last breath escaped him.
Slipping a finger inside her, Sandor continued to lap and suck her clit,
pumping his finger slowly at first and then increasing the speed the more she
writhed and bucked into his mouth.  Before long, Sansa was keening, her chest
heaving as she gasped for air when her climax overtook her.  The way her
fingers scraped his scalp almost assuredly drew blood, an action that made
Sandor chuckle.
“Let me have you,” he murmured as he rose from his position on the floor.  His
aching cock was weeping already, standing at full attention in the glorious
anticipation of burying himself inside of her.
“Yes, please,” Sansa smiled, lifting her arms to offer him an embrace, “I need
you.”
As slowly as he could, Sandor moved over her, supporting himself on one elbow
as he nudged her legs even further apart with his knee.  When he lined himself
up at her entrance, he stopped with just the tip of his cock touching her
cunny.
“Sandor?” she asked, her head tilting to the side.  Her delicate hands were
poised on his broad shoulders, her ginger brows knitted together in confusion
once again.
“I love you,” Sandor whispered, almost too afraid to ruin the moment by
whipping out that proclamation.  But he did.  Damn him, he did.  She deserved
so much better than an old, scarred dog like him.  Sansa Fucking Stark deserved
the handsome knight in her stories and fairytales that he had mercilessly
taunted her about since her stupid father brought them to King’s Landing ages
ago.  Yet, here she lay in his arms, smiling at him and letting him have her
like she couldn’t be happier with her choice of men.
“I love you, too, Sandor,” she grinned as her hands slid up his neck and
clutched his head.  Pulling firmly, she brought his lips to hers, sliding her
tongue along his bottom lip.  Allowing her access, Sansa kissed him fiercely,
almost as if she had read his mind and had decided to show him that he was
worthy of her love.
Unable to hold out any longer, Sandor lowered himself, fully seating himself
inside her warm, wet cunny as they kissed one another with all their might. 
His movements were already erratic, his hips moving almost of their own accord
as he drove himself into her.  Breaking their kiss, he pushed off her far
enough that he could drink in the vision laid before him.  She was
breathtaking…she was the most extraordinary creature…and she was his.
“Fuck, Sansa…this isn’t going to last long,” he moaned when she wrapped her
terribly long legs around his waist.
Her face didn’t show the normal signs that she wanted to verbally spar with him
or to tease him about his lack of self-control when he was good and worked up
like he was right now.  Instead, her smile was soft and her eyes were bright.
And when she grabbed his ass firmly, squeezing as hard as her dainty little
paws could muster, Sandor came hard and fast, biting his bottom lip as hard as
he could to drown out the scream of joy that was about to escape his mouth.
Completely exhausted, he collapsed half on her and half on his bed, a bed that
was unfortunately too small for having an overnight guest.  As he flopped onto
his back, scooping her into his long arms, she laid her head on his chest. 
Running her fingers through the coarse, dark hairs that covered him, neither of
them spoke for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, Sandor took a deep breath, fully aware of the ramifications of their
coupling tonight.  “I’m so sorry,” he apologized, “I shouldn’t have come inside
of you.  I’ll need to see the maester for some moon tea.  The gods be damned,
you don’t need a dog’s bastard in your belly.”
“Maybe I’d like to have your child,” Sansa spoke so quietly that he wasn’t even
sure that he had heard her say the words.  His head snapped toward her, his
eyes wide with amazement.  “What?” she smirked, “Can’t a lady dream?”
With that little banter, Sandor lost it.  He laughed and guffawed, chortling so
intensely that his sides began to hurt.  “A child?  You want my child?  Bloody
hell!”
Sansa just laid there watching him enjoy himself, completely content to let him
have his little moment of fun.  As his fit began to subside, she raised up onto
one elbow, now looking down into his reddened face.
“One day,” she began, all merriment disappearing from her pretty face as she
stared hard into his gray eyes, “One day, Sandor Clegane.  I don’t know how and
I don’t know when…but one day…one day, I will.”
Sandor couldn’t believe it.  This beautiful, amazing high-born lady, a young
girl who was blossoming into a fierce, bold woman, said that she wanted to bear
his child.  And fucking hell, she meant it.
“One day,” he smiled in return, reaching up to stroke her wild copper tresses
away from her face, “One day, then.”  The wine was starting to catch up to him
now as he laid on his bed with her warm body pressed snugly against his.  His
eyes were heavy.  His breathing was slowing down as he began to let sleep
overtake him.
“I have to go now,” she whispered, her smile fading as she watched him start to
fall asleep.  “I know the secret way you showed me once.  I’ll be fine.  Sleep,
my love.”  Placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, Sansa slipped out of his
arms, covering his naked form with a fur blanket that was laying on the foot of
his bed.  Quickly gathering her cloak from the floor, she draped it over her
thin frame, raising the hood to hide her face from the world.
Watching him lying still, his well-defined warrior’s body at rest, Sansa
swallowed hard.  Earlier today, she knew that he was quivering in full
anticipation of coming to her rescue.  The way his jaw was clenched and his
mouth was curved into that hateful sneer that he sported when Joffrey pulled
one of his stunts, Sansa knew without a doubt that as Trant had hit her and had
whacked her, all she had to do was say the word, and Sandor would have saved
her.
Saved her long enough for her to witness her captors finally take him down and
force him to watch as they tortured her and raped her before they finally
beheaded her.
No, Sansa would wait.  She would wait until the day came that she could destroy
the Lannisters and the Baratheons.  Her day would come, if they could just be
patient enough.  And then…and then she would say the words that Sandor so
desperately wanted her to say to him.  Then he could unleash his fury at them
in all of its glory.
As she slowly opened the door to his chambers, she looked over her shoulder,
smiling at the sight of her clandestine lover soundly snoring on his bed.
“White Bird.  Black Dog,” she whispered to him softly as she closed the door
behind her, the words that Sandor had told her to say to him when she was
finally ready for him to try to help her escape.  “One day.”
End Notes
     Although this entry was all warm and gooey, full of emotions and all
     of that business, my muse is leading me elsewhere for the next
     installment...stay tuned!
     As always, if you liked this story and would like to see more
     vignettes in this series, please make sure you leave a comment to let
     me know!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!