Stay With Me
Title: Stay With Me
Summary: When did it all change? When did this become her path? As Sansa tore the last towel from the rack, it seemed it had all happened in an instant. One shot.
Rating: T
Pairing: Sansa Stark/Sandor Clegane
Warnings: Language, Implied Sexual Content
Length: ~1100 words
Comments: Wrote this one last night as a quick one shot. It started out as one thing and became something else. Oh well. Try and try again. ;-) Thanks go out to kickstand75 for lending me her critical eye. Her input was invaluable.
.
Stay With Me
by: firedew
.
When did it all change?
When did this become her path?
When did she give up dresses, plastic pink bracelets, and a crown of red hair for a tank top and jeans, a tattoo of a bird on her hip, and hair dyed the dullest brown?
As Sansa tore the last towel from the rack, it seemed it had all happened in an instant. She had traded family for none, many for one. She crossed the bathroom, covered in dingy white tile, and all she could think was that she’d traded smiles and flutters from a handsome face for someone who’d left drops of blood like rose petals on the ground.
“Little bird …” Sandor languished in the bathtub, gripping his leg tight as blood poured through his fingers. The other towel, already soaked through, was wedged uselessly near his foot. She moved his hand and quickly pressed the soft cotton to his wound. “Fuck!” he shouted through his teeth.
“Hold on,” she said shaking, her eyes growing hot. “You just have to hold on a little longer. Help is coming.”
“Stupid girl. You shouldn’t have …” He let out a stilted groan. His right hand slammed down on top of hers and steel grey eyes met hers. “They know I’m wounded, little bird,” he said between agonized breaths. “Gunshot wounds are reported. They’ll be watching the hospitals. Watching for me.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
His other hand shot out and latched onto her shirt. He yanked her forward, practically pulling her on top of him. Sansa’s heart beat wildly in her chest as she scrambled against the side of the tub, desperate to keep the towel in place. “Now, you listen to me, girl. You’re going to stop this nonsense. Grab your shit and get the fuck out of this ratbag motel like a proper little lady.”
Sansa wiggled in his grasp, alarmed at how pale he was. “Sandor, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”
He gave a hollow chuckle and his fingers loosened. Whether he meant to release her or not was another matter. He was sweaty and his eyes couldn’t seem to stay focused on her. “I’m already dead, little bird. If you had any sense in that stubborn skull of yours, you’d see what’s in front of you.”
Sansa righted herself and immediately doubled the pressure. A litany of curses poured from his mouth. His body shook, harder than hers, though she could scarcely believe it possible. She was trembling so badly she thought she would break into a thousand pieces.
“I’m not leaving without you.” Tears ran freely down her cheeks and she was sure her hands would be permanently stained red with his blood, but she couldn’t let go. “Stop trying to scare me away. It won’t work.”
“Oh, aye,” he murmured, his head morosely listing against the wall. “Never did, did it? Fool girl. Should’ve gutted you instead of taking you with me.” His scarred cheek twitched, his features bent in equal parts rage and anguish. “The dead don’t feel. Might’ve been better for you that way. But I’ll wager you’d have been pretty even then. Ned Stark’s girl, beautiful to the last. Would’ve followed after you, anyway, gods damn me.”
Sansa blinked through her tears. When had the horrible things he said ceased to shock her? When had his harsh words become caresses? Had it been the first time he touched her, a great hand to her shoulder when she was lost, asking her if he frightened her? Or had it been later, after her first beating as he put ice to her broken lip, telling her to just give Joffrey what he wanted?
Or was it the deep, rasping whispers in her ear tripping quietly off his tongue as he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt and gently contacted her skin. His words were vulgar intimations of all he wanted to do to her, filthy and rough, the kind that made her think of how animals must be when they come together. But his touches were tender, promising pleasure not pain. Sharing. A connection without bruises.
She’d given in and he’d given all. From that night, had her life ever been the same?
“Go, little bird. While … while you still have a chance.”
Sansa shook her head. She wasn’t going anywhere. He was being hunted by the Lannisters and his brother and everyone who hated him for his association with both. She was wanted for murder, a fugitive bought and paid for as far as the police were concerned and a target for the Lannisters’ personal vengeance for their son. She wouldn’t get far without him. His death was her death. He understood that better than she, yet he persisted in a futile argument as his life slowly seeped down the drain.
His eyes closed and, frightened, she called out to him. “Sandor, stay with me.” He didn’t move and she roughly pushed his damp black hair away from his face. “Sandor!”
He startled and then his eyelids fluttered. A fleeting glimpse of black and grey became a dazed, roving look as he struggled to keep breathing.
Sirens. She prayed for sirens. She didn’t care if she went to prison for a crime she didn’t commit or if the Lannisters had her killed in custody, please, please, please, just let him live. After all he had done for her, for the side of him that he’d let her see, that was the least she could do for him.
“Do you know … the only thing that ever made me happy, little bird?” he said slowly.
Tears sped down her cheeks and she choked on her tears. “No.”
He took a long shuddering breath. “You. You … and your thrice damned chirping. Seven hells … Should’ve taken you for mine … a long time ago. From the first.”
Sansa closed her eyes and nodded. From the beginning. Maybe she hadn’t changed so much as become as she was meant to be. This was always their destiny, to live and die together.
She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips. He made a sound to melt her insides. Her heart turning to ash, she opened her mouth to steal one more. “I’m yours, Sandor, and you’re mine,” she whispered. “Just stay with me.”
His chest rose and fell in heavy pants and his eyes drifted shut once more.
Outside, sirens wailed.
Inside, Sansa held on and prayed.
Summary: When did it all change? When did this become her path? As Sansa tore the last towel from the rack, it seemed it had all happened in an instant. One shot.
Rating: T
Pairing: Sansa Stark/Sandor Clegane
Warnings: Language, Implied Sexual Content
Length: ~1100 words
Comments: Wrote this one last night as a quick one shot. It started out as one thing and became something else. Oh well. Try and try again. ;-) Thanks go out to kickstand75 for lending me her critical eye. Her input was invaluable.
.
Stay With Me
by: firedew
.
When did it all change?
When did this become her path?
When did she give up dresses, plastic pink bracelets, and a crown of red hair for a tank top and jeans, a tattoo of a bird on her hip, and hair dyed the dullest brown?
As Sansa tore the last towel from the rack, it seemed it had all happened in an instant. She had traded family for none, many for one. She crossed the bathroom, covered in dingy white tile, and all she could think was that she’d traded smiles and flutters from a handsome face for someone who’d left drops of blood like rose petals on the ground.
“Little bird …” Sandor languished in the bathtub, gripping his leg tight as blood poured through his fingers. The other towel, already soaked through, was wedged uselessly near his foot. She moved his hand and quickly pressed the soft cotton to his wound. “Fuck!” he shouted through his teeth.
“Hold on,” she said shaking, her eyes growing hot. “You just have to hold on a little longer. Help is coming.”
“Stupid girl. You shouldn’t have …” He let out a stilted groan. His right hand slammed down on top of hers and steel grey eyes met hers. “They know I’m wounded, little bird,” he said between agonized breaths. “Gunshot wounds are reported. They’ll be watching the hospitals. Watching for me.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
His other hand shot out and latched onto her shirt. He yanked her forward, practically pulling her on top of him. Sansa’s heart beat wildly in her chest as she scrambled against the side of the tub, desperate to keep the towel in place. “Now, you listen to me, girl. You’re going to stop this nonsense. Grab your shit and get the fuck out of this ratbag motel like a proper little lady.”
Sansa wiggled in his grasp, alarmed at how pale he was. “Sandor, stop. You’re hurting yourself.”
He gave a hollow chuckle and his fingers loosened. Whether he meant to release her or not was another matter. He was sweaty and his eyes couldn’t seem to stay focused on her. “I’m already dead, little bird. If you had any sense in that stubborn skull of yours, you’d see what’s in front of you.”
Sansa righted herself and immediately doubled the pressure. A litany of curses poured from his mouth. His body shook, harder than hers, though she could scarcely believe it possible. She was trembling so badly she thought she would break into a thousand pieces.
“I’m not leaving without you.” Tears ran freely down her cheeks and she was sure her hands would be permanently stained red with his blood, but she couldn’t let go. “Stop trying to scare me away. It won’t work.”
“Oh, aye,” he murmured, his head morosely listing against the wall. “Never did, did it? Fool girl. Should’ve gutted you instead of taking you with me.” His scarred cheek twitched, his features bent in equal parts rage and anguish. “The dead don’t feel. Might’ve been better for you that way. But I’ll wager you’d have been pretty even then. Ned Stark’s girl, beautiful to the last. Would’ve followed after you, anyway, gods damn me.”
Sansa blinked through her tears. When had the horrible things he said ceased to shock her? When had his harsh words become caresses? Had it been the first time he touched her, a great hand to her shoulder when she was lost, asking her if he frightened her? Or had it been later, after her first beating as he put ice to her broken lip, telling her to just give Joffrey what he wanted?
Or was it the deep, rasping whispers in her ear tripping quietly off his tongue as he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt and gently contacted her skin. His words were vulgar intimations of all he wanted to do to her, filthy and rough, the kind that made her think of how animals must be when they come together. But his touches were tender, promising pleasure not pain. Sharing. A connection without bruises.
She’d given in and he’d given all. From that night, had her life ever been the same?
“Go, little bird. While … while you still have a chance.”
Sansa shook her head. She wasn’t going anywhere. He was being hunted by the Lannisters and his brother and everyone who hated him for his association with both. She was wanted for murder, a fugitive bought and paid for as far as the police were concerned and a target for the Lannisters’ personal vengeance for their son. She wouldn’t get far without him. His death was her death. He understood that better than she, yet he persisted in a futile argument as his life slowly seeped down the drain.
His eyes closed and, frightened, she called out to him. “Sandor, stay with me.” He didn’t move and she roughly pushed his damp black hair away from his face. “Sandor!”
He startled and then his eyelids fluttered. A fleeting glimpse of black and grey became a dazed, roving look as he struggled to keep breathing.
Sirens. She prayed for sirens. She didn’t care if she went to prison for a crime she didn’t commit or if the Lannisters had her killed in custody, please, please, please, just let him live. After all he had done for her, for the side of him that he’d let her see, that was the least she could do for him.
“Do you know … the only thing that ever made me happy, little bird?” he said slowly.
Tears sped down her cheeks and she choked on her tears. “No.”
He took a long shuddering breath. “You. You … and your thrice damned chirping. Seven hells … Should’ve taken you for mine … a long time ago. From the first.”
Sansa closed her eyes and nodded. From the beginning. Maybe she hadn’t changed so much as become as she was meant to be. This was always their destiny, to live and die together.
She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips. He made a sound to melt her insides. Her heart turning to ash, she opened her mouth to steal one more. “I’m yours, Sandor, and you’re mine,” she whispered. “Just stay with me.”
His chest rose and fell in heavy pants and his eyes drifted shut once more.
Outside, sirens wailed.
Inside, Sansa held on and prayed.