Stay With Me - Ch. 2
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. Her life was never the same.
Rating: M
Pairing: Sansa Stark/Sandor Clegane
Warnings: Sexual content (this chapter)
Length: ~600 words
Comments: So I decided to continue this fic. I'm weak. And hopeless. Did I mention weak? Thank you kickstand75. You're my favorite enabler.
Things you need to know:
1) I have 2 other works going for another fandom at the moment so I can't promise regular updates.
2) I'm still working out the endgame of this fic, so I'm not entirely sure where it's going yet. Keep in mind, it's a GoT fic. All warnings may apply. Strap in or don't ride.
3) I'm not one to start something and not finish it, so I hope you'll stick with me while I work it all out.
Thanks!
"You’re getting too thin. You need to eat more.”
Comfortably installed behind her as she lay on her side, Sandor’s fingers stroked lazily along the angle of her hip as Sansa stared out at the latest in a series of trashy motel rooms. Blue carpet, plaid curtains, the smell of old cigarettes. Nothing memorable, except his touch igniting fresh tendrils of sensation through her bare skin.
Months of skipping from one town to the next, living off fast food and gas station fare, had strangled her appetite to the point where eating had become a chore. She hardly remembered what hunger felt like.
"I thought you liked the way I look,” she said quietly, trying not to sound self-conscious.
His nose passed near her ear, his deep gaze roaming over her hair and settling on her neck where he nuzzled in close. “You need to keep up your strength. I’ll not have you making yourself sick.” His fingers spread and his massive hand spanned the width of her hip, with room to spare for him to graze her backside. His fingers curled and gently moved up her skin.
She peered over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ...”
“Stop your chirping, little bird,” he said before delving into the curve of her neck, mouth open and eager for a taste. His body moved in with renewed interest, hands roving, his naked arousal pressing up against her. “You’re a fucking knockout.”
Warmth pooling sweetly at her center, Sansa opened up to him, her neck stretching back, her body arching under his caresses. “Do you mean that?”
He picked up his head and steel grey eyes met hers, a moment of sincerity before he pushed her to her back.
A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. The words, unspoken, slipped between them like a song, though he never sang. Didn’t believe in it, though he believed in her. He shouted it every time he touched her, if fingers had a voice. Even after a shower, her hair still felt gritty and the only clothes she owned were dirty and laying haphazardly strewn about the floor, but somehow in his arms she still felt beautiful.
"Come here,” he growled as he climbed on top of her.
Sansa spread her legs around him, breathless and ready, clutching him close. He surrounded her, filled her, and she didn’t want to let go.
“Sandor,” she whispered with tears glistening in her eyes, “Please, don’t go. Please, don’t leave me.”
Bright lights overhead flooded the room and a voice shouted from down the cellblock. “Five am, ladies. It’s a new day and this is your official wake-up call.”
Sansa opened her eyes, another dream shattered, another wish torn to shreds. Sniffling, she sat up, her last memories of him with her in handcuffs as he was loaded into the ambulance.
“Sandor!” she cried out only to get shoved against the hood of the police unit. Flashing red and blue lights lit up the night and an audience had gathered. The ambulance pulled out of the lot, sirens screaming, and a rough hand pushed her head down as she was ushered inside the car.
“You’d better get up, Stark,” the guard said outside the bars of her cell. “Breakfast in an hour.”
Sansa waited for her to pass and then slowly knotted back her hair. Sleepy groans and bitching about the hour emerged from other cells like always, and like always, Sansa reminded herself that he was gone. She’d tried her best and it hadn’t been enough.
She was Prisoner #M270999 and Sandor Clegane was dead.
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. Her life was never the same.
Rating: M
Pairing: Sansa Stark/Sandor Clegane
Warnings: Sexual content (this chapter)
Length: ~600 words
Comments: So I decided to continue this fic. I'm weak. And hopeless. Did I mention weak? Thank you kickstand75. You're my favorite enabler.
Things you need to know:
1) I have 2 other works going for another fandom at the moment so I can't promise regular updates.
2) I'm still working out the endgame of this fic, so I'm not entirely sure where it's going yet. Keep in mind, it's a GoT fic. All warnings may apply. Strap in or don't ride.
3) I'm not one to start something and not finish it, so I hope you'll stick with me while I work it all out.
Thanks!
"You’re getting too thin. You need to eat more.”
Comfortably installed behind her as she lay on her side, Sandor’s fingers stroked lazily along the angle of her hip as Sansa stared out at the latest in a series of trashy motel rooms. Blue carpet, plaid curtains, the smell of old cigarettes. Nothing memorable, except his touch igniting fresh tendrils of sensation through her bare skin.
Months of skipping from one town to the next, living off fast food and gas station fare, had strangled her appetite to the point where eating had become a chore. She hardly remembered what hunger felt like.
"I thought you liked the way I look,” she said quietly, trying not to sound self-conscious.
His nose passed near her ear, his deep gaze roaming over her hair and settling on her neck where he nuzzled in close. “You need to keep up your strength. I’ll not have you making yourself sick.” His fingers spread and his massive hand spanned the width of her hip, with room to spare for him to graze her backside. His fingers curled and gently moved up her skin.
She peered over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to ...”
“Stop your chirping, little bird,” he said before delving into the curve of her neck, mouth open and eager for a taste. His body moved in with renewed interest, hands roving, his naked arousal pressing up against her. “You’re a fucking knockout.”
Warmth pooling sweetly at her center, Sansa opened up to him, her neck stretching back, her body arching under his caresses. “Do you mean that?”
He picked up his head and steel grey eyes met hers, a moment of sincerity before he pushed her to her back.
A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. The words, unspoken, slipped between them like a song, though he never sang. Didn’t believe in it, though he believed in her. He shouted it every time he touched her, if fingers had a voice. Even after a shower, her hair still felt gritty and the only clothes she owned were dirty and laying haphazardly strewn about the floor, but somehow in his arms she still felt beautiful.
"Come here,” he growled as he climbed on top of her.
Sansa spread her legs around him, breathless and ready, clutching him close. He surrounded her, filled her, and she didn’t want to let go.
“Sandor,” she whispered with tears glistening in her eyes, “Please, don’t go. Please, don’t leave me.”
Bright lights overhead flooded the room and a voice shouted from down the cellblock. “Five am, ladies. It’s a new day and this is your official wake-up call.”
Sansa opened her eyes, another dream shattered, another wish torn to shreds. Sniffling, she sat up, her last memories of him with her in handcuffs as he was loaded into the ambulance.
“Sandor!” she cried out only to get shoved against the hood of the police unit. Flashing red and blue lights lit up the night and an audience had gathered. The ambulance pulled out of the lot, sirens screaming, and a rough hand pushed her head down as she was ushered inside the car.
“You’d better get up, Stark,” the guard said outside the bars of her cell. “Breakfast in an hour.”
Sansa waited for her to pass and then slowly knotted back her hair. Sleepy groans and bitching about the hour emerged from other cells like always, and like always, Sansa reminded herself that he was gone. She’d tried her best and it hadn’t been enough.
She was Prisoner #M270999 and Sandor Clegane was dead.