Afterlife in a Northern Town
Title: Afterlife in a Northern Town (2/2)
Rating: MA
Word Count: 2,558
Pairing: SanSan
Summary: After a long day at work, it takes a little bit of persuasion on Sansa's behalf to get her husband to clean up. Modern!AU!Alaska!SanSan. Porn, with a little plot, because I had to. I can comfortably blame message_send for this, as well as the rest of the bad influences who follow me on tumblr.
:::
They both cry out. Sansa tilts her head forward, forehead resting against the wall, panting as he stills, his enormous cock filling her. She fits around him so tightly, like a satin glove-it’s a perfect fit, perfect and she squeezes her muscles around him, grinding her ass back against his groin. He groans in response, clutching her hips even tighter, grinding into her.
“Gonna kill me, little bird.”
She snorts, spreading her legs wider. She doesn’t often let him take her like this-doesn’t like to feel prone, even with him, doesn’t like being unable to see his face during sex, doesn’t like not being able to give much back, to read him. But he likes it like this, for the obvious reasons. And honestly, it is easiest for the shower.
She rolls her hips back against him, partly to punish him for not moving, partly to feel his cock stretch her inside even further-she shivers as she feels the head of him push up her cervix, bottoming out inside of her.
He gasps, bending over her to rest his forehead between her shoulder blades. “Fuck.”
“Hurry up, soldier,” she teases, jerking her hips back against him.
He moans, fighting to quell the surging pressure in his groin. “Sansa…”
Collecting the fraying threads of his control, he straightens himself, sliding his hands up and down her sides, palms coming around to firmly grip her breasts, tugging at her nipples a little too roughly. She moans, covering one of his hands with her own, pressing it harder against her. Nosing the wet rope of her hair aside, he breathes her in deeply before sinking his teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
She shrieks, her cunt clenching down on him, hips rocking back in a series of waves as he sucks down harder and harder on her pale skin, all lips and teeth against her sensitive skin, working his hips against her as she moves with him.
Sansa really, really likes it when he marks her, even if she can’t really leave the house for anyone to see it. The townspeople are wonderful, really, and keep their secret with silent recognition, but still, people do come through for a cup of coffee at the diner before they’re on their way, or to get gas at the station, or buy soda at the convenience store, and their faces are just too well-known to risk it. But still, to know she’s his and his alone after all they’ve been through, after Joffrey and the Lannisters-
And to know he only does this because it’s what she wants, not just what he wants-
His hands slide back down to her waist, dig into the skin there for a moment, a pause before following the water droplets down to her hips, her ass, his mouth moving to bite down further along her shoulder. He groans, her skin in his teeth, as his thrusts become longer, deeper, and she works with him, moans growing louder and louder.
She mewls when his nails bite into her ass, scratching along the muscle, the paradoxically firm and soft flesh.
“Spank me,” she moans, throwing her hips back against him with more force. He grunts in her ear, hips starting to pound into her. She’s pushed up onto her toes with each thrust, nails trying to find a hold in the grout between the tiles, the complete lack of control-the surrender, which she gives freely because he does not take it-almost dizzying. She screams at the first smack of his hand against her ass, and she knows he’s only using the barest fraction of his strength.
“Again,” she whimpers, pressing her body up and against him, reveling the feeling of his moist breath against her neck. She feels his tongue flick out to taste the straining tendon. “Harder.”
She turns her head to meet his lips. They kiss and it sets her body on fire even more-the heat from the shower, the nerves set ablaze under the second slap of his hand against her ass, his hand creeping into her hair, wrapping it around his palm, tugging with every thrust, each harder than the last, head of his cock lancing that spot inside of her before bottoming out completely.
Their mouths meet, tongues hungry for collaboration as he takes her faster and faster and harder, hand coming down against her over and over. At last, she pulls her mouth from his.
“Oh, God, Sandor,” she breathes, mouth hanging open with desperate gasps, feeling her release running towards her headlong.
He pulls back, watches, mesmerized by the sight of her ass meeting his hips, the movement echoing up her frame, down her legs. He palms her ass, thumb brushing over the vibrant red mark his machinations have left behind. It’ll bruise, as will the welts at her neck.
“Damn straight,” he growls, hands warm and wet as he gives her thighs a squeeze before circling in towards her clit. She moans, shuddering-so close to shattering-when his fingers find the swollen bundle of nerves. His fingers read her like they have hundreds of times before, working her as his cock slides home through her, to her.
Sansa whimpers at the slow build, at every upward thrust he gives her, pushing her up onto her toes, pinning her to the wall, each hollow movement she feels when he pulls away.
“That’s it,” he says, in that low, intimate voice he reserves for her, for moments like this. “Come for me, Sansa. I wanna feel your pussy when you come around me.”
Her eyes roll back into her head again, lip curling, nose wrinkling as he hits bottom again and again and again each time with building force, pulling out almost all the way and she can feel the head of his cock teasing the thick ring of muscle at her opening before slamming back into her, fingers moving unforgivingly on her clit, and everything is liquid-his fingers working her, the air around them, inside of her, the water spraying on their backs, dripping down their legs, her legs themselves-
She grits her teeth as she comes with a sharp cry, a sound that is pointed, and almost like a scream. Bucking her hips back into him with all her might, he locks his arms around her, anchoring her to him as she loses control again. He catches her and won’t let her go, fingers still circling her clit, hips pushing against hers.
“That’s it,” he moans in her ear. She whimpers in response, her release rippling through her with every slight movement of his cock inside her, the feeling almost too much. “God, Sansa, do you know what it does to me when you come?”
“Glad,” she gasps, eyes squeezed tightly shut, forehead pressed against the cool tile. “Glad to be of service, sweetheart.”
He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his large frame as he smooths his hands up and down her belly, bringing her down. “Nah, I like it when you come for other reasons, too. So beautiful, so sexy.”
He pulls her up to rest against his chest, supporting her weight when her thighs shake and her knees threaten to give out. She sighs, arms resting over his around her waist, head lolling back against him. “Good to hear.”
Her feet can barely reach the floor like this, him being so much taller than her, and it isn’t long until he slips out of her and places her down on the floor, turns her easily in his arms. Sansa moves to wrap her arms around his neck, and he lifts her against him as if she is weightless, humming appreciatively when she wraps her legs around him. Sandor leans against the back of the small shower stall, allowing the hot water run down her back, calm her down.
Sansa sighs, planting small kisses along his shoulders and his chest, sucking the water off his skin. Chasing one droplet down from his chin to the hollow between his neck and his collarbone, she draws the skin into her mouth, marking him in turn. “Mine,” she whispers against his scarred flesh, tongue tracing the one of the many he received the night they escaped from the White House, from the Lannisters.
Cersei had held a knife to her throat, and he had torn it away with his bare hand.
“Mine,” she repeats, louder, squeezing the fingers of her left hand together just to feel the comforting outline of her wedding band.
“And mine,” Sandor answers, hoisting her tighter against him for a slicker fit, kissing her forehead.
She nods, moving so their mouths can slant together, and she is suddenly all too aware of his erection brushing along her slit. Rolling her hips against him to signify readiness, he moans his thanks into her mouth before turning them again, pushing her up against the wall.
“Ready?” he asks, resting his forehead against hers.
Twice for her, and good God his patience, she thinks, nodding, eyes unable to focus on his face so close, her fingers reaching up to tangle in his longish wet hair. She moans, low and helpless as he breaches her again in slow increments, and finds her so incredibly wet from her two orgasms.
“So good,” he moans into her neck, burying his face in her hair.
“Yeah,” she agrees, feeling her arousal begin to build for a blessed third time as his pelvis rocks against hers, the curls around the base of his cock teasing her sensitized clit. “It’s good.”
She pulls his face to hers, nibbling on his lower lip as she settles around him, hitching her legs higher around him. “Your turn,” she whispers against his lips.
“Fuck me,” she orders, breathing the words into his mouth, watching his eyes go wide. “Fuck me as hard as you can.”
As Sandor bucks his hips into her, he silently thanks whatever deity is listening, no matter whether or not he actually believes in any of them, for the pleasure of having this gorgeous creature wrapped tightly around him in every way imaginable, moaning and begging for his touch and having already come twice for him tonight. He doesn’t give a fuck whether they exist or not, just that she calls out to God when she rides him is enough to earn his eternal gratitude.
He bites at her neck, grunting her name with every piston of his hips into her wet grip, water pouring down over both of them, each fumbling to maintain their hold on the other. His thrusts quickly grow erratic as she answers him with his own name, wildly urging him on. She unwraps one leg from his and braces it on the opposite wall, thrusting back against him in return, the leverage only accelerating their rhythm.
He can feel her body begin to tense again, and rolls his hips up into her groin, hoping to put pressure on her clit.
“Fuck, holy God yes, just like that,” she cries into his neck before banging her head back against the wall once, twice, three times. “Likethatlikethatlikethat-“
“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, feeling the water suddenly turn ice cold against his back, making him shiver for an entirely unacceptable reason. Sansa looks too wrapped up in the movement of their hips to notice, blearily blinking her eyes open when he wrenches her away from the wall, throws the shower curtain open, and in three long strides has them at the foot of the bed-and pins her down onto it.
“Nyah-babe, ah,” she gives a strangled moan when he grinds his hips into hers, before leaning back onto his haunches to take her legs, long and satiny and sex-loosened, and hitches them over his shoulders before leaning down again, taking her hands in his and securing them above her head, making her torso and arms one long line. “Fuck, oh-God, fuckfuckfuck.”
He likes making her say fuck, along with making her do other things.
Scrambling for a pillow, he finds one and pulls it under her hips, and changing the angle without even moving he makes her arch her back, makes her gasp. Sandor pushes himself up onto his knees, turning his head to bite at her ankle before beginning to pound into her again, hands moving to support her lower back when she wrenches her wrists out of his grasp to clutch his shoulders.
Encouraging him with plaintive gasps, urging him to go deeper, to go harder, right there-oh fuck Sandor, there, right there-the laughing from earlier gone, she begins to cry out, moans turning into sobbing, crying, tears escaping as he coaxes her higher and higher, fingers a blur over her clit, watching her face as she bites her lip until it bleeds, the whites of her eyes bright and fingers scratching into his back until he’s sure that he’s bleeding, but it doesn’t matter because-
Sansa shatters around him, convulsing under him as her orgasm is wrenched from her with a scream that builds from her chest and echoes in their darkened bedroom. Sandor follows her with a yell, baring his teeth as he feels her quake beneath and around him, her cunt milking his cock for all its worth, and he grows harder and harder until he feels release bubble and burst inside of him, deep in his groin, spilling himself deep inside of her.
“Sansa,” he moans, holding the last ‘a’ in his mouth, hips stuttering, all sense of rhythm stolen from them; they writhe and jerk on top of the duvet, wet and skin so hot and slick against each other. He turns them on their sides as the strength leaves his arms, managing to get her legs off his shoulders before collapsing.
Sansa hikes her leg up around his waist, continuing to rock against him, riding out her orgasm. Sandor wraps his arms tightly around her, panting into her hair, watching with rapt fascination as her cheeks twitch, her eyes moving rapidly under the lids, color painted high on the delicate bones of her face.
She moans, low and in the clear, clenching around him still, and he massages the nodes of her spine as her breathing begins to even out, shivering against his much larger frame. Nestling in closer, she pushes her face into his neck, pressing light kisses whatever skin she finds beneath her lips.
“Love you,” she murmurs, trying to get even closer still, to climb into his skin.
“Love you too, little bird.” He feels sleep trying to claim him, fights it off long enough drag himself out of bed, smile softly when Sansa protests the loss of his body around her, and stumble back to the bathroom to turn the now-cold shower off and grab one of their towels, quickly drying himself off. He drops it on the floor before taking the dry one left on the rack and climbs back into bed, tenderly drying Sansa before wiping off the evidence of their lovemaking from her thighs.
He tosses the towel on the floor to pick up in the morning, lies under the sheets, and pulls her to him again, wrapping himself around her tiny frame, burrowing into her wet hair.
The dreams do not come to them that night.
:::
( Part One)(Part Two)(Coda)
Rating: MA
Word Count: 2,558
Pairing: SanSan
Summary: After a long day at work, it takes a little bit of persuasion on Sansa's behalf to get her husband to clean up. Modern!AU!Alaska!SanSan. Porn, with a little plot, because I had to. I can comfortably blame message_send for this, as well as the rest of the bad influences who follow me on tumblr.
:::
They both cry out. Sansa tilts her head forward, forehead resting against the wall, panting as he stills, his enormous cock filling her. She fits around him so tightly, like a satin glove-it’s a perfect fit, perfect and she squeezes her muscles around him, grinding her ass back against his groin. He groans in response, clutching her hips even tighter, grinding into her.
“Gonna kill me, little bird.”
She snorts, spreading her legs wider. She doesn’t often let him take her like this-doesn’t like to feel prone, even with him, doesn’t like being unable to see his face during sex, doesn’t like not being able to give much back, to read him. But he likes it like this, for the obvious reasons. And honestly, it is easiest for the shower.
She rolls her hips back against him, partly to punish him for not moving, partly to feel his cock stretch her inside even further-she shivers as she feels the head of him push up her cervix, bottoming out inside of her.
He gasps, bending over her to rest his forehead between her shoulder blades. “Fuck.”
“Hurry up, soldier,” she teases, jerking her hips back against him.
He moans, fighting to quell the surging pressure in his groin. “Sansa…”
Collecting the fraying threads of his control, he straightens himself, sliding his hands up and down her sides, palms coming around to firmly grip her breasts, tugging at her nipples a little too roughly. She moans, covering one of his hands with her own, pressing it harder against her. Nosing the wet rope of her hair aside, he breathes her in deeply before sinking his teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder.
She shrieks, her cunt clenching down on him, hips rocking back in a series of waves as he sucks down harder and harder on her pale skin, all lips and teeth against her sensitive skin, working his hips against her as she moves with him.
Sansa really, really likes it when he marks her, even if she can’t really leave the house for anyone to see it. The townspeople are wonderful, really, and keep their secret with silent recognition, but still, people do come through for a cup of coffee at the diner before they’re on their way, or to get gas at the station, or buy soda at the convenience store, and their faces are just too well-known to risk it. But still, to know she’s his and his alone after all they’ve been through, after Joffrey and the Lannisters-
And to know he only does this because it’s what she wants, not just what he wants-
His hands slide back down to her waist, dig into the skin there for a moment, a pause before following the water droplets down to her hips, her ass, his mouth moving to bite down further along her shoulder. He groans, her skin in his teeth, as his thrusts become longer, deeper, and she works with him, moans growing louder and louder.
She mewls when his nails bite into her ass, scratching along the muscle, the paradoxically firm and soft flesh.
“Spank me,” she moans, throwing her hips back against him with more force. He grunts in her ear, hips starting to pound into her. She’s pushed up onto her toes with each thrust, nails trying to find a hold in the grout between the tiles, the complete lack of control-the surrender, which she gives freely because he does not take it-almost dizzying. She screams at the first smack of his hand against her ass, and she knows he’s only using the barest fraction of his strength.
“Again,” she whimpers, pressing her body up and against him, reveling the feeling of his moist breath against her neck. She feels his tongue flick out to taste the straining tendon. “Harder.”
She turns her head to meet his lips. They kiss and it sets her body on fire even more-the heat from the shower, the nerves set ablaze under the second slap of his hand against her ass, his hand creeping into her hair, wrapping it around his palm, tugging with every thrust, each harder than the last, head of his cock lancing that spot inside of her before bottoming out completely.
Their mouths meet, tongues hungry for collaboration as he takes her faster and faster and harder, hand coming down against her over and over. At last, she pulls her mouth from his.
“Oh, God, Sandor,” she breathes, mouth hanging open with desperate gasps, feeling her release running towards her headlong.
He pulls back, watches, mesmerized by the sight of her ass meeting his hips, the movement echoing up her frame, down her legs. He palms her ass, thumb brushing over the vibrant red mark his machinations have left behind. It’ll bruise, as will the welts at her neck.
“Damn straight,” he growls, hands warm and wet as he gives her thighs a squeeze before circling in towards her clit. She moans, shuddering-so close to shattering-when his fingers find the swollen bundle of nerves. His fingers read her like they have hundreds of times before, working her as his cock slides home through her, to her.
Sansa whimpers at the slow build, at every upward thrust he gives her, pushing her up onto her toes, pinning her to the wall, each hollow movement she feels when he pulls away.
“That’s it,” he says, in that low, intimate voice he reserves for her, for moments like this. “Come for me, Sansa. I wanna feel your pussy when you come around me.”
Her eyes roll back into her head again, lip curling, nose wrinkling as he hits bottom again and again and again each time with building force, pulling out almost all the way and she can feel the head of his cock teasing the thick ring of muscle at her opening before slamming back into her, fingers moving unforgivingly on her clit, and everything is liquid-his fingers working her, the air around them, inside of her, the water spraying on their backs, dripping down their legs, her legs themselves-
She grits her teeth as she comes with a sharp cry, a sound that is pointed, and almost like a scream. Bucking her hips back into him with all her might, he locks his arms around her, anchoring her to him as she loses control again. He catches her and won’t let her go, fingers still circling her clit, hips pushing against hers.
“That’s it,” he moans in her ear. She whimpers in response, her release rippling through her with every slight movement of his cock inside her, the feeling almost too much. “God, Sansa, do you know what it does to me when you come?”
“Glad,” she gasps, eyes squeezed tightly shut, forehead pressed against the cool tile. “Glad to be of service, sweetheart.”
He chuckles, the sound reverberating through his large frame as he smooths his hands up and down her belly, bringing her down. “Nah, I like it when you come for other reasons, too. So beautiful, so sexy.”
He pulls her up to rest against his chest, supporting her weight when her thighs shake and her knees threaten to give out. She sighs, arms resting over his around her waist, head lolling back against him. “Good to hear.”
Her feet can barely reach the floor like this, him being so much taller than her, and it isn’t long until he slips out of her and places her down on the floor, turns her easily in his arms. Sansa moves to wrap her arms around his neck, and he lifts her against him as if she is weightless, humming appreciatively when she wraps her legs around him. Sandor leans against the back of the small shower stall, allowing the hot water run down her back, calm her down.
Sansa sighs, planting small kisses along his shoulders and his chest, sucking the water off his skin. Chasing one droplet down from his chin to the hollow between his neck and his collarbone, she draws the skin into her mouth, marking him in turn. “Mine,” she whispers against his scarred flesh, tongue tracing the one of the many he received the night they escaped from the White House, from the Lannisters.
Cersei had held a knife to her throat, and he had torn it away with his bare hand.
“Mine,” she repeats, louder, squeezing the fingers of her left hand together just to feel the comforting outline of her wedding band.
“And mine,” Sandor answers, hoisting her tighter against him for a slicker fit, kissing her forehead.
She nods, moving so their mouths can slant together, and she is suddenly all too aware of his erection brushing along her slit. Rolling her hips against him to signify readiness, he moans his thanks into her mouth before turning them again, pushing her up against the wall.
“Ready?” he asks, resting his forehead against hers.
Twice for her, and good God his patience, she thinks, nodding, eyes unable to focus on his face so close, her fingers reaching up to tangle in his longish wet hair. She moans, low and helpless as he breaches her again in slow increments, and finds her so incredibly wet from her two orgasms.
“So good,” he moans into her neck, burying his face in her hair.
“Yeah,” she agrees, feeling her arousal begin to build for a blessed third time as his pelvis rocks against hers, the curls around the base of his cock teasing her sensitized clit. “It’s good.”
She pulls his face to hers, nibbling on his lower lip as she settles around him, hitching her legs higher around him. “Your turn,” she whispers against his lips.
“Fuck me,” she orders, breathing the words into his mouth, watching his eyes go wide. “Fuck me as hard as you can.”
As Sandor bucks his hips into her, he silently thanks whatever deity is listening, no matter whether or not he actually believes in any of them, for the pleasure of having this gorgeous creature wrapped tightly around him in every way imaginable, moaning and begging for his touch and having already come twice for him tonight. He doesn’t give a fuck whether they exist or not, just that she calls out to God when she rides him is enough to earn his eternal gratitude.
He bites at her neck, grunting her name with every piston of his hips into her wet grip, water pouring down over both of them, each fumbling to maintain their hold on the other. His thrusts quickly grow erratic as she answers him with his own name, wildly urging him on. She unwraps one leg from his and braces it on the opposite wall, thrusting back against him in return, the leverage only accelerating their rhythm.
He can feel her body begin to tense again, and rolls his hips up into her groin, hoping to put pressure on her clit.
“Fuck, holy God yes, just like that,” she cries into his neck before banging her head back against the wall once, twice, three times. “Likethatlikethatlikethat-“
“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, feeling the water suddenly turn ice cold against his back, making him shiver for an entirely unacceptable reason. Sansa looks too wrapped up in the movement of their hips to notice, blearily blinking her eyes open when he wrenches her away from the wall, throws the shower curtain open, and in three long strides has them at the foot of the bed-and pins her down onto it.
“Nyah-babe, ah,” she gives a strangled moan when he grinds his hips into hers, before leaning back onto his haunches to take her legs, long and satiny and sex-loosened, and hitches them over his shoulders before leaning down again, taking her hands in his and securing them above her head, making her torso and arms one long line. “Fuck, oh-God, fuckfuckfuck.”
He likes making her say fuck, along with making her do other things.
Scrambling for a pillow, he finds one and pulls it under her hips, and changing the angle without even moving he makes her arch her back, makes her gasp. Sandor pushes himself up onto his knees, turning his head to bite at her ankle before beginning to pound into her again, hands moving to support her lower back when she wrenches her wrists out of his grasp to clutch his shoulders.
Encouraging him with plaintive gasps, urging him to go deeper, to go harder, right there-oh fuck Sandor, there, right there-the laughing from earlier gone, she begins to cry out, moans turning into sobbing, crying, tears escaping as he coaxes her higher and higher, fingers a blur over her clit, watching her face as she bites her lip until it bleeds, the whites of her eyes bright and fingers scratching into his back until he’s sure that he’s bleeding, but it doesn’t matter because-
Sansa shatters around him, convulsing under him as her orgasm is wrenched from her with a scream that builds from her chest and echoes in their darkened bedroom. Sandor follows her with a yell, baring his teeth as he feels her quake beneath and around him, her cunt milking his cock for all its worth, and he grows harder and harder until he feels release bubble and burst inside of him, deep in his groin, spilling himself deep inside of her.
“Sansa,” he moans, holding the last ‘a’ in his mouth, hips stuttering, all sense of rhythm stolen from them; they writhe and jerk on top of the duvet, wet and skin so hot and slick against each other. He turns them on their sides as the strength leaves his arms, managing to get her legs off his shoulders before collapsing.
Sansa hikes her leg up around his waist, continuing to rock against him, riding out her orgasm. Sandor wraps his arms tightly around her, panting into her hair, watching with rapt fascination as her cheeks twitch, her eyes moving rapidly under the lids, color painted high on the delicate bones of her face.
She moans, low and in the clear, clenching around him still, and he massages the nodes of her spine as her breathing begins to even out, shivering against his much larger frame. Nestling in closer, she pushes her face into his neck, pressing light kisses whatever skin she finds beneath her lips.
“Love you,” she murmurs, trying to get even closer still, to climb into his skin.
“Love you too, little bird.” He feels sleep trying to claim him, fights it off long enough drag himself out of bed, smile softly when Sansa protests the loss of his body around her, and stumble back to the bathroom to turn the now-cold shower off and grab one of their towels, quickly drying himself off. He drops it on the floor before taking the dry one left on the rack and climbs back into bed, tenderly drying Sansa before wiping off the evidence of their lovemaking from her thighs.
He tosses the towel on the floor to pick up in the morning, lies under the sheets, and pulls her to him again, wrapping himself around her tiny frame, burrowing into her wet hair.
The dreams do not come to them that night.
:::
( Part One)(Part Two)(Coda)