Author's Notes: This story was written for Livejournal sansaxsandor 'Sansan-fest', in response to prompt by Maroucya: "Something dubcon... anything, really I just want to read a good dubcon story!"
Warnings: Dub-con (surprise surprise!)
“Be quiet, girl.”
Sansa looked at him in terror, felt a hard hand pressed against her mouth. She couldn’t have uttered a sound had she wanted to.
She had been in her room when she had heard an urgent bang on her door. She had gone to it and queried nervously who was there.
“It is me, Clegane. Let me in, and hurry, girl!” the rasping voice of the Hound had barked back at her. Sansa had been surprised; usually when he came to take her to the King, he announced his arrival with a terse knock and an announcement that he came in the King’s business.
Nonetheless, she had had no choice. The door had no lock and he could have just barged in, had she denied him access. Sansa had hardly turned the latch when the Hound had shoved the door aside and stepped in, turning quickly to close the door behind him. He hadn’t looked at her but had seemed strained in an effort to listen to something, cursing quietly as they had heard steps of men approaching further down the corridor.
“Seven buggering hells,” he had cursed again, then glanced around the room scrutinising it. Before Sansa had had a chance to say anything, his gaze had fixed upon her bed – or more precisely, under it - and he had grasped Sansa’s hand. Then he had swiped her legs from under her in one smooth sweep of his foot and as she had yelped, falling on her back, he too had ducked on the floor pulling Sansa with her, rolling both of them under the bed in one effortless movement.
And there they were, Sansa engulfed in his grip, his large hand on top of her mouth. Her eyes were big as saucers and her heart was pounding. As the steps of heavy boots stopped in front of her closed door, the Hound whispered to her at low voice.
“The King just got the news from yet another victory of your kingly brother and he is screaming murder. He sent for you, likely for another beating in the hands of his buggering Kingsguard.” He growled so low that Sansa felt his voice vibrating against her ear.
“Beating the hells out of you seems to be our formidable king’s only recourse against the Young Wolf’s battle prowess. Yet if you just stay quiet, you may be saved from it – this time.”
Sansa’s heart rejoiced for a moment from what she had heard, then lurched when she thought about the pain such news usually brought on her. She nodded, and felt his grip on her mouth loosening.
The hard knock was followed by the bellowing voice she recognised to belong to Ser Meryn Trant.
“Lady Sansa, we are here in His Grace’s business! He wants to see you in the Great Hall.”
They stayed silent and the knocking resumed. Soon Sansa heard the door opening and two men entering the room. They moved around, examined her garderobe and pushed items on her desk. Then she heard cursing.
“Bloody hells, where on earth could she be? The King really wants her.”
“I don’t know, my lord,” another, more timid voice replied.
“Of course you wouldn’t, you fool. Maybe she is out with her maid. I better send men to search for her. You, you stay here in case if she comes back.”
The steps moved towards the door.
“No you idiot, wait outside the door! If she does return, bring her to the King immediately.”
“Yes Ser,” they heard the faint reply as the door closed with a resounding bang, followed by rustling and clank of armour as the young soldier resumed his position leaning against the door.
The Hound relaxed, stretching himself against the stone floor. He loosened his grip on Sansa, who likewise rolled on her back and turned her head towards him. She was puzzled. The Hound had showed her his hard kindness before; had saved her from the riots and had given her advice on how to handle Joffrey. Even though his words had been harsh and cynical, they had helped her, and she was thankful for him.
Sansa wondered what had made him to come to her like this. Nonetheless, this was not the first time he had directly intervened; when Joffrey had had her stripped semi-naked in front of the whole court, he had barked ‘Enough!’. Yet only Tyrion’s arrival had saved her from further humiliation. She didn’t blame the Hound though. He had to follow the King’s orders or endure his wrath. Why would he risk that on her behalf when she was nothing for him?
She noticed he was not wearing his armour, but only a simple tunic and rough breeches. He was staring at the underside of the bed and murmured, almost as if sensing her stare, “I am off-duty, was breaking my fast in the Great Hall when I heard the King losing it. Bloody idiots didn’t know how to pass the news properly. He sent for you soon after.”
He turned his head and looked at Sansa.
“I tried to get here before that fool Trant to whisk you away, but I was too late. Now it looks like we have to hide here for a while.”
Sansa gasped. The Hound seemed amused.
“Don’t fret. Eventually they will give up, too lazy to try to find you proper. When they do, you better find a good excuse for your absence.”
Sansa nodded silently, wondering how long they would be stuck in their hiding place. There were worse places to be trapped in though. The bed had high legs, being of the type intended to store household coffers under it. She having only meagre possessions there were no coffers under her bed, but the height meant that even the Hound’s enormous body fitted underneath it. They also had light, the morning sun filtering through the pale fabric covering the sides of the bed all the way to the floor. It was as if they were ensconced inside a particularly low tent.
The Hound moved again, turning on his side and resting his head against his hand, his elbow resting against the floor. Sansa saw his face close-up, the curtain of dark hair partially covering it, strands of it brushing her own shoulder. She felt self-conscious under his hard grey eyes, especially as they studied her face intently before moving lower to her neck and the skin revealed by her low-cut morning dress.
“So here we are. Had no plans to get trapped under a bloody bed though. I do have better things to do, you know. They better relieve that poor sod on your door soon.” Despite his harsh words his gaze continued to explore Sansa, not ungently. Sansa glanced at him, then turned her eyes away. She had already gotten used to his scars and didn’t shy away from them, but his proximity unnerved her. He must have misunderstood her though, as he tensed.
“Don’t care to look at me still? Well bugger that, I like to look at you. Maybe that’s what I’ll be doing to while my time away while being couped up here!”
He leaned closer to Sansa, smirking.
“It is not like I wouldn’t have seen it before. At least this time it wouldn’t be the whole court gaping at you.”
Sansa drew a breath. Surely he doesn’t mean what I think he means?
“I’ll tell you what, little bird. In exchange for saving you from a beating, I will look upon you. A fair exchange, I say. Just look – I will not touch you. A dog would not presume to sup from his masters’ catch.” He chortled briefly, a snarling bitter laugh.
Without waiting for her response he turned Sansa on her side towards him and started to unlace the ribbons of her dress. Sansa flailed her hands and tried to pull herself away, but he only grasped her harder.
“Or you can make your presence known, let that soldier there to hear you. He will take you to your betrothed and you can see what amusement he has thought for you this time.”
Sansa stopped, realising that if she tried to resist, that was exactly what would happen. Being caught up in hiding with the Hound would only make it worse. It would have percussions for him as well, but much worse to her.
Her mind raced. He wants to look at me. But he promised he will not touch me. It dawned on her that in truth she had no choice. The thought of enduring one more humiliation – and pain - in front of the whole court emerged as a worse option than being shamed in front of one man only. Tears of embarrassment burned her eyes, but she gave up her resistance and lied still.
“Good girl. Now if I just can get these fucking ribbons undone,” the Hound muttered, continuing to tug them impatiently, opening them one at the time all the way to her hips. Then he yanked the loosely tied laces of her shift apart and turned Sansa on her back again. Looming large over her he started to tug the dress and shift lower.
Sansa closed her eyes but felt how the fabric fell from her shoulders. She forced herself not to resist when he lifted her arms one at the time and peeled the long sleeves all the way down to her wrists, then pulled her arms free from them. One more yank and she was bare down to her waist. Instinctively her hands flew to cover her breasts. Chuckling coarsely under his breath the Hound took her both wrists into his large hand and raised them above her head, pressing them against the floor. She squeezed her eyes closed even tighter, willing herself to imagine that this was not happening to her.
For a while nothing happened. Sansa could sense crimson spreading across her chest and neck, the hot sensation bringing sheen of sweat on her skin. After a while, when she couldn’t detect any movement or sounds, she stole a quick glance under her eyelids to the Hound’s direction.
He was staring at her, his hand still holding her wrists. His gaze was intense as it swiped across her breasts, from one to another, then on the hollow of her neck, and on her hair that was spread against the floor as an auburn silken sheet around her head.
The Hound’s stare was so forceful that it was almost like a touch. She saw, and sensed, her nipples puckering up in dense peaks. His eyes widened at that and he threw a quick glance at her. Sansa closed her eyes again and if possible, felt even hotter flush spread across her skin. She shivered, even though the wooden planks under her back felt warm.
“Like cream and strawberries you are, girl. And look so soft too. Wouldn’t mind trying myself how soft, but I promised I will not touch you. And the dog keeps his promises,” he muttered. Sansa didn’t respond, as there was nothing she could say.
After a long time, during which she felt an unexpected warm tingle on her skin gradually spreading all over her shoulders, chest and below her waist, she felt his hands on her dress again. It was being tugged even lower, revealing her lower belly. No, this is not what he has seen before! Sansa thought frantically when she realised his intentions.
“Don’t fuss, little bird. I just want to see more of your sweetness. No harm will come to you.” The Hound released her wrists and instead of covering her body, Sansa raised her arms across her face to hide it from him. Her shame deepened but there was nothing she could do. Besides, he had promised he wouldn’t touch her. As strange as it might be, she felt she could trust him. Even while he was violating her with his gaze and seemingly enjoying her distress, for some unfathomable reason she had faith in him, believing him to keep his word.
A bit more struggle on the Hound’s part, dragging down her dress and her smallclothes, and soon all her clothes were pooled on the floor under her feet. Even when undressing her, he had taken care not to touch her with his hands, only grasping the fabric of her clothing.
Sansa lay bare in front of him, naked as on her nameday. She could feel her skin rising in goosebumps, and a slight shiver travelling across her whole body. She squeezed her legs tightly together, but she knew she couldn’t hide the auburn triangle of curly hair between her legs.
Again, for a long time, nothing happened. Sansa could hear him, breathing hard and fast. It was as if the time had stopped, two of them wrapped inside the cocoon of their make-shift tent. Without intending to, Sansa stretched herself to release the tension that had gripped her whole body. Her movement pushed her breasts up and she heard him swallow hard. Yet otherwise he stayed silent.
The feeling of being so…exposed…was something she had never experienced. Yet after she got over her first wave of anxiety, to her amazement she noticed that the experience was not completely unpleasant. She felt dizzy, fully aware of how his eyes were sweeping over her body - those hard grey eyes that always seemed to follow her around the court. She had tried to hide from them at first, but later, as she had understood that they were not mocking her, nor taking enjoyment of her humiliation, she had yielded to his gaze. Over time she had started to gather some strange comfort of it, even.
Then she felt it. The warmth of the Hound’s breath on her skin, the brush of his hair following it. It moved slowly from her neck to her breasts, first to one, then to another. It stopped briefly above her nipples and she could sense the blow of air on them when he exhaled. The warmth of it stirred her skin, as if the warmest of summer winds gently caressing her. The tips of his hair tickled her, and for a moment she wondered if that could be considered him breaking his promise. Then she concluded that it would not; after all, it was not in him to control how it fell.
The Hound positioned his whole body anew, leaning on his hands next to her, careful not to touch her. His warm breath travelled further down across her stomach and hips, stopping above her mound. Sansa felt strange tension in her womanhood, and a wetness she had not experienced before. When she chafed her legs slightly together, she could feel it spreading. What is he doing to me?
Yet he didn’t touch her. Only looked. And from the sounds, sniffed him. Like a dog he was supposed to be.
The Hound took his time going through her whole body, from top to the bottom, all the way to her toes, then up again along her legs and thighs. Sansa was squirming now, unable to resist the feeling of having to do something… Once, when she jerked involuntarily from the sensation of his hair on her mound, her thigh momentarily met his bearded jaw. He withdrew quickly though, before descending on her again once she had stilled herself.
Then his breath was gone from against her skin. She could hear where he was from the sound of his panting, somewhere further down. Cautiously Sansa moved the arm that had covered her eyes aside and peeked at where she thought he would be. True enough, the Hound was on his side next to her feet, his body lying in almost opposite direction to hers. He was again resting his head against his bent arm, looking up her long legs towards her. His eyes gleamed and Sansa felt herself drowning in their dark grey pools. His expression was inscrutable and his mouth slightly open, the corner of his burned mouth slightly twitching. Irrationally Sansa thought that he looked like a predator, ready to pounce on its prey.
When the Hound saw her looking at him, his expression changed slightly. It took a new, softer appearance. Then he flicked his eyes towards the joining of her legs, which she had had crossed tightly throughout the whole ordeal. Sansa blushed, but didn’t let her eyes leave his. The Hound looked back at her under his brow, then back at her curly mound, then back at her. There was something pleading in his eyes.
He wants more. Suddenly Sansa realised what he wanted to see, and was horrified at the thought of someone wanting to set eyes on her most private parts. She gulped. Yet he still hadn’t touched her. He could easily have let his hands roam all over her, just as he could now just spread her legs with a harsh yank – and there was nothing she could do to prevent that. He is keeping his promise. He will not force me.
Despite being utterly defenceless and under the power of this strange, crude man, at that moment Sansa felt more powerful than she had felt for a long time. Her humiliations in front of Joffrey and his snickering Kingsguard and the helplessness of not being able to make her own decisions had slowly broken her down until she felt she was nothing but a shattered vessel . She had submitted, learned to surrender and in the process given up the part in her that was the blood of wolves. And now, in the stark situation not her own choosing, she suddenly felt her strength flowing back to her veins from a small gesture granted to her by the cruel warrior, one of those whose duty it was to torment her. At that moment she felt more in control than she had done since her nightmare had started and felt…relieved.
Something flickered between them as they stared at each other. Not truly believing herself what she was about to do, Sansa relaxed, sighed deeply, and hesitantly and unhurriedly started to uncross her ankles. Slowly, ever so slowly she opened her legs, moving first one, then another, until her feet were a good hand-width apart. She was still looking down at the Hound and saw an astonished expression flashing across his face. Then his eyes squinted as he took in the new sight in front of him. Tense as a bowstring Sansa squeezed her eyes shut as she spread her legs further and allowed his gaze to penetrate her secret place. She felt fluttering sensation on her core and a new surge of wetness in the place she was opening to him – to the Hound.
She had started to breath in fast and shallow gasps. The intensity of the situation strung her taut and she felt as if she was about to burst at any moment.
When she opened her eyes she saw the Hound still staring between her legs. He had a hungry look upon his face, yet it also bore something more. Disbelief, wonderment– and if she hadn’t known better, she might even have imagined him looking grateful.
Then they heard it, the heavy steps on the corridor. They froze and Sansa snapped her legs close, broken out of the trance-like state she had been in. The Hound was alert again, an image of attentiveness as he raised his head and listened.
“The King has decided to go hunting to blow out his frustrations. You are relieved of your duty, go back to your unit,” Meryn Trant growled. He was irritated, that much was clear from his tone.
The soldier muttered his response and after a few short moments they heard their steps retreating. Everything was quiet again.
As if the spell that had bound them had been broken, Sansa and the Hound gathered themselves. He recovered first, rolling from under the bed and getting to his feet. Before Sansa had time to consider how she could do the same in her naked state, he had moved to the foot of the bed, gathered her clothes from under her and pushed them next to her.
“Get up and dress yourself, little bird. I won’t look – I have had my fill,” he grumbled.
Sansa bundled the clothes against her and carefully inched her way out. As she got up she saw he was true to his words – again - standing in the corner, staring resolutely at the wall. She dressed herself with shaking hands, tying the laces as well as she could. When she felt she was decent once more, she coughed.
“I am done.” The Hound turned and glared at her with a scowl on his face. Somehow he seemed to have changed back to Joffrey’s dog, back to the bitter and angry warrior.
“We better think of a bloody good story to explain your absence. I suspect hunting will let Joffrey kill enough things so he won’t come bothering you again, but someone may still question where you were when he sent for you.”
Sansa noticed how he said “we”, when he could have just stated how she had to think of a story.
“I…could go to the Queen. I could think of something that I needed to see her for. Even if I don’t see her, there will be ladies and servants in her rooms who could testify me being there.”
The Hound viewed her with appreciation. “Aye, that might work. Well thought, little bird.”
As he was turned towards her, Sansa noticed the way he had crossed his large hands in front of him. It seemed strange, but a quick glance revealed the bulge in front of his breeches he was trying to cover. Sansa blushed, knowing what it meant. To hide her embarrassment she moved to the door.
“I leave now and run straight there. If I make sure that my presence is noted and stay for a while, I can honestly say that I was in Her Grace’s rooms this morning if anyone asks. And there will be witnesses to prove it.”
“That should do it. Even the King can’t deny your right to visit your future goodmother. Just be sure that no-one sees you now; take the back-route to the Queen’s rooms.”
The Hound had not moved but stayed where he was.
“I will stay here for a while longer. I have to make sure that I am not seen to leave your rooms.” As he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, Sansa realised what he was going to do once she left. She had overheard of…things men did, from the servants in the Keep. Her breath hitched at the thought of him using the memory of what he had just seen.
She prayed in her heart that Joffrey would never ask the Hound to beat her. She couldn’t take it if he was to become one of her tormentors. Not after today, when he had first saved her, then cruelly forced her, then had given her a small sense of control again…
She turned the latch of the door and opened it carefully, peeking into the corridor. Seeing nobody, she glanced back at him one more time.
“Thank you…for saving me.” She felt ridiculous for thanking him for the humiliating experience he had just put her through. Yet…he had also saved her.
“No need to prattle your little courtesies to me, girl. You have paid whatever you might have owed me in full. Paid more than you should have,” he grunted, looking angry and annoyed.
Sansa nodded at him once more, then ducked into the corridor and ran towards the Queen’s rooms as fast as her legs could carry.
Until the end of her days - even after having married her lordly husband and lived through her wedding night and many, many nights since in the arms of her husband, her lover - Sansa remembered that morning. Despite experiencing the burning passion of a truly loving marriage, it remained the most sensual experience of her life. Every now and then, even after decades, her mind flickered back to that heady encounter and she felt the same flutter of excitement as she had felt then.
Her lordly husband agreed, gruntingly admitting to her how he hadn’t been able to get the incident out of his mind throughout the years they had been apart.