Afterlife in the Northern Town
Title: Afterlife in a Northern Town (1/2)
Rating: MA
Word Count: 3,447
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.
:::
“Come to bed.” He watches her bring the razor slowly up the slender curve of her calf, admiring the line of her leg from his position, sprawled out on his back on their bed.
She laughs, a light, pleasant sound, crinkling her nose at him before rinsing the razor under the tap. “No, you’re all sweaty and dirty. You need a shower, my love.”
He grunts in response, eyes tracing her movements as she drags the razor up her leg, again, and again, wiggling her toes against the tiny sink in their bathroom. Sansa wears scant but one of Sandor’s plaid flannel shirts, which hangs loosely on her thin frame and falls to mid-thigh. But it’s one of his old ones, the cotton worn and almost see-through; he can see the outline of her thighs and the tips of her pert nipples poking through.
He’d much prefer to watch her do this, shave with her legs all on display for him, the thatch of auburn hair at the cusp of her thighs just visible from this angle. She giggles, shaking her head. “Don’t make me go over there. I’ll strip you and push you into the shower myself, if you think I’ll let you-”
“I’ll oblige to the stripping, but little bird, do you really think you could push me anywhere?” He smirks, and barks a laugh when she rolls her eyes at him. He leers at her as she wipes down her leg with a washcloth, wishing to do nothing more than feel her smooth skin under his working man’s hands, taste her clean skin after a day in the lumber yard, breathe in the scent of her plain soap and the lotion lathered on to keep her skin from cracking. “Come fuck me, Mrs. Clegane.”
“I’ve just gotten clean. Come shower, Mr. Clegane.” She answers, tossing her damp, wavy hair over her shoulder before running her hands down over the pale, unblemished skin of her legs, checking them over for any missed areas.
“And then you’ll think about getting dirty with me again?” He sounds vaguely hopeful, smiling wryly when Sansa lowers her leg from the rim of the sink, setting it on the ground. She starts to unbutton the shirt from the bottom up, pulling up the hem to reveal the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. He cocks a brow at her. “Or maybe you’ll get clean with me?”
She smiles, fingers lingering over the button at level with her breasts. He scowls when she refuses to part the fabric, instead leaning back against the sink, spreading her legs. The scowl slides straight off his face when her hands drift down her body, one casting off to brace herself against the sink’s ledge, the other searching out her cunt.
“Are you going to get up like a good boy?” she asks coyly, rubbing her clit before plunging two fingers into herself, moaning louder than necessary and rolling her hips into her hand, flexing her dainty wrist as she moves the digits in and out. “Or am I just going to have to take care of myself?”
“Oh, I’ll take care of you real good,” he mutters, rolling off the bed and moving quickly inside their cramped bathroom, hoisting Sansa up onto the sink, nipping at her neck before she can even extricate her fingers from her wet slit. Licking his way over the thin white skin of her neck, he murmurs, “No, don’t move ‘em,” when she tries to pull her fingers out from her pussy.
Reaching between them, he takes a firm grasp of her wrist, holding it in place before sliding his hand over hers, thrusts his index finger in with her own and grinds his thumb against her slippery nub. He grins against her lips when he feels a gush of wetness against his hand, and grins even harder when she grabs the back of his head, fingers clutching at his straight black hair. She sucks his lower lip between his teeth before wresting her mouth against his, thrusting her tongue into his mouth in counterpoint to their hands.
Their hands fight over the last button on her shirt, his fingers eventually taking hold of the damned thing. Ripping the button off the article of clothing before pushing it off her shoulders, he moans into her mouth when she pushes her bare chest up against him.
Her nipples are so hard that he can feel it through his shirt. He can hear her muttering something against his lips, and it takes him a few moments to realize that she’s repeating take this off, again and again, unoccupied hand tearing his shirt and tee out from his jeans. The soft flannel catches under the nails of her free hand when she wrenches her fingers out of her cunt, deftly undoing the buttons and pushing the shirt off of Sandor’s broad shoulders, whimpering at the feel of his sculpted muscles under her palms.
Pushing another finger into her in absence of her own, Sandor thrusts his hand harder against her, palm grinding against her clit, moving to nibble his way down her defined jaw as she reaches down to pull his plain white t-shirt over his head. After removing the garment with as little separation as possible, Sandor takes the opportunity and grabs her arousal-slicked fingers and bringing them to his mouth, growling as he sucks Sansa’s juices off her own fingers.
Their eyes connect-blue and grey, both dusky with need-and Sansa feels a sudden flash of heat wash over her before her eyes rolls back into her head, her world narrowing to his fingers in her pussy and the suck of his mouth, from the smooth side of his lips to the rough, encasing her own fingers as his tongue seeks every trace of her flavor from them.
“Oh God,” she moans, hips jutting forward and shoulders pushing back against the wall, her sweat-slick back sliding on the mirror. He laughs, taking her fingers from his mouth and places them on her nipple, silently encouraging her to play with the peaked nub.
Sandor groans when actually she does so, using both hands to cup her breasts before rolling her nipples between her long, thin fingers. She smirks at him, forcefully working her hips against his hand, gasping when he extracts his fingers, but her expression of discontent quickly blooms into one of lust as he drops to his knees in front of her, tossing her thighs up on top of his broad shoulders.
“Fucking hell, woman,” Sandor says, spreading her thighs, running his large, rough hands up the satiny expanse of her legs. “I’ve been thinking about this,” he mouths the white inside of her thigh, tongue riding along the smooth flesh, “all,” he nips at it, and then draws the skin into his mouth, sucking hard before releasing it, grinning at the red ring he leaves behind, “fucking,” he smooths his fingers up to her center, parting her lower lips, which are red and swollen and glistening with arousal, “day.”
Sansa squirms above him, one of her nimble feet working up and down his strong back. Slowly-ever so slowly-Sandor lowers his head and laps against her clit, humming tunelessly against her sensitive nub just to hear her mewl in response, to watch her throw her head back, her body one long line of pale skin and womanly curves. The lines of her throat quiver as she swallows hard, muscles shifting under skin as she lets out a pleading moan.
“Sandor…”
“Yes, Sansa?” He mercilessly rubs her clit between his thumb and index finger, bending to trace her opening with his tongue, smirking against her sopping cunt when she keens in response, throws her hips against his face. He traces her slit with his tongue, savoring a new wave of wetness against his mouth. “What was that, little bird?”
“Sandor…” She hits him with her foot, more than a little indignant. His eyes flicker up to meet hers, and his grey eyes darken in lust at the sight of her hair, curling and still damp against her shower-fresh skin, a deep flush blooming across her cheeks and chest, her rosy nipples standing at attention. She whimpers when his grey eyes lock on hers, biting her lip to suppress the oncoming orgasm.
“Come for me, Sansa,” he murmurs against her flesh, panting against her inner thigh. He loops one arm around her thigh, locking her to his shoulder, ignoring the hard tile floor against his tired knees. He moves his other hand up against her center, eyes still on hers as he brushes his fingers down her slit before working two back inside of her, stretching her with infinitesimal slowness before crooking his fingers against the small, rough patch of skin inside of her. “Little bird, I want to feel come around my fingers.”
“Not-yet,” she gasps, reaching down to grasp his hair at the roots. “Too soon, too soon-oh God, so good.”
Biting at the inside of her thighs, he laughs, working his fingers faster and faster inside her.
“Not-funny,” she chokes, clutching his head fast against her, face flushed and a thin film of sweat breaking out over her body.
“You’re getting all sweaty, love,” he rasps before flicking his tongue over her red, swollen clit over and over and over again, until her eyes roll back into her head again, mouth forming a red-rimmed ‘O’ when he spreads his fingers wider. His cock jumps when her back arches against the wall, the fine muscles of her neck moving around a choked-down scream that instead comes up as a sob.
“Your fault,” she cries, when she regains speech, pushing his head harder against her. “Oh God, oh God, Oh God Sandor-“
“My fault,” he says, voice muffled against her. “You’re the one who-”
“Oh shut up and make me come,” she demands, mouth gaping as her breathing becomes torn, ragged. He can feel her inner muscles begin to spasm, clenching down on his fingers at random intervals.
Sandor immediately takes her clit in his mouth again, sucking relentlessly, fingers working in counterpoint to his mouth, until he can hear her breathing stutter, and the only thing she can do is inhale large gulps of air and moan helplessly on the exhale. Only then does he still his hand, the pads of his fingers caressing that spot inside of her, clit throbbing between his lips-
He moans with her when he feels her cunt contract around his fingers, he begins to thrust the digits in and out of her again, riding out the orgasm with her, her thighs tight around his ears and cunt against his lips. God, what was heaven the feeling of his wife’s body wrapped around him like this?
Working her until her moans shudder at last into sighs, he pulls his mouth from her when she stills at last, peering up at her blue eyes, slitted open, content and sated.
He grins wryly, fingers digging purposefully into her thighs as he removes them from his shoulders. Her fingers still tight in his hair, she pulls him up the length of her body, sighing at the slide of skin against skin, the weight of his bare chest against her own, nipples rubbing against the coarse hairs on his chest.
She pulls him in for a kiss, stroking the sides of his face with the backs of her dainty fingers, no longer flinching at the feeling of scar tissue under her skin-at the harsh ridges, the tough, twisted skin. Their scars are mementos of victories-proof that they have faced life and come out the other side the victors. She has scars now too, not all on the outside, but represented in their life by the orange prescription bottles in the medicine cabinet and the nights when she wakes up screaming and has to flee outside into the cold and knee-deep snow drifts to escape her memories.
They are far away from that now-but all of her family is gone, her father executed for false treason and her mother and brothers burned along with her childhood home, arson, her sister gone without a trace. They may have left the conspiracy and gossip behind in DC, but it has not left them. But moments like this-in each other’s arms, knocking the past from their minds until all that is left is them, and what they have, and all their fighting and struggles and lies and crimes can be laid down and they know what remains is love-
Sansa hums contentedly against his lips, opening her eyes. So blue, he thinks, and happy, and carefree. He knows he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to keep them that way, and will inevitably fail at times. But he’ll never tire of it.
Her hands slide down from his hair, curling under his shoulders, thumb stroking hard lines of muscle, making them tense under her questing fingers. She can taste herself on his mouth, even though their kiss isn’t quite a kiss, merely the meeting of lips like a meeting of minds, of souls. They both try not to think of the odds of them having gotten here, to this point, when death was chasing them at every corner.
He chuckles against her mouth, hands tracing the curve of her hips, up her waist, moving inwards to cradle her breasts in his palms. Moving his mouth along the line of her jaw, he licks the salt from her skin, before taking the lobe of her ear between his teeth, tugging on it gently when he feels her breasts swell and nipples harden against his hands again.
“You’re all sweaty,” he says around a mouthful of her skin. “You need a shower.”
Sansa giggles, locking her legs around his waist, hands moving to undo the button of his jeans, using her feet to push them and his boxers to the ground before pulling his hips flush against her own.
This time it’s Sandor who grabs her hair, burying his face in the wild auburn curls, erect cock brushing against her pussy when she jerks his hips into the cradle of hers. Their hips meet again, starting a sloppy, slow grind, Sansa’s whimpers driving him on, the wetness on her thighs and the residual taste of her in his mouth making him so ridiculously hard-
Reaching under her to grab her round, perfect ass, Sandor lifts her up off the sink, kicking off his pants into a puddle on the floor. Moaning as her arms lock around his neck, he slowly moves them into the shower, staggeringly slow, mind fogging at the feeling of the head of his cock teasing the slick skin of her cunt.
He slams her into shower wall, feeling her shiver under his hands as her back hits the cool tile, mouth hot against his in such a wonderful contradiction. Palming his cock, he tries to adjust the angle so he can thrust up easily into her, but groans painfully as she slides down his body, placing a hand on his chest to push him away from her.
Confused, and more than a little lust-drugged, he backs up into the corner as she blindly turns the water on; eyes closed and mouth chasing his.
“You’re filthy,” she mutters, barely audible over the sudden rush of water against their bodies. She turns him around so it hits his back, hot after a long day of work; it’s like heaven like this, hot shower at his back and a warm, willing wife at his front, her hand chasing the droplets of water to his cock, hands slowly working him over.
She bats his hand away when his fingers move to enter her again, dropping to her knees below him, grabbing the soap on the way down, lips haphazardly meeting the scars that litter his war-honed body.
“Honestly,” she tells him, “I’ll have to change the sheets before we go to bed.”
He barks a laugh, gathering her hair in his hands as she sweeps the bar over his thighs, and then down, massaging the thick, corded muscles in her surprisingly strong hands. Nuzzling his erection with her open mouth, Sandor has to restrain himself from moving his hips forward and shoving his cock into her mouth then and there. Instead, his hands scramble for a hold on her shoulders, his back landing heavily against the wall for support.
Hands sliding up and around, Sansa grabs his ass in her hands, tongue tracing the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, pressing lightly against it, mouth moving up to take just the head of it into her mouth. Suckling lightly, she hums when he moans, fingers frantically tightening in her long locks. She lets him slip free, hips rocking into air, searching for her.
“Tease,” he hisses, tugging purposefully on her hair when she returns to soaping up his legs, his abdomen.
“Filthy man,” she responds, smiling devilishly up at him, hair wet again, skin flushed from arousal and the steam pervading the small shower, all clean and pink on her knees before him. The cold evaporates around them, disappearing as quickly as the world outside the small Alaskan town they have taken refuge in.
She shifts her body forward again, taking him back into her mouth. His last fleeting thought is that she’s just as filthy as he is, before he can only process the words Oh God, Sansa, before his little bird’s hand encases the root of his cock, squeezing him tightly in her grasp, and begins to lave at the heated skin of the head with her tongue, and then long sweeps along the sides, before returning to head with swirling licks and flicks along the slit at the top.
Sandor fists his hands against her scalp, biting his tongue as she continues to tease him, licking and kissing and pointedly ignoring the urgent press of his hips.
“Sansa… GodpleaseSansa, you can’t just-fuck, little bird, fuck…”
He throws his head back, hitting it against the wall, a rush of water suddenly spraying down his front, only serving to further spark the fire building in his groin. He looks down at her, annoyance fading at the dark, lusty look in her eyes as she gradually takes his erection into her mouth, before shifting up on her knees to encase him in her breasts, wet and slippery and weighted down by her renewed arousal.
“Fuck, Sansa,” he moans, eyes bulging at the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of the warm press of her tits.
She bends her head to swallow the tip as it pushes through, smirking. “When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to. Not for a while, anyway.”
He moans helplessly, low and desperate, echoing against the tile and through the steam as her hands drifted towards her nipples, rubbing them as she continues to fuck him with her tits, his hips working in union with her efforts, trying to stave off his orgasm and yet so keen to just keep feeling this, to keep the delicious pressure building in his balls.
Letting his cock slap up against his stomach, Sansa pushes herself further on her knees, suddenly grabbing at his member with both hands and sinking him into her mouth, taking as much of his length as she can before relaxing her throat to take even more.
“Shit,” he gasps, trying not to close his eyes. “Shit, Sansa. Take it all, woman, please.”
She works him with long, deep strokes of her mouth, right hand twisting at his base as her left moves to cradle his balls. She rolls them in small circles before tracing them with the undersides of her nails, until his thighs shake and toes curl uselessly against the smooth shower floor.
Looking up at him, she sucks hard, hollowing out her cheeks as she pulls off of him steadily, lips lingering over the tip before surging back onto him mercilessly, hands digging into the backs of his thighs, swallowing him when the head of his cock reached the back of her throat. Fighting for control, Sandor tightens his grip in her hair, grunting as he pulls her off of him, hands grabbing at her slicked skin as he pulls her up his body, hands locking around her waist, he turns her and pushing her up against the wall, putting her shapely ass on display. She braces herself, fingers splaying against the tile.
Sandor grabs her hips tightly, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, and enters her with one long thrust.
:::
(Part One)(Part Two)(Coda)
Rating: MA
Word Count: 3,447
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.
:::
“Come to bed.” He watches her bring the razor slowly up the slender curve of her calf, admiring the line of her leg from his position, sprawled out on his back on their bed.
She laughs, a light, pleasant sound, crinkling her nose at him before rinsing the razor under the tap. “No, you’re all sweaty and dirty. You need a shower, my love.”
He grunts in response, eyes tracing her movements as she drags the razor up her leg, again, and again, wiggling her toes against the tiny sink in their bathroom. Sansa wears scant but one of Sandor’s plaid flannel shirts, which hangs loosely on her thin frame and falls to mid-thigh. But it’s one of his old ones, the cotton worn and almost see-through; he can see the outline of her thighs and the tips of her pert nipples poking through.
He’d much prefer to watch her do this, shave with her legs all on display for him, the thatch of auburn hair at the cusp of her thighs just visible from this angle. She giggles, shaking her head. “Don’t make me go over there. I’ll strip you and push you into the shower myself, if you think I’ll let you-”
“I’ll oblige to the stripping, but little bird, do you really think you could push me anywhere?” He smirks, and barks a laugh when she rolls her eyes at him. He leers at her as she wipes down her leg with a washcloth, wishing to do nothing more than feel her smooth skin under his working man’s hands, taste her clean skin after a day in the lumber yard, breathe in the scent of her plain soap and the lotion lathered on to keep her skin from cracking. “Come fuck me, Mrs. Clegane.”
“I’ve just gotten clean. Come shower, Mr. Clegane.” She answers, tossing her damp, wavy hair over her shoulder before running her hands down over the pale, unblemished skin of her legs, checking them over for any missed areas.
“And then you’ll think about getting dirty with me again?” He sounds vaguely hopeful, smiling wryly when Sansa lowers her leg from the rim of the sink, setting it on the ground. She starts to unbutton the shirt from the bottom up, pulling up the hem to reveal the triangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. He cocks a brow at her. “Or maybe you’ll get clean with me?”
She smiles, fingers lingering over the button at level with her breasts. He scowls when she refuses to part the fabric, instead leaning back against the sink, spreading her legs. The scowl slides straight off his face when her hands drift down her body, one casting off to brace herself against the sink’s ledge, the other searching out her cunt.
“Are you going to get up like a good boy?” she asks coyly, rubbing her clit before plunging two fingers into herself, moaning louder than necessary and rolling her hips into her hand, flexing her dainty wrist as she moves the digits in and out. “Or am I just going to have to take care of myself?”
“Oh, I’ll take care of you real good,” he mutters, rolling off the bed and moving quickly inside their cramped bathroom, hoisting Sansa up onto the sink, nipping at her neck before she can even extricate her fingers from her wet slit. Licking his way over the thin white skin of her neck, he murmurs, “No, don’t move ‘em,” when she tries to pull her fingers out from her pussy.
Reaching between them, he takes a firm grasp of her wrist, holding it in place before sliding his hand over hers, thrusts his index finger in with her own and grinds his thumb against her slippery nub. He grins against her lips when he feels a gush of wetness against his hand, and grins even harder when she grabs the back of his head, fingers clutching at his straight black hair. She sucks his lower lip between his teeth before wresting her mouth against his, thrusting her tongue into his mouth in counterpoint to their hands.
Their hands fight over the last button on her shirt, his fingers eventually taking hold of the damned thing. Ripping the button off the article of clothing before pushing it off her shoulders, he moans into her mouth when she pushes her bare chest up against him.
Her nipples are so hard that he can feel it through his shirt. He can hear her muttering something against his lips, and it takes him a few moments to realize that she’s repeating take this off, again and again, unoccupied hand tearing his shirt and tee out from his jeans. The soft flannel catches under the nails of her free hand when she wrenches her fingers out of her cunt, deftly undoing the buttons and pushing the shirt off of Sandor’s broad shoulders, whimpering at the feel of his sculpted muscles under her palms.
Pushing another finger into her in absence of her own, Sandor thrusts his hand harder against her, palm grinding against her clit, moving to nibble his way down her defined jaw as she reaches down to pull his plain white t-shirt over his head. After removing the garment with as little separation as possible, Sandor takes the opportunity and grabs her arousal-slicked fingers and bringing them to his mouth, growling as he sucks Sansa’s juices off her own fingers.
Their eyes connect-blue and grey, both dusky with need-and Sansa feels a sudden flash of heat wash over her before her eyes rolls back into her head, her world narrowing to his fingers in her pussy and the suck of his mouth, from the smooth side of his lips to the rough, encasing her own fingers as his tongue seeks every trace of her flavor from them.
“Oh God,” she moans, hips jutting forward and shoulders pushing back against the wall, her sweat-slick back sliding on the mirror. He laughs, taking her fingers from his mouth and places them on her nipple, silently encouraging her to play with the peaked nub.
Sandor groans when actually she does so, using both hands to cup her breasts before rolling her nipples between her long, thin fingers. She smirks at him, forcefully working her hips against his hand, gasping when he extracts his fingers, but her expression of discontent quickly blooms into one of lust as he drops to his knees in front of her, tossing her thighs up on top of his broad shoulders.
“Fucking hell, woman,” Sandor says, spreading her thighs, running his large, rough hands up the satiny expanse of her legs. “I’ve been thinking about this,” he mouths the white inside of her thigh, tongue riding along the smooth flesh, “all,” he nips at it, and then draws the skin into his mouth, sucking hard before releasing it, grinning at the red ring he leaves behind, “fucking,” he smooths his fingers up to her center, parting her lower lips, which are red and swollen and glistening with arousal, “day.”
Sansa squirms above him, one of her nimble feet working up and down his strong back. Slowly-ever so slowly-Sandor lowers his head and laps against her clit, humming tunelessly against her sensitive nub just to hear her mewl in response, to watch her throw her head back, her body one long line of pale skin and womanly curves. The lines of her throat quiver as she swallows hard, muscles shifting under skin as she lets out a pleading moan.
“Sandor…”
“Yes, Sansa?” He mercilessly rubs her clit between his thumb and index finger, bending to trace her opening with his tongue, smirking against her sopping cunt when she keens in response, throws her hips against his face. He traces her slit with his tongue, savoring a new wave of wetness against his mouth. “What was that, little bird?”
“Sandor…” She hits him with her foot, more than a little indignant. His eyes flicker up to meet hers, and his grey eyes darken in lust at the sight of her hair, curling and still damp against her shower-fresh skin, a deep flush blooming across her cheeks and chest, her rosy nipples standing at attention. She whimpers when his grey eyes lock on hers, biting her lip to suppress the oncoming orgasm.
“Come for me, Sansa,” he murmurs against her flesh, panting against her inner thigh. He loops one arm around her thigh, locking her to his shoulder, ignoring the hard tile floor against his tired knees. He moves his other hand up against her center, eyes still on hers as he brushes his fingers down her slit before working two back inside of her, stretching her with infinitesimal slowness before crooking his fingers against the small, rough patch of skin inside of her. “Little bird, I want to feel come around my fingers.”
“Not-yet,” she gasps, reaching down to grasp his hair at the roots. “Too soon, too soon-oh God, so good.”
Biting at the inside of her thighs, he laughs, working his fingers faster and faster inside her.
“Not-funny,” she chokes, clutching his head fast against her, face flushed and a thin film of sweat breaking out over her body.
“You’re getting all sweaty, love,” he rasps before flicking his tongue over her red, swollen clit over and over and over again, until her eyes roll back into her head again, mouth forming a red-rimmed ‘O’ when he spreads his fingers wider. His cock jumps when her back arches against the wall, the fine muscles of her neck moving around a choked-down scream that instead comes up as a sob.
“Your fault,” she cries, when she regains speech, pushing his head harder against her. “Oh God, oh God, Oh God Sandor-“
“My fault,” he says, voice muffled against her. “You’re the one who-”
“Oh shut up and make me come,” she demands, mouth gaping as her breathing becomes torn, ragged. He can feel her inner muscles begin to spasm, clenching down on his fingers at random intervals.
Sandor immediately takes her clit in his mouth again, sucking relentlessly, fingers working in counterpoint to his mouth, until he can hear her breathing stutter, and the only thing she can do is inhale large gulps of air and moan helplessly on the exhale. Only then does he still his hand, the pads of his fingers caressing that spot inside of her, clit throbbing between his lips-
He moans with her when he feels her cunt contract around his fingers, he begins to thrust the digits in and out of her again, riding out the orgasm with her, her thighs tight around his ears and cunt against his lips. God, what was heaven the feeling of his wife’s body wrapped around him like this?
Working her until her moans shudder at last into sighs, he pulls his mouth from her when she stills at last, peering up at her blue eyes, slitted open, content and sated.
He grins wryly, fingers digging purposefully into her thighs as he removes them from his shoulders. Her fingers still tight in his hair, she pulls him up the length of her body, sighing at the slide of skin against skin, the weight of his bare chest against her own, nipples rubbing against the coarse hairs on his chest.
She pulls him in for a kiss, stroking the sides of his face with the backs of her dainty fingers, no longer flinching at the feeling of scar tissue under her skin-at the harsh ridges, the tough, twisted skin. Their scars are mementos of victories-proof that they have faced life and come out the other side the victors. She has scars now too, not all on the outside, but represented in their life by the orange prescription bottles in the medicine cabinet and the nights when she wakes up screaming and has to flee outside into the cold and knee-deep snow drifts to escape her memories.
They are far away from that now-but all of her family is gone, her father executed for false treason and her mother and brothers burned along with her childhood home, arson, her sister gone without a trace. They may have left the conspiracy and gossip behind in DC, but it has not left them. But moments like this-in each other’s arms, knocking the past from their minds until all that is left is them, and what they have, and all their fighting and struggles and lies and crimes can be laid down and they know what remains is love-
Sansa hums contentedly against his lips, opening her eyes. So blue, he thinks, and happy, and carefree. He knows he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to keep them that way, and will inevitably fail at times. But he’ll never tire of it.
Her hands slide down from his hair, curling under his shoulders, thumb stroking hard lines of muscle, making them tense under her questing fingers. She can taste herself on his mouth, even though their kiss isn’t quite a kiss, merely the meeting of lips like a meeting of minds, of souls. They both try not to think of the odds of them having gotten here, to this point, when death was chasing them at every corner.
He chuckles against her mouth, hands tracing the curve of her hips, up her waist, moving inwards to cradle her breasts in his palms. Moving his mouth along the line of her jaw, he licks the salt from her skin, before taking the lobe of her ear between his teeth, tugging on it gently when he feels her breasts swell and nipples harden against his hands again.
“You’re all sweaty,” he says around a mouthful of her skin. “You need a shower.”
Sansa giggles, locking her legs around his waist, hands moving to undo the button of his jeans, using her feet to push them and his boxers to the ground before pulling his hips flush against her own.
This time it’s Sandor who grabs her hair, burying his face in the wild auburn curls, erect cock brushing against her pussy when she jerks his hips into the cradle of hers. Their hips meet again, starting a sloppy, slow grind, Sansa’s whimpers driving him on, the wetness on her thighs and the residual taste of her in his mouth making him so ridiculously hard-
Reaching under her to grab her round, perfect ass, Sandor lifts her up off the sink, kicking off his pants into a puddle on the floor. Moaning as her arms lock around his neck, he slowly moves them into the shower, staggeringly slow, mind fogging at the feeling of the head of his cock teasing the slick skin of her cunt.
He slams her into shower wall, feeling her shiver under his hands as her back hits the cool tile, mouth hot against his in such a wonderful contradiction. Palming his cock, he tries to adjust the angle so he can thrust up easily into her, but groans painfully as she slides down his body, placing a hand on his chest to push him away from her.
Confused, and more than a little lust-drugged, he backs up into the corner as she blindly turns the water on; eyes closed and mouth chasing his.
“You’re filthy,” she mutters, barely audible over the sudden rush of water against their bodies. She turns him around so it hits his back, hot after a long day of work; it’s like heaven like this, hot shower at his back and a warm, willing wife at his front, her hand chasing the droplets of water to his cock, hands slowly working him over.
She bats his hand away when his fingers move to enter her again, dropping to her knees below him, grabbing the soap on the way down, lips haphazardly meeting the scars that litter his war-honed body.
“Honestly,” she tells him, “I’ll have to change the sheets before we go to bed.”
He barks a laugh, gathering her hair in his hands as she sweeps the bar over his thighs, and then down, massaging the thick, corded muscles in her surprisingly strong hands. Nuzzling his erection with her open mouth, Sandor has to restrain himself from moving his hips forward and shoving his cock into her mouth then and there. Instead, his hands scramble for a hold on her shoulders, his back landing heavily against the wall for support.
Hands sliding up and around, Sansa grabs his ass in her hands, tongue tracing the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, pressing lightly against it, mouth moving up to take just the head of it into her mouth. Suckling lightly, she hums when he moans, fingers frantically tightening in her long locks. She lets him slip free, hips rocking into air, searching for her.
“Tease,” he hisses, tugging purposefully on her hair when she returns to soaping up his legs, his abdomen.
“Filthy man,” she responds, smiling devilishly up at him, hair wet again, skin flushed from arousal and the steam pervading the small shower, all clean and pink on her knees before him. The cold evaporates around them, disappearing as quickly as the world outside the small Alaskan town they have taken refuge in.
She shifts her body forward again, taking him back into her mouth. His last fleeting thought is that she’s just as filthy as he is, before he can only process the words Oh God, Sansa, before his little bird’s hand encases the root of his cock, squeezing him tightly in her grasp, and begins to lave at the heated skin of the head with her tongue, and then long sweeps along the sides, before returning to head with swirling licks and flicks along the slit at the top.
Sandor fists his hands against her scalp, biting his tongue as she continues to tease him, licking and kissing and pointedly ignoring the urgent press of his hips.
“Sansa… GodpleaseSansa, you can’t just-fuck, little bird, fuck…”
He throws his head back, hitting it against the wall, a rush of water suddenly spraying down his front, only serving to further spark the fire building in his groin. He looks down at her, annoyance fading at the dark, lusty look in her eyes as she gradually takes his erection into her mouth, before shifting up on her knees to encase him in her breasts, wet and slippery and weighted down by her renewed arousal.
“Fuck, Sansa,” he moans, eyes bulging at the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of the warm press of her tits.
She bends her head to swallow the tip as it pushes through, smirking. “When I’m done with you, you won’t be able to. Not for a while, anyway.”
He moans helplessly, low and desperate, echoing against the tile and through the steam as her hands drifted towards her nipples, rubbing them as she continues to fuck him with her tits, his hips working in union with her efforts, trying to stave off his orgasm and yet so keen to just keep feeling this, to keep the delicious pressure building in his balls.
Letting his cock slap up against his stomach, Sansa pushes herself further on her knees, suddenly grabbing at his member with both hands and sinking him into her mouth, taking as much of his length as she can before relaxing her throat to take even more.
“Shit,” he gasps, trying not to close his eyes. “Shit, Sansa. Take it all, woman, please.”
She works him with long, deep strokes of her mouth, right hand twisting at his base as her left moves to cradle his balls. She rolls them in small circles before tracing them with the undersides of her nails, until his thighs shake and toes curl uselessly against the smooth shower floor.
Looking up at him, she sucks hard, hollowing out her cheeks as she pulls off of him steadily, lips lingering over the tip before surging back onto him mercilessly, hands digging into the backs of his thighs, swallowing him when the head of his cock reached the back of her throat. Fighting for control, Sandor tightens his grip in her hair, grunting as he pulls her off of him, hands grabbing at her slicked skin as he pulls her up his body, hands locking around her waist, he turns her and pushing her up against the wall, putting her shapely ass on display. She braces herself, fingers splaying against the tile.
Sandor grabs her hips tightly, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise, and enters her with one long thrust.
:::
(Part One)(Part Two)(Coda)