Summary: Mira risks everything to sneak through the Red Keep and meet Sandor in secret, where she asks him to teach her how to defend herself against the dangers growing around them. Their conversation deepens into mutual vows of devotion and protection, but the promise of an approaching war forces them to confront the painful possibility that their future together may not be guaranteed.
Word count: 8,158 (I feel like this calculation is wrong but idek)
Warnings: 18+!!! Fingering/F receiving, softdom dynamics, nicknames, eating pussy like he ran out of wine, Protective Sandor Clegane, Emotional Intimacy, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Devotion, Fear of Loss, Falling in Love.
The moon burned bright above the keep, its pale light threading through the narrow arrow slits like watchful eyes. Mira slipped through those silvered beams, no more than a shadow in a place built of darkness.
Her bare feet kissed the floor with care, each step placed between memory and instinct, avoiding the loose grit and treacherous cracks that might betray her.
The air smelled faintly of iron and mildew. Her senses heightened.
Somewhere far down the corridor, a door slammed, distant, but enough to send a ripple of tension through her spine.
She flattened herself against the wall as the low murmur of voices drifted nearer.
The rhythmic clink of armour followed. Torchlight’s flickered ahead, spilling long, warped shadows that crawled along the floor like reaching fingers. Mira’s breath stilled in her chest. She darted to a shallow alcove carved between pillars, pressing herself into its narrow embrace just as two figures turned the corner.
Their boots struck the stone in steady cadence. One carried a lantern, its glow sweeping lazily across the walls. For a terrible moment, the light lingered near her hiding place, illuminating the edge of her sleeve. Mira held herself perfectly still, muscles taut, willing her body to become nothing more than another carving in the ancient wall. She pressed deeper, the rough edges of the stone biting into her shoulders, the chill seeping through her clothes. The strain loosened the fragile mortar beneath her, and a faint scatter of pebbles broke free, pattering softly onto the floor. A sound far too loud in the fragile silence.
“…thought I heard something,” one knight muttered.
“A rat most likely,” the other replied.
“Didn’t sound like no rat.” He mumbled.
“maybe it’s your nerves, brother” the Knight chuckled.
Only when their footsteps faded into the labyrinth of corridors did Mira allow herself to breathe again, slow and silent. She lingered a moment longer, listening, before slipping back into motion.
She moved quicker now, though no less careful, weaving through intersecting halls and shadowed arches she had committed to memory. Each turn brought her closer, and with that closeness came a tightening in her chest.
At last, the corridor opened before her long, straight, and lined with torches that burned low in their iron brackets. At its end stood the door.
It loomed beneath the wavering light, heavy oak bound in dark iron, as though it guarded not a room, but a secret. Mira slowed despite herself. This threshold was more than wood and metal. it was risk and longing.
She approached, every heartbeat loud in her ears. The silence here felt different.
Her hand rose, trembling despite her resolve. For a moment, she hesitated, fingers hovering just shy of the surface, as if touching it might shatter whatever courage she had gathered.
Then, softly, she knocked.
The sound barely existed, swallowed whole by the thick door and the vast stillness of the hall.
A flicker of doubt crept in. Perhaps he slept. Perhaps he was not here at all. Perhaps this entire reckless journey had led her to an empty room and a foolish end.
Her jaw tightened. She knocked again, firmer this time, the quiet tap echoing faintly back at her.
Her heart began to sink, unease curling in her stomach.
Drawing in a steadying breath, Mira lifted her hand once more, steeling herself for a third attempt.
It opened slowly, as though reluctant, revealing only darkness within.
Mira’s breath caught as her gaze lifted.
Eyes met hers from the shadows. Surprise flashed within them.
She had no time to speak.
A large hand shot forward, gripping the collar of her nightdress with unyielding force. In one swift motion, she was pulled across the threshold, swallowed by the gloom beyond as the door shut tight behind her.
“are you stupid, girl?” Sandor’s voice was a low growl, roughened by fear and anger, yet hushed as if the stones might punish him.
“I had to see you,” Mira breathed, her words barely more than a tremor.
He opened the door once more, glancing into the corridor, wary as a hound, then shut the door with a finality that made her heart leap.
Only then did she see him. stripped of his iron shell, clad in a tunic worn soft by the years and linen trousers that did little to hide the brute strength of his form. The candlelight played over the scars of his face, and Mira’s cheeks burned as she cast her gaze to the floor, suddenly aware of her own boldness.
“You could have been caught,” Sandor hissed, the words sharp and low. Anger sat heavy in his voice, but it couldn’t fully mask the worry flickering in his eyes. “The guards have doubled their rounds.”
Mira held his gaze, even as a tremor worked its way through her limbs. She straightened anyway, “I know the risk,” she said quietly. “I took it willingly. I was careful– I was quiet. No one saw me, I swear.” She paused, forcing her breathing to slow before adding, softer now, “I needed to speak with you.”
“you’re damn right we need to talk.”
He dragged in a breath and let it out again, long and weary. With a rough sound of resignation, he turned and sat on the edge of the bed, arms folding across his chest like a barrier. “You must enjoy trouble,” he muttered. “Sneaking through heavily guarded corridors, Calling me Ser. Again. After I keep telling you not to. Handing me a favour in front of the whole fucking court.”
Then he was on his feet again, rising to his full height. The air seemed to compress with his presence as he loomed over her. “Do you understand what you’ve done?” he demanded.
She tried to open her mouth to speak but was cut off. “The girl now knows,” He began to pace, boots scraping softly against stone. “You are lucky she’s the only one who saw. This place,” He gestured sharply, as if the walls themselves were complicit. “this place destroys people like you.”
His steps slowed, then stopped. His voice dropped, rougher now. “I can’t watch you at every moment. I protect the bastards who’d hurt someone like you, just for sport.”
Silence settled between them, thick and waiting.
“Speak, raven,” he barked at last.
Mira drew in a steadying breath, summoning courage from somewhere deep. He was right. He couldn’t always be there.
no matter how much she wished otherwise.
She didn’t want to be another burden, another thing he had to guard. She wanted to stand beside him, not behind. To be strong. To protect him, if she ever needed to.
“I want you to teach me how to fight.”
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then Sandor’s laughter rolled out, sharp and unexpected, echoing off the walls.
“You? Fight?” he managed, a crooked smile breaking through the gloom. “What would you do, little raven? Peck your foes to death?”
Mira’s mouth fell open in indignation.
She marched up to him, a pout on her face and struck his arm, more wounded than she cared to admit. “I do not jest!”
He sobered, eyes searching hers. “And who is it you mean to fight?”
Her voice faltered, cheeks aflame. “Meryn Trant.”
At the name, Sandor’s mirth died, replaced by a cold fury. “Meryn Fucking Trant?” he spat, the name a curse.
Mira’s eyes shimmered, tears threatening to spill but never quite falling. Her voice trembled, raw with fear and fury. “He’s evil, Sandor. He threatened Thalia—touched her, said things so vile no one will dare repeat it. He didn’t care who heard. He won’t stop. I have to be ready if he comes for us again.”
A storm gathered in Sandor’s gaze, dark and dangerous. Pity flickered there, yes, but it was the wrath beneath, a violence barely restrained that made Mira’s breath catch.
He reached for her, his hand rough and calloused, yet gentle as it traced the back of her hand, then up her arm. Where his fingers passed, her skin prickled with shivers, as if he left a trail of fire in his wake.
“You shouldn’t waste your thoughts on that cunt,” Sandor murmured, his voice low. His fingers glided to her shoulder, then her collarbone, pausing above the scar that marked her chest. “He’s not worth it. Not a man, not even a beast.”
Mira’s breath hitched, her resolve wavering. “I do not wish it, I hate that I think of him. But I have to be ready. I live in fear of him every day. Something is coming. Please, Sandor.” She pressed her palms to his chest, feeling the heat of him, the wild thrum of his heart beneath her hands.
He groaned, the sound vibrating through his chest and into her bones. “Say my name again, sweet raven,” he whispered, his fingers tracing the line of her scar with reverence.
“Sandor…” she breathed, the word a plea.
He bent down, his broad body folding until he knelt before her, his head bowed, soft hair brushing the tops of her thighs. His hands found her ankles, wrapping them lightly, then sliding up the backs of her calves in a slow, deliberate caress.
“I can protect you,” he vowed, his voice rough as gravel. His hands continued their journey, grazing the backs of her thighs, making her flush. “I will be your sword, if you’ll have me.” He bent lower, slowly and deliberately. His head bowed until his forehead rested near her feet, not in submission alone, but in quiet devotion.
She had never felt so seen, so unmistakably chosen. The weight of his attention made her breath falter, a soft tremor passing through, making her chest swell.
His hands rested against her calves steady and warm, grounding her there with him. His breathing was uneven, as if holding back words that had waited too long to be spoken.
“Please,” he said softly, voice rough with feeling. “Let me show you how much you matter to me. How much I worship you…”
When he looked up, his eyes were wide and unguarded, filled with a longing so open it left her heart aching in response.
She reached out, tangling her fingers in his hair, gripping the bottom curls, desperate for something solid. “please show me, Sandor…”
His head went down returning to the top of her foot placing his first kiss there.
“My heart is yours. Where you call, I’ll answer. Where you walk, I’ll follow. I am yours, same as the hound is sworn to the blade.”
She shivered, his lips brushing her calves. She felt his hands fisting the bottom of her nightgown, slowly pushing it up her legs. The cold air hit her skin making the sensation all too consuming. “Whatever you ask, I’ll do it, my sweet raven” his hands palmed the flesh at the back of her thighs. Tongue darting out to lick up at the inner flesh.
She yelped, the nightdress fell over his head, swallowing his upper body. “Let me stand between you and the darkness. Let me be the sword you need when the world turns cruel.”
His lips grazed her inner thigh, leaving a trail of gentle bites that sent sparks racing beneath her skin. Each nip was followed by the warm sweep of his tongue, soothing the tender marks with a slow, deliberate caress. The sensation lingered, heat blooming where his mouth had been, the contrast between the sharpness of his teeth and the softness of his tongue making her shiver.
He shifted, turning his full attention to her other thigh. His hands anchored her, fingers splayed against her skin, rough and calloused from years of wielding steel. The nightgown bunched higher as he moved, exposing more of her to the cool air and the warmth of his touch. Every movement was purposeful, as if he meant to memorize the shape of her, the texture of her skin, the way she trembled beneath him.
His words, low and rough, washed over her like a summer tide, promises and vows murmured against her flesh, each one sinking deeper than the last. She felt herself slipping, her thoughts scattering. The world narrowed to the press of his hands, the heat of his breath, the rhythm of his voice. Her head spun. His tongue moved up, turning to small kisses until they let up.
He stopped, breath ragged, fanning right over her aching core. The only relief was her small clothes as a barrier.
“Your favour’s mine now, and so am I. Yours to command, yours to claim. As long as the embers burn, I’ll be yours, Mira.”
Her heart seemed to freeze in her chest, the world narrowing to the space between them. He had always called her Raven softly, when his guard slipped and vulnerability crept into his voice, the name a secret sentiment reserved for moments when he needed her most. When irritation coloured his words, she became simply Woman, a title sharp as a blade. And when anger or fear overtook him, she was reduced to Girl, the syllables brittle and distant.
But now… now he spoke her true name. Mira. Only the second time, and this time it was not a slip, but a confession. A vow, heavy as iron and a tender promise whispered in the dark. For a breathless moment, she wondered if she was dreaming, if the hush between them was spun from longing and hope.
Desire emboldened her. She sank to her knees before him, the cold stone pressing against her knees, his hands finding her waist with a gentle certainty. His touch was firm, anchoring her in place, as if he feared she might vanish into the night.
The distance between their faces dwindled, breaths mingling in the charged air. The space between them grew thick with everything unsaid. Hopes, fears, confessions that hovered just out of reach. Shadows danced across his features, the flickering candlelight painting him in gold and bronze, and Mira felt the weight of his gaze, the silent promise that lingered there.
He searched her face, his gaze flickering between her parted lips and the depths of her eyes, as if he were trying to read every secret she held. The silence stretched, thick with anticipation, until Mira finally breathed his name again, “Sandor…”
She leaned in, closing the distance between them, their lips brushed in a fleeting touch, until he quickly pulled away. For a heartbeat, Mira’s world seemed to stop. Her lungs forgot how to breathe, her heart suspended in longing. She had waited so long to hear the words that would make this moment real.
“Please… kiss me,” she commanded, her voice barely more than a breath, but carrying all the urgency of her desire.
“Where should I kiss you?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, his breath warm against her skin. His face hovered just inches from hers, eyes searching hers for permission, for guidance.
Mira met his gaze, a playful spark lighting her eyes. She held his stare, letting the anticipation build, then tilted her head ever so slightly, inviting him closer.
He shifted, his lips brushing near her cheek, his voice a soft murmur. “Should I kiss you here?” The words lingered in the air, gentle and teasing.
She could only nod, her breath caught, unable to speak.
He pressed a delicate kiss to her cheek, the touch feather-light. Mira shivered, a rush of warmth spreading through her, the sensation lingering long after his lips had moved away.
He shifted upward, his lips hovering just above her brow. “What about here?” he murmured, his voice gentle and inviting.
She nodded, her breath caught in her throat, and he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. A touch that lingered, warm and reassuring. The sensation sent a ripple of comfort through her, grounding her in the moment.
His kisses continued, trailing delicately down her face, each one a gentle punctuation of affection. He paused above her jaw, his breath brushing her skin, the air between them thick with anticipation. For a heartbeat, he lingered there, letting the closeness speak for itself, before moving on.
She waited, her body squirming, legs pressed together tight to quell the heat.
“Can I kiss you here, sweet raven?” His voice was low, almost reverent, as he paused just above her jaw, waiting for her answer.
She nodded, unable to find her voice, anticipation shimmering in her eyes.
His hand settled gently on the left side of her face, guiding her with carefully. He angled her just so, his thumb brushing her cheek as his lips descended. He nibbled softly, then pressed a lingering kiss to the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, his mouth tracing the delicate line where her pulse fluttered wildly.
Her heartbeat thrummed beneath his touch, each beat echoing the rush of warmth that spread through her. The sensation consumed her like fire. His breath, his lips, the gentle pressure of his hand on her neck.
She bit her lip, trying to hold back a moan. A groan escaped him, low and raw. He lifted his gaze, eyes hungry. “Please… let me hear you sweet girl.”
“I want..” her voice trailed off, Sandor’s lips kissing the side of her mouth, pecking her cheek, trailing to her jaw. “Sandor–“ he nipped at her jaw, his tongue swiping over the teeth marks to soothe the small ache.
“what do you want, Raven?” he questioned, his voice low and pitiful. Her head fell back as his lips latched to her throat, sucking at the soft flesh. She stifled a moan, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck.
“I want you, Sandor…” she whispered.
He laid her down on the stones, his body caging hers. Lips returning to graze her throat. He pecked softly and lightly, nipped at her exposed skin, eliciting a soft moan. He slowly stopped, his face returning to hers, hovering just above.
When she leaned in, he didn’t retreat. Instead, he met her halfway, their lips touching in a tentative, delicate kiss both shy and searching. It was gentle, uncertain.
but as the seconds slipped by, longing overcame restraint. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, their breaths mingling as they surrendered to the heat between them. What began as a careful caress soon turned messy and fervent, the world narrowing to the taste of each other and the warmth of their embrace. Mira felt herself melting into him, her heart pounding, every sense alive with the rush of closeness.
She tried to sink herself further into him, the ache between her legs sparking to life. She could feel the thickness of him between his legs. She let out a desperate moan, she felt surrounded by him. She wanted more, needed more.
Her tongue slid across his lips demanding entrance. His fingers flexed bruising marks into her waist as if fighting with himself. Her hips started to grind in small, slow circles convincing enough to allow him to open his mouth in surrender and her tongue danced across his.
He hissed and wrenched himself back, breaking the contact, his body going taut as he forced space between them. His jaw clenched, breath sharp, shoulders rigid with the effort of pulling away when everything in him seemed to resist it.
Mira surged after him instantly, almost colliding with him as her hands caught his shoulders. Her grip tightened, fingers pressing in with urgency, trying to drag him back before the distance could widen.
Their bodies hovered just apart, close enough to feel the heat, the pull, but held back by sheer force of will, like either one of them could snap at any second. Soft whines spilled from her lips from the loss. “more…” she purred.
His face slowly darkened. His eyes fixing into something she’s never seen before, dark, possessive and hungry. Its sent a shiver through her spine, her body awaken to something new.
“I’m not a soft man.” His voice came out low, as if he was already apologizing.
A small smile tugged at her lips, “you were being soft only moments ago” she chuckled.
He smiled shaking his head, “not that. If we continue, I won’t be gentle.”
Mira swallowed, fear and excitement running through her. He'd never hurt her, she knew that. The thrill ran through her anyway.
“I trust you” she breathed, reaching for him again.
A low, rough growl rumbled from his chest as he rose, lifting her with effortless strength. The motion stole the breath from her lungs, her body reacting before thought could catch up. Her legs wrapped around his waist, drawing herself flush against the heat of him, while her arms slid around the back of his neck, fingers tangling into the coarse strands of his hair.
She held there for a moment.
Close enough to feel the steady thud of his heartbeat through his chest. Close enough to feel the warmth of his skin bleeding through the thin layers between them. The faint rasp of his breath brushed her cheek, uneven, heavier than before.
Her fingers moved, slow and deliberate, tracing the raised lines of his scarred skin. The texture was warm beneath her touch, uneven, alive, and she followed it with care, as though committing it to memory. Down along the ridge of his jaw, into the rough fullness of his grown beard, where the coarse hairs scratched faintly at her fingertips.
His lips drew her focus next. Flushed, swollen and parted slightly, still marked by her. Still tasting like her and when she looked back up,
Soft brown, but darker now. Completely undone by her.
The air between them felt thick.
Their lips met again, harder this time.
The sound of it, soft and desperate, filled the space between their breaths. He kissed her like he needed it, like he’d been holding himself back too long, and she answered just as fiercely, pulling him closer.
Her breath hitched against his mouth. Warmth spread through her, curling low in her chest and rushing outward until her entire body seemed to hum. She could feel him. So solid and real beneath her grip and it made her melt into him without thinking.
His hands tightened around her.
She felt it. The strength in his arms, the steady pressure holding her close as if he refused to let even an inch separate them again. The faint scrape of fabric shifting. The heat of his body burning against hers.
Or maybe it was her, she felt like she was on fire.
Measured steps, heavy but controlled. The rhythm of it blended with her pounding pulse. The sway of his movement rocked her slightly, pressing her closer, making her cling tighter.
The room seemed to shrink with each step.
Her lips never strayed far from his. Brushing, chasing, stealing breath between kisses.
The faint creak of the bed drew closer.
The air felt warmer here. Closer.
“Have you done this before?” he asked, the words barely more than a breath against her lips, warm and unsteady.
For a fleeting moment, everything else faded. The heat of his body, the press of his hands, even the racing beat of her own heart. Everything dulled beneath that question.
But there was no shame in it. No embarrassment. Instead, something softer settled there. Something fiercely her own.
It had never been taken from her. Never stolen in darkness or forced from trembling hands. It had remained untouched, hers to give freely and she knew well enough how rare that was. How many women had never been granted such a choice. Poor or rich.
And she was choosing him.
Her fingers tightened slightly against his shoulders, grounding herself before she answered.
The word was quiet, but sure.
For a moment, he simply looked at her. Something shifting in his expression, something unreadable but heavy with meaning. Then he leaned in, slower this time, and pressed a gentler kiss to her lips. As if he were tasting the truth of her answer.
Carefully, he lowered her onto the bed.
The worn mattress dipped beneath her weight with a soft creak, the coarse linen cool against her heated skin. She inhaled sharply as the contact grounded her, her fingers tightening instinctively in the sheets. The fabric bunched between her hands, rough and unrefined, a stark contrast to the warmth still lingering where he had touched her.
Her breath came uneven as she looked up at him.
The absence of his weight was immediate.
She watched him cross the space, her chest rising and falling a little faster than before. The quiet scrape of wood against stone filled the room as he dragged a chair closer, the sound slow, almost too loud in the tense silence between them.
When he sat, it was close. Too close to feel like distance, yet far enough to leave her wanting.
“have you ever touched yourself?” his voice lower now, touched with something more than command.
He settled back into the chair, his posture loose but intentional, as though anchoring himself before her. One leg stretched forward, the other bent, his arms resting heavily at his sides, but his eyes never left her.
Felt the weight of that attention settle over her like a cloak. She swallowed, her throat dry, her pulse quickening beneath her skin. Still, she held his gaze. Slowly, almost without realizing, she nodded.
He watched her like she was something fragile and powerful all at once.
“Show me, Raven,” he murmured, softer now. “I want to know what makes you feel good.”
“I—” she tried, but the words tangled somewhere between her chest and her lips.
He didn’t press her. Didn’t rush her.
“Come here,” he coaxed instead, gentle now, as though afraid of breaking the moment.
Mira shifted closer, the edge of the bed dipping beneath her as she slid forward. When her feet touched the cool ground, the chill sent a quiet shiver through her but she didn’t stop. She crossed the space between them slowly, drawn by something stronger than fear.
He didn’t move to meet her.
That somehow made it worse. Made her more aware of every step, every breath, every flicker of doubt and courage tangled together inside her.
When she reached him, she hesitated only briefly… then turned, lowering herself into his lap. The moment she settled there, his hands came to her instinctively, steadying her with a quiet firmness that made her heart stutter.
She felt the warmth of him through everything.
Felt the way he held her, not tightly, but securely, as though he wanted her there.
“take off you clothes.” His breath ghosted across the back of her neck.
Mira closed her eyes for a moment.
“Help me…” she whispered, her voice softer now.
He exhaled slowly, his breath warm against her skin, and she felt his hand rise hesitant at first. His fingers brushed lightly along her shoulder before finding the ribbon at the back of her dress.
The fabric loosened, slipping just slightly off her shoulders. He lightly pushed them further down her shoulders until her breasts fell heavy, the cool air making her nipples peak. She felt it before she saw it. The subtle shift, the vulnerability. Her breath caught, and his face drew closer, pressing the faintest, gentlest kisses along her neck. Not hungry. Not desperate.
“Let me see you,” he said quietly, his voice roughened by something deeper now.
She didn’t turn right away. Didn’t flee or hide. Instead, she let herself feel it. The quiet courage it took to remain. Slowly, with trembling hands, she let the dress slip from her arms. The fabric fell in soft folds at her feet, leaving her exposed to the cool air… and to him.
Not heavy. Not uncomfortable.
When she finally turned back to him, her heart was racing, but her gaze met his without retreat.
And in that moment, she wasn’t afraid.
He slowly extended his hand toward her, palm open. Mira hesitated only a moment before reaching for him, her fingers brushing his as she stepped forward. Each step felt quiet, until she came to stand between his knees, close enough to feel the warmth of him.
Her gaze dropped instinctively, but she could feel his eyes on her, steady and unhurried, moving over her as if taking in every detail. It made her still, caught beneath the weight of his attention.
“So beautiful…” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent.
His hands found her waist, firm but careful, anchoring her in place. From there, they moved slowly upward along her sides, tracing the line of her ribs with a measured, deliberate touch that seemed more intent on feeling than taking. His fingertips grazed the swell of her breasts. Her body shuttered, as he drew his hands back.
“back on the bed, legs up, feet apart.” He instructed.
She obeyed, walking back to the bed and laying back down on the mattress on her back. She did as he asked, her legs spread, feet scraping the linen. She felt too exposed. Her hand instinctively covering her core.
“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured, low and dangerous. “I want to see what’s mine.” The words clung to the air, thick with a possessive edge that felt more like a claim than a request.
She gathered her courage, her hands lightly grazed her thighs teasing at her skin. She turned her gaze toward him, almost hesitant, only to find his eyes already fixed on her, attentive and unblinking. As if the rest of the world had quietly fallen away. She bit her lip, her hands reaching the flesh between her thighs. A low moan pushed past her lips as she felt the slick between her legs, spreading the moisture as her fingers lightly swiped up and down the swollen lips.
His eyes stayed locked on her with a sharp focus, tracing every flicker of movement like he was committing it to memory. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, brows slightly drawn, lips barely parted. Giving him a look of contained thought, as though he was both studying and anticipating at once.
She imagined it was his fingers circling her aching bud, then down the path to her opening. The slick coated her fingers as she dragged them back up to tease at her clit with a quicker pace.
Her other hand travelled up her ribs, to the swell of her breast, finding her hard nipple, aching for friction. She rolled it between her fingers, pinching lightly. She sped up her movement on her clit, chasing her pleasure. She felt her stomach tightening, the sounds of her slick cunt filling the chamber.
A moan, not her own, snapped her back to the present, she looked forward to see Sandor, eyes hooded in desire. His hand rubbing his clothed, aching cock. His chest was rising and falling in a rapid rhythm, he looked wild and hungry.
Her head fell back, a croaked whine escaping. She started to role her hips, desperate for more. This won’t be enough, she knows it the moment the pressure in her stomach begins to build, sharp and insistent beneath her skin. A restless, aching need spreads through her, deeper than touch, deeper than breath. She wants more of him, wants him everywhere, surrounding her, consuming every inch of space between them until there is nothing left but him.
It feels almost cruel… having him so close she can feel his steady presence, yet still out of reach. Each second stretches thin, drawn tight between wanting and waiting, until the distance between “almost” and “enough” feels unbearable, like a quiet, lingering kind of torture.
The scrape of the chair echoed low and jagged, like something restless clawing loose from its place, and before the sound had even settled, she felt it.
His attention shifting, locking onto her.
Like he had heard her without words.
She Looked at him and her breath faltered at the sight of him.
He had lowered himself to the ground.
Not clumsy. Not hesitant.
He moved toward her the way a hound stalks.
not with grace, but with something more primal. His weight shifted forward on his hands, shoulders rolling with each measured press against the floor, muscles tightening beneath his skin as if driven by instinct rather than thought.
There was no dignity in it, no restraint.
His head dipped slightly, gaze never leaving her aching core, eyes fixed in a way that felt almost… tethered. Like he could not look away, even if he tried.
Every slow advance seemed heavier than the last, like something inside him had taken hold, something relentless, refusing to let him remain where he’d been.
A creature drawn to its mark.
Couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.
Because there was something magnetic in it. Terrifying in its certainty, in the raw hunger that stripped away every fragile layer of control he kept so carefully in place. He looked less like a man now, and more like beast that had been unleashed.
A hound that had caught her scent.
Possessed not by madness, but by need.
Drawn forward, inch by inch, as though the distance between them was unbearable.
He kneeled between her legs, his hands coming up slowly to travel up her inner thighs, grazing up to grip her ass in his firm palms. Her wet cunt the only thing in his view.
“so pretty…” he murmured, his fingers teasing the swollen lips between, his two digits pushing apart to spread her open. His breath came out slow and measured, a faint exhale through barely parted lips. He leaned forward slowly, closing the distance with deliberate intent, and spat onto her cunt, the act sharp and sudden against the heavy stillness of the moment. He used his tongue to spread the mixing liquids in a hungry, languid motion. The action made her jump, the sensation making her toes curl and breath falter.
“so sensitive… she’s desperate for me” he cooed. He placed a kiss and sucked at her sensitive bud, nibbling lightly and released it with a pop. Her head fell back, her drawn out moans filling room. His tongue ran up and down her slit, coming up to circle her clit then back down to her opening, just like she did.
“So sweet,” he said against her. Her skin flushed. A rush of pleasure melted through her body. She was dripping, her thighs soaked, bedding sticking to her skin as she no doubt had soaked the linen. He lapped at her, drinking in every drop. The coarse bristles of his beard were damp now, rough and unyielding as they dragged across her skin, each scrape leaving a faint, abrasive trail that lingered in its wake.
“feels.. so g-good.” She moaned, her hand finding the top of his head, fingers twisting lightly to pull him as close as possible. Her hips started to buck up, grinding against him.
He groaned, flattening his tongue as she continued her movement. She chased her high, her hips becoming frantic. She felt the light touch of his fingers. His thick digits circling at her core.
She let out a sharp yelp, the sound breaking free before she could stop it, but it was instantly smothered by his low, steady hush. His voice slipped in close, quieter now, almost coaxing.
“Shh… you can do it,” he murmured, each word deliberate. “You’re doing so good already.”
The praise wasn’t light. It settled over her with weight, as if it meant more than encouragement, as if it was meant to keep her exactly where she was. his finger pressed slowly into her opening. Her jaw tightened slowly, muscles drawing taut with strain until it almost ached. She looked down, coming up the rest on her elbows. His one hand slowly teasing circles to her clit while the other hand, that thick, calloused finger played at her entrance. He slowly sunk in, a sharp breath forced its way past her lips, turning into a quiet, unsteady hiss as her teeth pressed together, holding back the sound that threatened to escape. She could feel herself struggling to take him, her walls gripping his finger.
He stopped moving, his voice coming out low, “so tight…” he focused on her clit, teasing the sensitive bud with his thumb. the sensation was consuming, making her forget about his finger trying to sink in. “Need you to relax.”
She sank back into the bedding. She felt his head descend, tongue sticking out, giving tiny licks to her clit. Her mouth fell open, a low moan rattling her ribcage. His tongue danced between her folds, his teeth biting her clit in a delicious rhythm. “almost there, you’re doing so good,” he pushed in without warning, her body stiffened, caught in the sudden rush of sensation. Stinging pain and overwhelming pleasure rushed through her body. Every muscle tightening as if bracing against the sudden intrusion. Her shoulders drew in slightly, tension gathering through her frame, while her breath hitched and turned unsteady.
Her hand flew upward on instinct, pressing firmly over her mouth, fingers trembling just enough to betray how overwhelmed she was.
“you did it, sweet girl.” His hand brushed at her inner thigh, his firm grip as he soothed the pain. His lips coming down so press wet kissing to her thighs as he slowly pushed them apart.
A subtle tremor ran through her as he carefully pulled his index out of her cunt, his finger slightly curling as he pushed back in. Mira couldn’t stop the loud moan escaping her lips, “Sandor…” He set a fast pace, moving in and out in a brutal rhythm.
“Does that feel good?” he asked, leaning down as his mouth descended to her breast. He licked at the flesh, sucking at the skin, leaving bruises in his wake.
“more…” she whimpered, hands reaching out to find his shoulders. She tugged at the fabric, she wanted to feel all of him.
“You’re not ready yet, my Raven, you can barely take my finger,” he cooed. He slowed his pace, his finger retreating only for a second, until she felt a second digit added. The stretched burned until it became a molten of pleasure. She was close, her stomach tightening. “I have the rest of my days to play with you.” She bit her lip from his omission.
“I need you to come for me, sweet, can you do that?” She tried to nod, her body a pool of heat. She tugged his tunic, she was desperate to see him, even just parts of him. He took noticed and ripped his tunic off before diving back in. She almost screamed, Her eyes moved slowly over him, taking in each detail as if committing it to memory. They swept across his chest, where thick, dark hair spread over taut skin, the texture catching the soft light and casting faint shadows. Raised scars broke the surface of his skin, uneven under her gaze, as though each one held its own story.
Her gaze lingered there before drifting downward, tracing the subtle shift of his body. His stomach was softer, rounded faintly from drink, yet still firm beneath, the suggestion of muscle pressing through when he moved or breathed. She could hear it then, his breathing, slow and grounded, the rise and fall of his chest almost hypnotic in its rhythm.
Her eyes followed lower still, catching on the trail of hair beneath his navel, darker and more defined as it disappeared beneath his trousers. She paused there longer than she meant to, just watching him take her pleasure, it spread through her body like wildfire. She sank deeper into the bedding, her moans spilling from her lips. His fingers curled inside her, hitting a soft, delicious part she never could reach on her own. She felt the tightness in her muscles, her body shaking.
“squeezing me so tight– cum for me pretty girl” just from his words, she snapped. Her body releasing a intense shudder that racked her bones. Her hips came off the bed, shaking as her spent leaked into his palms. He grunts, pumping his fingers in and out as she finishes. “There you go… you did so good for me,” he murmured in quiet praise, his free hand moving gently through her hair before settling to cradle her face, his touch unexpectedly careful against her skin.
She tried to draw in a breath, but it came uneven and shaky, her chest fluttering as though it struggled to find a steady rhythm. After a moment, she managed to open her eyes, blinking through the haze as she watched him pull his fingers back.
Her gaze followed him, slow and unfocused at first, as he turned toward the nightstand. There was something distant in the motion, like she was catching up to it a second too late. She swallowed, steadying herself as she watched him reach out and pick something up.
Recognition flickered. It was the favor she had made. She hadn’t even noticed it was there before, and now her eyes lingered on it in his hand and wiped her swollen pussy clean, capturing every drop.
“Sandor!” she covered her eyes with her elbow, trying to forget his act.
“I want to take you with me everywhere,” he murmured, a low, easy chuckle following the words. He turned the small object over in his hand for a moment, as if considering it, before setting it carefully back where it belonged on the nightstand.
The mattress dipped softly as he lowered himself beside her, the movement unhurried and familiar. His arm reached out without hesitation, sliding around her and drawing her in close, his warmth immediate and steady against her side.
She shifted toward him instinctively, settling into the curve of his body as though she fit there naturally. Her cheek brushed lightly against him as she nestled closer, her hand coming to rest on his chest. Beneath her palm, she could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing.
Absentmindedly, she began to toy with the hair there, her fingers moving in small, gentle circles, tracing the same soothing path over and over as the quiet between them deepened.
She leaned over him, her movement slow and placed a soft kiss against his scarred cheek, her lips lingering for just a moment on the uneven skin. The touch was gentle, in contrast to the rough history written there.
“What can I do for you?” she asked softly.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, warm and unhurried in the quiet of the room.
Her hand remained on his chest, tracing absent circles through the dark hair. Every now and then her fingertips drifted, combing gently through the curls before returning to their soothing pattern.
Sandor huffed out a laugh.
“Nothing, sweet girl.” He cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over his face. “I, uh… already finished.”
A grin tugged at her lips.
“Aww,” she teased, settling her chin on his chest. “Well next time, I get to be the one having all the fun.”
He rolled his eyes, though amusement lingered there.
For a moment neither spoke. The silence felt comfortable, wrapped around them like a blanket.
Then Sandor’s expression softened.
“You know,” he said after a while, his hand rising to brush his thumb across her cheek, “I meant what I said earlier.”
“Keeping you safe.” His gaze held hers. “Protecting you.”
The teasing disappeared from her face.
His words weren’t spoken lightly. She knew that. Everything about him was rough and guarded, but when he gave his word, it carried weight.
A small smile touched her lips.
“But,” she continued quietly, “I don’t want to always be the one being protected.”
A sigh escaped him immediately.
“No, listen.” She pushed herself up slightly, meeting his eyes. “You spend every day protecting people. Me. Sansa. Anyone you can.”
“You deserve someone who can stand beside you.”
Sandor stared at her for a long moment before letting out a short laugh.
“I don’t give a shit about having someone fight beside me.”
His hand slid behind her neck.
“But if learning is what you want…” he sighed. “Then I’ll teach you.”
Before she could say anything else, he pulled her closer and shifted beneath her, rolling until she was sprawled across his chest.
“There,” he grunted. “Now stop looking shocked.”
The words came out sincere.
She leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
His arm tightened around her waist.
After a moment she drew back.
“There’s one more thing.”
Sandor groaned dramatically.
“Haven’t you said enough for one night?”
She gasped in mock offense.
“You’re the one who keeps talking.”
That earned a bark of laughter from him.
Mira toyed with a loose strand of his hair before speaking again.
“People are saying there’s going to be a war.”
Sandor raised an eyebrow.
A smirk tugged at his mouth.
She immediately looked away.
“Aye. That’s what I thought.”
Her expression turned sheepish.
They spoke at the same time.
“Did you at least see me standing victorious?”
“Was I slaying hundreds of Stannis' men?”
The amusement slowly left his face.
Mira’s expression had become grave.
His hand came up, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.
“I think we should leave.”
The room seemed quieter suddenly.
Sandor’s eyes hardened instantly.
The answer came too quickly.
“If I abandon my post, I’m a deserter. A traitor.”
“And if they find me, they’ll kill me.”
“If you’re with me,” he continued, “they’ll kill you too.”
A knot of panic tightened in her chest.
“We could die anyway,” she whispered.
The words hung between them.
Then both of his hands came up, cupping her face.
“I might die,” he admitted quietly.
The honesty in those words frightened her more than anything.
“But I’m not letting that happen to you.”
His thumbs brushed across her cheeks.
Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes.
“I’ve thought about it too.”
“Buying you that little bit of land you keep dreaming about.”
“Far from here,” he continued. “Far from kings and wars and bloody court politics.”
His fingers threaded gently through her hair.
“You’ll have your house.”
“When this war ends,” he said quietly, “I’ll visit.”
The smile on her face disappeared.
“You speak as though I’m leaving without you.”
His expression told her everything.
“I’m not,” she said immediately.
He pulled her forward and kissed her forehead.
She shook her head stubbornly.
A faint smile crossed his face.
“In the meantime,” he said, “I’ll teach you how to fight.”
His hand stroked through her hair.
“And we’ll enjoy what time we have.”
Wanted to tell him she wasn’t leaving him behind.
But the exhaustion of the day finally caught up to her.
Slowly she settled against his chest again.
Sandor wrapped an arm around her automatically.
She listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
And as sleep began to pull her under, only one thought remained.
I’m not leaving without you.
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