tormund has never had much of a need for personal space, it isn’t something you really can afford to have when body heat might be all that kept you alive through the night. between that & his naturally tactile nature he was always leaning into people’s space, a hand on their arm or an arm around their shoulders. sandor was hardly an exemption from this, tormund all but immune to his prickly nature
he seeks the man out when there is down time, not liking how lonely he appears. tormund had meant it when he had said that sandor had sad eyes & can’t help but think that most don’t see that. the see the anger, the scars, but nothing else.
he’s sure that sandor is ignoring his ramblings, it gives him a chance to get a good look at him. its not that tormund hasn’t had a chance, but there is a distinct difference between the man before him relaxed by drink & the guarded front that is sandor’s norm. tormund likes to think he’s not a complete idiot, but all sense seems to have left him as he finds himself shifting closer before stealing a kiss. his actions quickly catch up to him, sobering him up as he expects a solid smack though to his pleasant surprise that isn’t what he gets. its only for a moment before sandor is pulling away. he has to catch himself so he doesn’t fall to the floor, his blue eyes lifting to meet sandor’s dark gaze. for a moment he’s confused, he’s never seen this expression before - at least not on sandor.
as tormund stands he is thankful that even intoxicated he is still sure footed, he’d rather not make a bigger ass of himself by falling flat on his face. he is tentative as he reaches out, placing a large hand on sandor’s arm. he’s not trying to run him off, if anything tormund hopes that he will stay.
“that bad?” its said in humor but entirely at his own expense. its an out, if sandor wants it.
on his feet, sandor was incredibly sobered. mind clear of an alcohol-induced haze, but certainly not of confusion. that and a lack of experience in such a situation, and all related matters, had him standing there, frozen stiff. watched the other man rise, and no, he wasn’t completely frozen. eyes couldn’t find a place to settle. they flickered to the fireplace, then to tormund’s face, then the man’s chest after being forced away from his face.
the hand on his shoulder sent a warmth spreading within its radius. warmth and the realization that it wasn’t a joke at all. the sincerity in the other man’s words and his actions was surprising. and by that fact sandor was both relieved and confused further. relieved that it wasn’t a joke, that he hadn’t been used for someone’s entertainment. but confused, still, because that only eliminated a single possibility.
the confusion turned into a sort of apprehension as sandor considered what could have happened next. maybe it wasn’t a joke, but that didn’t mean tormund wouldn’t wake up in the morning, fully sober, and regret his action. and in that regret come to resent sandor. he wasn’t sure if he would have preferred being seen as a regret or a joke.
he scoffed in response, first – an attempt to regain his usual composure. eyes wandered to the hand on his shoulder and then to meet tormund’s. he ignored the question, not fully ready yet to admit that no, it hadn’t been bad. not at all. “ either you’re too drunk to see who the fuck you just kissed, or you’ve got some explaining to do. ”
