It hadn't taken long to reach Maidenpool. The importance of their flight had taken a fresh urgency when they had discovered Lannister bannermen looking for Sansa. The Hound had killed them all, without questions, as Sansa hid her eyes from the bloodshed. After that they stuck to the wilderness, unwilling to take the roads when danger could be anywhere. They had therefore taken a direct route to Maidenpool, travelling as the crow flies, and reached the port town in under a week.

Sandor had over forty thousand gold dragons from winning the Tourney of the Hand, and so money was not going to be a problem. He paid for fast passage to Braavos on a luxury ship. It would be three days' travel aboard the ship, the grizzled old sea-captain informed him as he counted out the coins greedily. The Hound insisted that Stranger travel with them, and the captain looked doubtfully at the black warhorse before turning his gaze to the coins in his hand, before finally nodding.

So it was that they found themselves in the cabin of a rolling boat in the churning waters of the Narrow Sea. The rain fell in sheets, pattering onto the deck around them and casting a gloomy fog about them, rendering the sky dark. The Hound had found his wine again, and was indulging himself in the taste of Dornish red – he heard Sansa sigh and turn away from the window. Obviously she could see nothing through it, though he had told her that would be the case.

"May I have some of that?" she asked, indicating his wine.

He chuckled. "If you want it, little bird," he said, offering her the cup. She took it and cautiously took a sip, making a face.

"It's too strong for my tastes," she commented, sitting back down on the bed.

"You don't drink it for the flavour," Sandor replied mockingly. "You drink it to forget."

"What do you want to forget?" she asked, and he could tell that she wanted to know more about him. Well, if she's going to be stuck with you for the next few years, she'll want to know what kind of a dog she's brought with her.

"Everything," he rasped, with a barked laugh. "My brother's wrath when he found me with his toy. The pain when he forced my head into the flames. The scars on my face. My life as nothing but a Lannister dog. The looks I get in the streets and in the whorehouses. The names they call me. The faces of the men I've killed. The wildfire burning on the bay the night of Blackwater."

Don't say it, dog, he told himself. Don't add that last bit.

"The desire that fills me every time you come close, the desire to take you as my own," he said, the words slipping drunkenly from between his lips before he could stop them.

Fuck.

She looked shocked, her eyes widening in what he supposed was fear, or horror – rightly so. See? She never wanted a dog like you. Not when it comes down to the cold, hard truth.

"Tell me about King's Landing," she said, struggling to keep her voice level. "Tell me honestly."

"I've never lied to you before," the Hound replied. You've gone and fucked it up again anyway, you might as well tell her the whole truth before she leaves you forever.

"Why did you protect me from Joff, when none of the others did? You've said you have no honour, so why waste your time on a stupid little bird like me?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his.

"Because I wanted to fuck you, girl," he rasped, gulping down more wine. She looked taken aback at his roughness. "What, you expected flowered words? Dogs don't do fancy wordplay. I get straight to the point. Joffrey is a fool who never deserved you. There was nothing I could do about that – but I didn't feel you deserved to be beaten. Why not? Because you're fucking beautiful and I wanted nothing more than to stick my cock in you."

He paused to take in her reaction, but her expression was guarded. He barked out a laugh and continued.

"I wouldn't, of course. You were promised to the king, and I preferred my head attached to my shoulders. And I knew you'd never take me willingly. I didn't want to take you forcibly, it didn't seem right. Why not?" He shrugged. "I don't know. There's just something about you that stopped me. Fuck knows what it was."

She still didn't speak.

"You happy now, girl?" he asked, mockingly. "Now that your Hound has barked out his secrets?"

She shook her head mutely.

"What, then? What do you want from me?" Look what you've done now. Stupid mutt.

"I want you to love me, Sandor Clegane. Love me like I love you," she replied. "You're rude, and you're unkind, and you tell me harsh truths. And your face is burned. But I love you for all those things, and more, because nobody has ever treated me like a woman before. You show me what the world is really like, instead of veiling it with songs and velvet lies. That's what I want, it's what I need. You're no dog, you're a man, and I'm not a bird but a woman. I wish you'd see that."

He was reeling. Fuck, he thought, she actually wants me. Me! It wasn't right, he knew that, and she didn't deserve to be stuck with him, but gods be damned, he needed her. He would have her and the consequences could go fuck themselves.

"You're no bird," he agreed, standing up and walking towards her. "You're a fucking wolf."

She grinned up at him, not even flinching at his use of language. He dropped the wine on the floor and took her in his arms, lying her back onto the bed, and crawling atop her, careful not to put any weight on her delicate body. He stared at her fiercely, looking into her eyes, making sure she wanted this, because he knew that once he started nothing in all of Westeros could make him stop. She stared him down defiantly, the spirit of a wolf rising in her, and he could see desire in her eyes, arousal at his scent and his touch, and a glimmer of something else, some deep emotion he had never seen before. Not directed at him, anyway.

Love.

Fucking hell, he thought, I don't know what I've done to deserve her but to hell am I letting her go.

Slowly, he leaned down into her face, kissing her deeply, possessively. She returned the gesture, pushing her mouth against his passionately, almost desperate to feel more of him. Their tongues battled for dominance as he ran his hands along her curves. Gods, she's perfect.

He wanted to be slow, and loving, and careful; it was her first time, after all. But once they were undressed, and she was naked below him, baring herself for him, wet for his touch, he could hold himself back no longer. He was a dog, and he would fuck like one.

He growled as he took one of her breasts in his mouth, rolling his tongue across her perfect pink teat. She moaned in pleasure, and then gasped. "I'm sorry!"

"What for, little bird? You're supposed to make those sounds," he grinned.

She nodded, closing her mouth again and raising her hands to run through his tattered hair, which only spurred him onwards, pinching her other nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he explored her body with his other hand. She was writhing under his touch – he had never known a woman to enjoy his ministrations before now. The thought made him determined to make her come.

Reluctantly releasing her breast from his mouth, he trailed a blaze of kisses down her belly, towards her sweet wet cunt. He could smell her arousal, it was coming off her in waves. Still amazed that simply his touch could provoke such reactions, he moved both hands to cup her breasts gently, squeezing them, weighing them, and brought his mouth down to her slit, licking it slowly, lapping up her juices. It was something dogs did best.

"Sandor!" she cried as she felt his tongue touch her, and the sound of his name made him grin against her. He would make sure she enjoyed this. He dove into her with his tongue, pushing in and out of her passage eagerly, eliciting moans and jerks of pleasure. He grabbed her hips, holding her still and viciously lapped at her cunt, his large tongue sweeping across the most pleasurable area and making her squeal in delight. Soon, he felt her shudder, and a fresh wave of fluid washed over his tongue. He lapped it up, allowing her to ride out her orgasm.

"Did you enjoy that, little bird?" he asked, licking his lips. She tasted delicious.

"Oh, Sandor," she gasped, raising a hand to his face, cupping his cheek. "Make me yours."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "Once it's done, it can never be undone." Don't give her the choice, fool, just take her like the dog you are.

"I'm sure. I never want another man. I will be yours forever," she promised.

"Silly little bird," he chided. "Pledging yourself to a mutt like me. I'm no good for you."

He did not wait any longer, though, his pressing need clouding his thinking. He laid atop her and pushed against her entrance, which was now slick with his saliva and her juices, enough for him to slide in easily. It was still tight, and he pushed hard against her maidenhead with one long thrust, as she cried out in pain and clung to him.

He waited for her to relax, though his every instinct was telling him to pound into her ferociously. When she nodded and laid her head on the pillows, he didn't hold back. Capturing her mouth in a kiss, he started at a fast, brutal pace, thoroughly fucking her as he had imagined so many times when he was alone in his room in King's Landing with nothing but his hand.

She seemed to be enjoying it, though, and that was something he had never envisioned. She was calling out his name, muttering nonsense under her breath, crying out for the Seven as he reached between them and began to rub her.

He tried to last longer, tried to force himself to think of something, anything other than the girl below him, his little bird, wanting him, moaning for him, her cunt willing and wet. He felt it coming, though, and began to pull out to spill his seed on the floor, but she took his face in her hands and kissed him and fuck it, she'll always be mine – he came inside her with a deep, inhuman growl and a shudder that racked his whole body.

"Sansa," he whispered, reaching for her hand.

"Sandor," she replied, utterly fulfilled, taking his fingers and lacing them with hers. "I love you."

Fucking seven hells, just say it. It can't do any harm. Not any more. She's yours.

"I love you too, little bird," he said throatily, before pulling out of her and collapsing on the bed beside her. She curled into him, and they spoke no more that night, glowing in the aftermath and exhausted into sleep.