Prompt 8: kittens and shirtless Sandor

Sansa thought it delightful that Tommen still loved to play with kittens. A sweet-natured young man of sixteen, he had been a ward of Winterfell since the Dragon Queen had executed Cersei. He had little of his mother or elder brother in him, however, and it pleased Sansa to see that he had somehow retained his innocence, despite everything.

It dismayed Sandor, of course. Tommen had always been an enthusiastic student with the sword and lance, and to see such a promising boy cooing over the latest litter of kittens never failed to annoy him. Sansa couldn't help but find it amusing. For his part, Tommen's dedication to the fluffy little wretches remained unwavering.

That was until the day Rickon came home.

Her youngest brother, at thirteen years old, was undoubtedly an impressive specimen. Tall as Tommen with a lean, wiry strength and a dark danger in his eyes that somehow reminded her of Sandor when he was younger.

Tommen was star-struck.

"Is it normal that one boy should obsess over another like this?" Sansa wondered out loud one day as she and Sandor watched Tommen take a step back from a snarling Rickon, only to follow on his heels a moment later with a puppyish look of adoration.

Sandor snorted in amusement. "It's not uncommon for one boy to idolise another, though it's not normally the older one doing the idolising. At least he's finally forgotten about the bloody kittens."

It was true. Impressing Rickon seemed to have entirely filled up Tommen's head until he had forgotten about everything else, including his kittens.

"If Rickon were a maid, the singers would be flocking north to write ballads about Tommen's suit," Sansa japed one night as they were lying in bed. There was a moment of thoughtful silence, before Sandor raised his head and they stared at one another in horror.

"Did you ever hear tell of Renly Baratheon and Loras Tyrell?" he asked her.

"Gods have mercy," Sansa half-laughed, half-moaned. "Rickon is only thirteen!"

"When I was thirteen-" Sandor began.

"I do not want to hear it," Sansa interrupted. "My little brother's virtue is at stake! What can we do?"

Sandor loved her. That was the only explanation as to why he let her chase him out of their bed in the middle of the night, clad only in hastily laced breeches, sent to retrieve the three fluffiest, most enchanting little kittens from their nest in the kitchens.

She met him outside the door to Tommen's bed chamber, juggling the three softly mewing balls up against his bare chest, glaring at her with five kinds of murder in his eyes. Quietly, Sansa pushed open Tommen's door.

"Just put them inside," she whispered, before gently pulling the door closed once more. "That should do it," she said, satisfied.

Sandor growled at her, and it was all she could do not to squeal when he tossed her up over his shoulder, hair dangling down towards the floor and rump in the air.

"You owe me for that, woman," Sandor rumbled, squeezing her bottom. Upside down, Sansa smiled at his back. Yes, that should do it.

See Heliotropa's art here: post/31742086710/sandor-clegane-special-kitten-delivery-you-know