Author's Notes: written for zsra187, for the prompt "First time blowjob. Innocent!Sansa, foulmouthed!Sandor." Sorry for the dreadful title!

First Published: 5th July 2012

Warnings: none.

Sandor got out the bath and patted himself dry before stretching out in the chair by the fire, still naked. Winterfell was so warm, even this far into the depths of winter, that he couldn't sleep comfortably any other way. He wasn't quite ready for bed yet, though.

The little bird had grown quite a bit since he'd left her in King's Landing. Now she was the great lady she'd always dreamed of being, though enjoying it a little less than she'd thought she would, if Sandor was any judge. Ruling the whole of the north by herself would be no easy task for anyone, let alone a woman who had barely left girlhood behind. But she had no husband and no family – no one but her scarred sworn shield to stand at her side. No one else to admire the effect of those low-cut bodices from such close quarters, he thought to himself with a smirk. Standing still behind his lady for hours on end certainly had its charms.

It was the smooth swell of her perfect teats that he thought on now, closing his eyes to better picture the rise and fall of that expanse of skin. He held his dick loosely in his hand for a moment, letting his imagination do the work, before lightly squeezing, teasing himself to hardness.

There was a knock at the door, but he ignored it. He was off duty and whoever it was could go fuck themself. He only realised that he had forgotten to bar the door when it was too late and Lady Sansa Stark, ruler of Winterfell and Warden of the North, was standing in his doorway staring wide-eyed at his naked form.

"Something you wanted?" he growled, irritated when she did not simply leave. His body was angled away from her, and so she probably could not see his arousal, but it was clear enough he was sitting there without his clothes on.

"Uh," she said, blushing deeply, lips parted as she gaped in shock. He had never seen her look so undignified.

"Close your mouth and get the hells out or I will give you something to put in it," he snapped. A woman should know better than to linger when a man's blood was up.

To his everlasting shock, Sansa set her jaw indignantly and stepped further into the room, closing the door behind her.

"How dare you speak to me like that," she sputtered, but it didn't escape his notice that she was edging around the room, eyes flicking restlessly over his body. In his hand, Sandor's cock twitched.

He stretched out his legs unhurriedly, tensing up all his muscles before relaxing back into the chair. His cock was hard against his stomach now, and meeting Sansa's gaze directly, he started to stroke. "What? Don't believe me, little bird?" he rasped.

Sansa took a ragged breath, eyes falling to his lap. "No, I do not," she said. "Why would anyone put a man's... thing in her mouth?"

Despite her protestation Sansa was now staring outright at his hardened dick. Sandor laughed low in his throat. "Because it feels fucking amazing."

"I suppose some whores will do anything for sufficient coin," she said, but rather than disgust, her expression was hungry, her voice gone throaty.

Fuck, she was just standing there, watching him toss himself off and he fucking liked it, heat and excitement pooling deep in his belly. "Some of them enjoy it," he said. "Some ladies enjoy it."

"I cannot imagine why," Sansa breathed, licking her lips unconsciously.

Sandor spread his legs and gestured with his free hand, "Why don't you come and find out, my lady."

The taunt worked better than he could have imagined. Her eyes flashed to his in annoyance and she turned back to the door. For several rapid heartbeats he thought she would finally leave him be, but instead she barred the door and walked back to him. She stood before him for a moment, looking down along his chest and cock and legs, before her gaze fixed on his face and she sank to her knees on the bearskin rug.

"If men like it, I suppose I should learn the skill," she said. Her eyes had gone dark – the darkest blue he had ever seen them. "I shall be married one day, after all."

Wordlessly, Sandor squeezed himself hard at the root to try and take the edge off the sudden rush of arousal she had provoked in him, before releasing himself and letting his forearms rest on the arms of the chair. He watched as she tentatively placed her hands on his thighs before sliding them up to his groin. Her left hand continued up to caress his stomach tenderly while her right moved to encircle his shaft. For a moment, he wasn't sure which touch felt better – then it became unbearable.

"Tighten your hand," he rasped. "Tighter. Don't be afraid – you won't hurt me, woman." He watched her face as she frowned slightly in concentration. "Now stroke."

Her hand was cool on his fevered skin and when she slowly moved it up and back down his length it felt like fucking bliss.

"Like this?"

He grunted in pleasure. Her cheeks had flushed a pretty pink and her skirts rustled as she shifted her weight slightly. "Feeling uncomfortable, little bird? Are your smallclothes clinging to those maiden thighs?"

She gasped at his vulgarity, squeezing him firmly in reproach. Sandor just grinned down at her affronted expression and bucked his hips, fucking himself into her grip.

"Stop it, you indecent dog!" she said, slapping him sharply on the thigh. When he merely laughed, she leant forward and licked a hot stripe from his balls all the way up to his cockhead. Sandor's laughter dissolved into a groan and Sansa sat back with a look of triumph. "What an interesting way to silence you," she observed, and Sandor suddenly had a vision of the last time they had argued in her solar, only this time instead of dismissing him with that cold tone he hated so much, she ripped open his breeches and swallowed him down greedily.

"Shit," he swore. "Do that again."

She gave him an odd smile, eyebrow quirking up momentarily, but she did as he told her, the gods only knew why. This time when she reached the head she hesitated a moment before pressing a kiss to the tip.

"Good," he rasped, unable to resist burying his hands in her hair. She was panting, her breath hot and rapid against his sensitised skin.

"Now what?" she breathed.

"Pull back my sheath," he said, eyes fixed on her face. "Lick me."

She gave him a heated look before bending her head and swiping a wet tongue over the sensitive knot of skin beneath his cockhead, sliding slowly up to probe curiously at his slit. He could feel himself leaking fluid, but she merely lowered her mouth on him, stroking his tip with her tongue like an open-mouthed kiss.

"Fuck, little bird," he groaned, transfixed by the sight of her perfect pink lips spread around his hard cock. As gently as he could, he tightened his hands in her hair and urged her downwards. She went, willing as anything, until he was nudging the back of her throat. She rose back up him to suckle on his tip once more, shifting her weight again until she had freed her skirts from beneath her knees. Dazedly, he realised she was pushing her free hand up under her skirts, fumbling briefly with something before her eyes fluttered closed and she moaned, the vibration singing down his shaft to make his balls tighten. "You fucking like it, don't you," he rasped. "Sitting there frigging your wet little cunt with my cock in your mouth." She moaned again, starting to stroke him while she laved and licked at his cockhead.

Gods, he had never felt anything as good as this. Other women had gone to their knees for him before, but despite his earlier taunt, they had all been paid for. This was Sansa Stark, his pretty little bird, who had any number of suitors, some of whom he'd had to forcibly remove from her presence himself – on her knees for him, sucking his buggering cock as if she could think of nothing better, and bloody well pleasuring herself while she did it. Seven hells.

He wondered briefly what else she would do to him with sufficient provocation, imagining things he had never allowed himself to think about before. Shit, if she liked sucking his dick she'd fucking love him eating her out. As her head bobbed up and down his aching shaft, pumping him with her hand, he pictured her sat in this chair and him on his knees. Gods, he would rip off her smallclothes and put her feet up on his shoulders so that she was spread open for him in all her glory. And then he would torture her with his tongue, slowly, so slowly, as she was now doing to him, slowing her pace as she felt his excitement build, hand stilling as she just poked and probed around his head with her tongue.

"Sansa," he warned, because he was right on the edge, but when he tried to tug her away she resisted, taking him in as far as she could before sucking hard.

His balls tightened almost painfully in a moment of molten ecstasy. Then he exploded, arching up off the chair as he shot his seed into her mouth. She gripped him firmly and swallowed a couple of times before gently releasing him, licking her lips and looking up at him with eyes glazed with lust.

"You didn't have to do that," he grunted, sweating, heaving for breath, and reached forward to touch her full lower lip with his thumb. The hand still on his dick tightened convulsively for a moment and he gasped with an aftershock of pleasure.

"Ladies don't spit," Sansa gasped back.

Her arm, disappearing under her skirts somewhere between her legs, was moving jerkily. She's close, he could tell by her face. He still had his hands tangled in her hair, and her lips were swollen red and parted as she looked up at him. He leant forward, unable to resist, and kissed her deeply, fucking her mouth with his tongue as she had just fucked his cock. He felt her tense in his hands, her whole body shaking, before she shuddered and moaned so fucking loudly he thought half the castle was like to come running.

Slowly, as they came down together, the kiss gentled until Sansa sat back on her heels, pulling away.

"Well," she said, brushing her hands down her skirts in a facsimile of her usual demure behaviour, though sweat still beaded her chest and forehead. She did not seem able to look at him. "Thank you for-"

"Sansa," he interrupted, and her eyes flew immediately to his – he so rarely used her name. "If you want to thank me, we'll do this again."

She looked as though she were suppressing a smile, rising to her feet and pushing a stray tendril of auburn hair back into her braid. "Perhaps," she said, almost haughtily, before looking him over once more, naked and sated. "Perhaps," she said again, more gently.

Quickly, she bent and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before turning to leave. He watched her all the way to the door, where she turned and smiled briefly before letting herself out.

It was only when she had gone that he saw them – on the floor where she had been kneeling. Her skirts must have hidden them as they slid down her thighs once she stood up, the drawstring untied so that she could slip her hand inside. Probably still wet, he though with a sudden fresh pang of hunger and arousal. He smirked – this was a favour the like of which he'd never thought to receive from the little bird.

On the floor lay Sansa Stark's smallclothes.