Game of Thrones: Short stories.

Old dog, new tricks - Part 4 - Sandor x Reader

(Y/n) paced her rooms. Since she had left the practice ring it seemed as though someone had always been with her. Jory had stayed to apologise for his mistake. To tell her that he had only been following her father's orders. That he cared for her and didn't want to see any harm come to her. She had assured him that all was fine. That she understood, and despite her initial annoyance at him, all was well. Yet with every word that he had said, she had wished he would leave. The ache inside her for Sandor growing as she thought back to the practice ring, as she relived his every move. His every footfall and swing. But more than anything, she was thinking about every time he had got close. About how she could feel his hot breath on her skin. How she could see the desire in his eyes. A desire to not only win the fight, but to claim the prize. A prize that she was longing to give him.

She had always been surrounded by men. Her father, her brothers, Jon and Theon. Even the Stark bannermen were a constant in her life. Yet not one of them was like Sandor. He was a man all his own. Strong and more forceful than anything she had known. A true warrior. And (Y/n) wanted him. No, needed him. And the longer she had to wait, the worse that need was getting.

(Y/n) knew that her father would not approve. That he would frown on his oldest daughter choosing a man like the Hound. But (Y/n) didn't care. Her father would come to terms with her decision, sooner or later. That if she told him that Sandor was the only one that she wanted, that he would accept it as long as she was happy. Now, all (Y/n) could hope was that Sandor felt the same way that she did. That when the Hound did eventually get to claim his prize, it was one that he would want to keep. Though if he didn't, one night with a specimen like Sandor, was better than the lifetime of marriage to a snivelling little brat like Joffrey, that Sansa had to look forward to.

Suddenly she stopped her pacing. Her eyes falling on the large window in her room. Although she had changed for sleep some time ago, she had not realised that the night had got so dark. That the candles had been burning for so long. She had hoped that he would have come by now. That the night could even cover the great Hounds comings and goings. Yet he had still not come. (Y/n) fearing, that despite his apparent enthusiasm early on, that when it came to the crunch, he actually wasn't interested in her at all.

Slowly (Y/n) moved to the bed. Discarding her robe before slipping under the covers. The she wolf shuddering slightly as the cool material hit her heated skin. She had hoped that tonight her bed would be warm. Filled with the large, dominant form of Sandor. That she would find herself helpless under him. The usually quiet chamber filled with moans and groans. With gasps, sighs and pleading. But it now seemed that tonight was not the night that that would happen. And maybe no night would see it happen.

With another heavy sigh, (Y/n) pulled the white linen up under her chin. Her eyes reluctantly closing. Thoughts of Sandor, and the way that he had moved still filling her mind as she tried to sleep.

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Sandor muttered under his breath as he made his way through the Keep. Why had the fates seemed to conspire against him? What had he done that was so wrong? First it was Ned Stark's men denying him his victory in the practice ring. Stopping him from at least claiming a kiss from his beautiful she wolf, even if he couldn't claim his real prize then and there. Then the king had kept him. Seemingly having one ridiculous task to perform after another for him to perform. It all resulting in it being late before he had been able to make his way back to his own rooms. None of his tasks made any easier by the fact that all he had been able to think about. All he had been able to see was (Y/n), and the possibilities of what the night could hold when he went to claim his prize.

If he had been going to the brothels, he would have just gone as he was. Not giving a damn about what anyone else though. But this was (Y/n). This was a wolf. And as such, he was determined to make this night one that neither he nor (Y/n) would forget. The Hound eagerly hoping that it would be the first of many more to come.

Finally, he reached (Y/n)'s door. The big man looking at the ingress, his mind filled with what was waiting on the other side. He had made sure to bathe. To put on some of his best clothes. To even pull an old comb through his hair. But now all he wanted, was to find those good clothes on the she wolves bedchamber floor. And his hair a mess, as (Y/n) ran her fingers through it.

Taking a deep breath, Sandor knocked on the door as gently as he could. His chest puffing out as he heard (Y/n)'s voice bid him enter. The Hound slowly pushing on the door and making his way into the room that was lit by the soft glow of a low fire, and one or two candles.

"Sandor! You came!" (Y/n) exclaimed as she pushed back the sheets from her body. Rising to her knees as she looked at the large man. Sandor's eyes widening as the thin nightgown slipped from her shoulder and fell down her arm. The sight of her rounded pert breast, spurring the man forward. Only stopping when he reached the side of her bed. His eyes gazing, wantonly down at her as he reached out and placed his rough hand against her soft cheek.

"Aye. As tha winner of our fight, I've come ta claim my prize, (Y/n). Did ya think that I would forget our wager? That I wouldn't want ta take what was mine?" Sandor replied. His large hand moving down from (Y/n)'s cheek. Down her neck and onto her shoulder. His fingers taking hold of the material of her nightgown and slowly pulling the rest of it from her torso. The clothe pooling around her knees as she continued to look up at him. Sandor finally able to take in the full exquisite beauty of the wolf before him. Still finding it hard to believe that she would want to be his.

"Then, as victor. Claim your prize, Sandor. Take what is yours. Take it, and take it. And take it again. For it will always be yours if you so wish it." (Y/n) told him. Her hands pulling on his shirt so that he came closer. The big man pushing her back onto the bed before pulling off his clothes and climbing under the sheets with her. The warmth of her soft flesh under his body, and her gentle moans as his hands explored her form, making Sandor happy that he had allowed her to teach the old dog that he was, a few new tricks. And now, it was his turn to teach her a few of his own.