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uh-i-think-its-frank · 11 days ago

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Like a rotten dog: part VI

The Hound x Handmaiden reader

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI

Summary; you get to watch the hound in the training yard. Is it any wonder you have to find a secluded spot after such a sight? also, strap on, this one is kinda longTW; much smut and much porn to be had

Please come chat to me or my inbox with any Sandor reqs. I’m very thirsty. Reblogs and comments are greatly welcomed my lords, ladies, theys, and gays

The fierce clash and the sing of steel tells you the training yard is just ahead. The amount of grunting, and the tinnitus ringing of swords tells you it’s busy. Flowstone Yard.

Alssa rerouted the pair of you, off the back of your errand.

Carrying laden trays back from the royal prince and princesses rooms. Milky porridge and clumpy oats staining the bottom of the bowls. The fruit they didn’t bother eating that their mother chided them for leaving. They favoured honey fingers and lemon cake. Much to her chagrin.

She had pinched the back of your dress and drew you over. Peeling you away from duty. Standing to watch the men beneath you, fight and train. Armour glinting in the sun. Dull from the battles the plate, and the men in them, had seen. Or had yet to see.

You stand yourselves next to the marble columns. Resting your burdened elbows on the balustrade. Sun cracked stone, warm to the touch. Past which, gave you an unhindered view of the practicing. The dust kicked up by many pairs of feet.

Then you spy the true reason Alssa dragged you over here.

You side eye her and see exactly where her gaze is lingering. She’s grinning like a empty headed fool at a cluster of guards. One sat down polishing his sword in particular. You watch her gaze lock onto him.

He was raven-haired, the style long and curled at his nape, swept off his forehead like a rogue. dark melting eyes like warm cedar. Sun kissed skin that appeared Dornish in origin. Probably a man who smelled like damn orange blossoms and sandalwood.

Looked entirely like a dashing knight all ladies were expected to crow and swoon about in fairytales or songs. He flashes a too bright, square smile when he laughs with his friends. Over the din of the clashing metal and the strike of the smithy’s iron, you hear a deep sonorous voice. A dornish siren.

He peered up the walls. Caught sight of the pair of you standing there. The way you both stood with your hair swaying in gentle curls on the breeze. Climbing trellis’ of ivy and roses from the distant gardens made the air all velvet and verdant.

Go further down and you know it would change. Punched into the sweat and warm steel and dirt of the courtyard. Dipping into the blood and iron of old sword wounds, dripping onto the dusty ground.

You watched as his smile split into a wide - and much too handsome - grin.

He gets up and his fellows laugh around him as he swept down and dipped into an overdone, courtly bow. Hair catching the meagre sun. Shot through with brown gold at the tips. He straightens and blows her a kiss that she aims to catch. Blushing like a fool.

“What’s this one’s name?” You ask. A tone of chiding tiredness, and intrigue, lay thick in your voice.

Alssa flustered a little. She cleared her throat and wet her lips. Eyes flicking to you, unsure. “Wyllam.” She picked at items on her tray in distraction.

“I see.” You understand.

“When did he happen?” You enquire further. Watching as he sets up to spar with one of the guards.

“I met him the other night. Taking wine to Lord Baelish.” She preened. Voice all high and girlish. “Isn’t he so handsome?”

You narrow your eyes at him. He was. He was too handsome.

“Aye. He is.” You concede. Carefully. You pick around your words like you were sparring with a knife. Considering what to flag or pluck out next.

One thing you’ve come to know in this life, there was rarely worse to the measure of a man, than a vain one who knew exactly how good looking he was. And knew everywhere that could get him. Between many soft girls legs and winning many favours from highborn ladies.

He spars for show with his men. Overdone gestures. Sweeping strikes. Carved intentional smiles with all the guile of flirt. All to make Alssa giggle.

“I’ll say it again; Be careful.” You warn.

“You and your griping.” She rolled her big blue eyes like a child’s marbles.

You’d seen what men like him do to silly headed girls - so mushy and drunk on love they could barely move. You knew how they could exploit with guile. To disarm with prettiness. You were not about to let Alssa wander blindly into the same mistake. No letting the dewy eyed haze of her infatuation waste your wisdom.

Your voice turns rigid. Your speech carried the bitchy bite of the famed north snow and ice that raised you.

“Men like that seek one thing from a girl. Adoration. Just make sure he doesn’t woo you onto your knees and then never let you off them.” You nudge her side.

You’re not entirely sure she hears you. She chooses not too. Love has taken her. Made her so full, there’s no room for anything else.

She is preening down at him with a smile like she’s slept with a boot-stretcher in her mouth. She holds her tray in one hand and waves. Hair swaying down her back as she blows kiss after kiss. In the slanted sun, she glowed like a spring butterfly.

By comparison, you’re sure you look like a vinegar-laced storm cloud. All hail and fury.

He sees you stood by her side. Delights you in a bow also. You roll your eyes and turn your head away. Stoic. Face as unforgiving as iron islands granite.

That makes them reel into laughter. Your coldness always amused idiot men. The northern ice wrapped stoutly around your heart and guarding your smile was their greatest challenge yet. Higher to climb than the wall. Only fools tried. Only dogs seemed to get in.

You see one of his guards gesture. He leans over and they whisper in hushed tones. No doubt the guard was filling Wyllam in on exactly whose company you are rumoured to keep.

In this place, secrets never stayed buried for long. A dead man who goes cold to his grave keeping his secrets, was indeed a sacred thing.

Here, for every little bird or spider, there were ten more you’d never even see or hear of. Spies conjured of smoke at every turn. Hiding round corners in shadows . Perched in their webs or nests ready to betray.

And clearly, you wouldn’t be taking the secret of taking the Hound as a lover, to your grave. That rumour now churned like a spark on dry hay. No survivors to its blaze.

Your eyes harden like stones when the men start to bark and woof in jest up at you. Tongues out as they panted open mouthed like canines. Wyllam appears to hush their noises with a wave of his hand. Trying to win your favour too.

You’re not stupid. You know his game. Ply you with sweetness and honey, and Alssa will see and be glad of it. Then your friend will come to him with easiness and grace. Slippery as a pearl. Soft as a summer song.

“He better not turn anymore of that nauseating shite my way.” You warn her. Spoken with dripping disdain like you had icicles hanging off your teeth.

She remarks to herself how much you sound like the Hound, there.

She laughs. A light sound. “Fear not. I think everyone in this Keep knows by now that your… interests… lie another way. In fact quite the-“

Whatever unflattering words she’d been poised to say about your tastes, had been wrenched from her.

A sharp stab of a sword and a furious deep growl takes your attention to the far side of the courtyard. Where a beast made flesh, spars with his sword against a doomed opponent. Grunting. Clash of steel as blade met blade. There’s no mistaking that figure, that fight, for any other.

If she has the handsome prince from fair stories; you had the foul beast.

A Hound sort of beast. The best kind.

Alssa watched you now. Cleverly.

Something about him took your eyes. Pinned your notice.

She watches how your smile lifts - for true this time. Not too wide, softer, restrained, curling up at the sides. Like seeing the rare December sun, flourish over the sparkling snow crusted turrets of Winterfell. It could strike the breath clean from one’s lungs.

She doesn’t recall the last time she saw you wear even a small smile, so richly genuine.

Alssa thought a moment. Seeing the two of you look at each other.

It really was like her dear mother’s old worn saying; there really is a lid for every strange old pot.

She smiles to herself. She’d told you til she was blue in the face she thought he liked you. Here is the damning proof. Looking at the pair of you like this.

Watching him fight was like seeing a furious storm made skin.

All those dreadful stories people wove about him. He fought with the true weight of his terrible legend. He always did. Even in practice. Thick as a castle wall. But kept light on his feet.

He swung his word like he was livid at the blade for not biting hard enough when it drew blood. Like he was angry at the very ground he trod on. He directed it well. His power was packed into his anger. Sheer rage. He fought with it, hands armed like axe blades.

His eyes glowed in the shade of the yard, like newly turned bronze. Even from behind the terrible maw of his helm. The jaws that cradled his face, canine and monstrous. His enemy could never tell which face was worse to gaze at- or tell which one bit less.

He sent his opponent spinning away into the dirt from a clash to the shoulder that would take limbs, if there weren’t armour in the way.

He stalked in pose. Waiting. Expecting more resistance even when the soldier was down. The fight in him not blunted yet.

The soldier he’d spun away was replaced by another who thought he’d take on the challenge.

You hear his friends jeer him on from the sidelines. He goes with his sword raised. Both hands clasping it. The Hound doesn’t take his eyes from him. You could feel his growl through the air. You knew it was laced with that sneer. The one that tests idiots to try their fucking luck.

The soldier struck first. Sandor batted him away sending him stumbling. Only for a second. He rounded and try to undercut, up to his elbow.

The Hound sniffed it coming a mile off.

Adjusted his stance. A fearful blow on the back of the soldiers arm had him nearly dropping his sword. Sandor made sure of it. Battered the side of the man’s helmet. Planted a firm boot in his back - kicked him to the dust.

Sword to the neck, a fearful growl that could curdle anyone’s spine, a warning. The opponent dropped his, to yield.

The soldiers jeered. Passing around insult and jest. No one ever dared beat the hound. Not in hand to hand combat. Not on a good day they didn’t. His sheer heft made him an impossible opponent. His ever present rage made him a deadly one.

Sandor backed off. Stalking away to a corner. Wrenching his helm off. Sweaty hair hung in pieces down his shoulders. He snagged a wine skin off a rickety table and drank it straight down. Droplets of burgundy dripping down in his whiskery-rough beard.

Alssa exclaimed something. You missed it.

You were too busy watching the way his shoulders moved in his armour. The way his armour was dull silver in the sun like old trout scales. Battered and sword scarred. Pauldrons bashed in, and gorget scratched. For his plate had seen many a war and battlefield. His hands and body littered in faded scars because of it too. A matching set. You physically ached to see more of him. To touch more of him. To explore him.

You were wet at the thought of it.

“Hmm?” You turned back to her. Not even tearing your eyes from the sight below. Him. Sweating and grunting. Looming like a terrible animal over other soldiers. Stalked off to his corner to gulp down wine, and not even revel in his victory. He didn’t seek glory. Just space.

“You are staring.” Alssa exclaimed prettily. Sharp elbow catching you in the hip.

Lusting was more like it. But you wouldn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t understand the carnal nature of your need for him. To her, love was all still purity, daisies and poetry. Your was decidedly south of that drippy inclination.

“Just admiring the troops training.” You grinned slyly.

You hadn’t forgotten his touch from the previous night. The way he’d growled at you that he’d have you again. Yet the sweet gentle way he pleaded for you to please come back. He wouldn’t quite know what to do if you didn’t. You’d a feeling he was bracing for the sting of rejection every time he looked at you.

Gods you’d prove him so wrong right now. You wanted to drag him off and ride him til your hips gave out.

Alssa frowned when she saw a soldier hobbling by the yard down below, with a cane. His leg and ankle all bandaged. His face a mess of bruises. Ugly purple and black like old sour plums. Her expression faltered a little when she realised who it was bearing such evidence of either extreme ill will, or having taken a drunken tumble down the stairs.

“Wonder what happened to him…” Alssa asked. Leaning up to try and see more. Seize onto the first shreds of gossip. It traded like currency below stairs. The more sordid the better.

You move your head. Looking across to take her meaning. Eyes following hers to land on the limping, scowling man. Who speared a look at the Hounds wide back that you’d call perfectly murderous.

It was Landar.

He’d been beaten to black and blue paste. Looked like he escaped the encounter three or four teeth lighter. Purple eye sprouting across his cheek. Bridge of his nose decorated with a bloodied fissure.

The thought aligned prettily in your head. The bloody liar. That’s how he hurt his knuckles.

Nothing to do with Joffrey’s wrath. This was all him. Him protecting you. All dogged instinct and mean teeth.

Sandor’s attention was drawn across to the limping man. He clutched at his wine skin. Gave a hate filled scowl - a warning - to the lamed guard. Who returned it with a piss and vinegar glare of his own.

You loyal silly dog. You remarked to yourself.

You watched the exchange with a slightly gladdened smile. It was nice to see the cunt finally put in his place.

He hobbles away to be near his grubby pack of friends. Twisted his head back and up to catch sight of you. Stood gazing down over the yard.

You rub a little coarse salt in the wound;

You raise your hand and gave him a friendly little flutter of your fingers in a wave. See if that doesn’t piss him off even more.

The grimace he pulls at seeing you makes your grin widen. A snarl forming across his face. He wanted to limp up there and tear your pretty throat out.

The movement catches more than Landar’s eye. Your Hound sees. Peers up and establishes eye contact. Eyes boring right into yours.

You hold them. And there’s that smile of yours again. The one he swears is tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. More meaningful now. It feels deeper- burrowed soul deep by the starting connection you shared. The ache for more that simmers in you both.

Pure fucking lust. A heady poison in its own right. Mind starved of all else. You could think of little else. Your mind snapped back to him any free minute you had.

You nod at him. Still smiling. Appeasing his performance even if he wouldn’t. He could almost hear you saying it. Could see it in the glimmer in your sharp eyes.

Well fought. Dog.

He sends you a look that speaks of mild irritation at your impertinence. Slight annoyance. As that particular trait ran through him in a steady unending vein, like metal ore hewn in rock.

Watch it, Maid.

You turn to Alssa. Best you didn’t linger too much longer. “Come on. Best get these trays back. Or Darria will kick up a fuss.”

You nudge her with your elbow. Get her to follow you.

She waves all coquettish to her Dornishman before she leaves. He clasps his hand over his heart sadly, like the world is ending.

You know Sandor sees that. Spears a glare and rolls his eyes at it. Daft flowery cunt. He slurps back more wine.

His eyes track you through the shaded halls up above. He tracks you, as you walk away. Eyes on you the whole time in the shadows. Yours on his until you too, had to look away. He knew that look. That was not merely interest. That was all flirt and guile.

Fucking electric.

You step fast. Alssa can barely keep up to you. You want to put this cursed tray down and run back. Find a shady corner. Unclasp that armour and show him just exactly what you thought of his victory.

When you find your way to the kitchens, you gladly offload the heavy tray to the boy by the basins. Darria is in her usual red cheeked furious mood. Bashing her cleaver through hare carcasses to joint them. Sticky blood glimmers black off her apron.

“Any other jobs going begging?” You ask her as you steal a plump green pear off a heaped golden bowl. Move so quick she didn’t have time to rap your hand with a wooden spoon. Smile at her around the mouthful of sweet crunchy fruit.

“Off with you. Go clean or scrub floors. Don’t need you in my way here until luncheon.” She grouses.

In other, coarser words, fuck off out my sight.

Exactly what you wanted to hear. Music to your ears.

You spin and take your leave with a grin.

Tossing half the eaten pear to Alssa as you skip back up those kitchen stairs. Holding your skirts in one hand as you licked your fingers of the juices.

She watches you go. Smiling as she takes half the pilfered fruit and turns to walk along the rabbit warren hallways to her room.

“What’s up with her?” Darria asks after you depart. Footsteps falling to fading echoes on the stairs.

Alssa blinks those big blue eyes. “Not sure.” She lies. A secret smile tucked away to herself.

“Odd bitch that one.” Darria shakes her head. Like she could care less whatever put a smile on your face like that. She carries in butchering her game. Snapping bone and stringy tendons under her knife.

You retrace your route. Back to the yard. But when you peer down over the balustrade to the courtyard, your eyes scan the soldiers and clustered space for him and come up empty.

You step back. Walk along more halls. Tread the familiar places you think he may lurk. When not on duty, he may have slunk to his rooms with a wine skin. When he wasn’t taking up some corner of the yard, polishing his weapons and scowling.

Sometimes you heard he would take himself off for the night to a tavern in the western quarter. Where he could drink a skinful of wine in relative peace, and stumble back over the cobbled streets.

You head to his rooms. Those too prove empty. Armour gone of course. Sheets puddled in the middle of his bed. Hearth cold.

You seek elsewhere. Down another winding corridor and up a turret, up onto another part of the keep. Searching endlessly for your hound.

He finds you first.

The first you know of it is the huge scarred palm clamped around your mouth all sudden. Skin smells like warm metal.

He quickly scoops you into a shadowed space. Attacked from behind. He got your scent earlier. And like any good dog, he followed his nose.

There’s a second where your fight takes hold; you nearly kick at him, sink your teeth sharp into his fingers.

“Aye. Fucking calm down. It’s me.” Comes a ursine whisper across your ear. All hot breath and tannic red wine.

Spins you. Back to a wall. Then he takes your chin in his hand. Kisses you hard. Body slamming you to a wall. Your head rings. You can smell the sweat and scent of iron beating off his armour from his practice in the yard. It’s addicting.

It’s the bite he takes of your neck, with his hand sliding to your hip that makes you gasp. High and needy. Your head tips back to the wall. Your hair grazing the rough stone. You hang onto him for dear life. He’s making you dizzy.

“I have floors to go and scrub.” You challenge with a lot of flirt on your tongue.

“And I should be on duty soon.” He counters. “Told you I wasn’t done with you.”

That coarse threat makes your nipples stiffen.

“Please fucking take me.” You simper.

Big fingers ruck up your skirts. No courtesy. No asking if you’re sure. No preamble. No game. You told him what you wanted. You smile when he does it.

He’d left his gauntlets off to do this.

You nearly die when you feel his warm hands on your thighs. They scorch and you burn.

When he finds you wet, dripping wet, you watch that sneer twist his lips. The one he uses to taunt people. Maybe he softened it a little for you- not by much. His eyes are swimming dark. Drunk brown and heady.

“This wet for an old dog. Red?” He asks in a sneer against your mouth. “Dripping down to your fucking knees.”

You’re hanging your arms around his neck like a useless bauble attached to his armour. Something decorating his front. Tugging on the back of his neck to bring him closer.

His fingers slip under your shift. Find you glistening and warm. Two fingertips sink themselves just inside your cunt. Teasing. You feel the stretch but it’s not enough. He knows it. The bastard.

“Fuck.” You gasp. A cotton soft whisper that shatters off the stone around you.

He was pulling the wetness over your pussy. Prepping you. Exploring the softness of your lips. The way you twitched and moaned for him. Taking his time; considering this was a clandestine fuck in some tucked away corner.

He had you halfway to sobs by the time he sunk his fingers deep. Seating them deep. Let you feel every scar and ridge of his massive hands. One that left your mouth gaping. He filled it with his. Grasped you close by a fistful of your dress - like he had to try and keep you here.

“That enough for you, lover?” He asks. Twisting his hand in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head. The obscene stretch. The way he made your back arch to curl into him. Clutching at him in fistfuls.

His new nickname for you didn’t go unnoticed. Lover. It poured off his rumbling tongue like the wine he loved. It’s a language you’ve never heard pulled from his lips before.

It’s soft. And yearning.

The clever way he moved his thumb to brush just-so against your clit. The pattern he holds fast too as he sinks deep. Devastates you with his size. But moves just slow enough to let you feel every motion.

He thinks how damn pretty you look like this. How wrecked. He knows he’ll reach in with his bare hands and pull the gizzards out of any man or woman unlucky enough to come across this little tryst.

The Hound pawing at his Bitch in a shadow black corner of the red keep. Out the way of the peering eyes of nobles or royalty. Somewhere the candle flames can’t reach. Inhabit a private lust fuelled moment. Two lovers on the turret stair.

And what a sight you are;

Eyes severe in the half dark. Cheeks going warm. Skirts almost up to your waist. Draping over your soft naked thighs. Mouth wide and moans tripping out your mouth that he soaked up with his tongue on yours. A furious tempest of teeth and lips. Your moans can smother and die on his tongue for all he cares.

He finds the spot that makes your eyes roll. Just like last night. Had you clenching and bucking in his arms like a wild doe caught in a snare.

“Fuckk. Sandor.” You whine. Gripping onto his arm. The other tangled in his dark hair. If it stung, he said nothing. He’d gladly take every ounce of pain you give if it means he gets to watch you cum. A pretty sight. Like those fair frolicking maidens in oil paintings or tapestries his ruined eyes never get to appreciate. This here is his reward.

“You say my name like a whore.” He teases. A hot breath at your ear. A whispered chin kissing harsh bristles at your soft neck. Abrasive enough to leave a tingling rash on your skin.

“You’re fucking me like one.” You whimper. Clasping a hand over the back of his as he moves faster, dipping a little deeper. See how high he could make your voice go.

He’s rewarded like a king. Watching your eyes roll back well and truly in your head. Eyes closing. Mouth slack. His lips find your collarbone. A kiss with your hair in the way sticking to his lips. But the wet slicking noises your cunt is making is worth more than its weight in gold.

“That’s it. Red. That’s what you needed.” He grumbles. Self-satisfaction in his voice when he spies the hitch of your breath.

His free hand comes grasping around your thigh. Up over your hip. Cradling your legs right to him so he can finger-fuck you deeper. Gathering you right to him for more. Your small noises and whimpers slap off the walls and surround you both.

He finds that somewhere inside you that feels irresistible. Too good. A sharp pleasure rips through your lower half when he curls his fingers just so. Taking the time to learn you so well.

When you cry out for gods. He chuckles. Low and mean in the back of his throat. A terrible sneer. This terrible leering dog with something pretty stuck in his teeth. That something pretty being you.

Come crawling to you. Mad with need. Pushing through the mess he made of men who dared try and take what was his. Violent and dreadful.

You’d never wanted a man more.

Desperate and urgent, your knees quiver when he withdraws his fingers and you mourn the loss of him. You tremble and your cunt clenched as you watch him suck those very same fingers right into his mouth. Spreading the sticky satin taste of you all over the bed of his tongue.

“Still taste sweet.” He huffs. He didn’t usually warm to sweet things. He has a feeling your cunt will be different. That was a sweetness he’d devour and enjoy over and over again.

You buck when he slaps them back to your clit. No finesses. But the jolt nearly made you cum right then and there. His digits all stringy with his spit. His mouth a muggy sharp reminder. Worrying red and wet bruises at your throat. Slips them right back into you.

You clench so hard around him it makes him bite down on his lower lip. Leaning in to devour your mouth once more.

Curling your thigh up close to him. Cradling your body. Huge hand going back to spreading wide around your ass cheek. Bracing you tight to the wall. Between the hard stone and his hard armour. Rock and hard place.

“Cum for me. Red.” He urges. Ever a man of simple means. No flowery words or poetry. No pouring honey into your ears. That’s what you like about him. He rather sticks to the point.

Your lungs shrivelled. Collapsing around a moan. Head thumping back to the stone as he took a bite of your shoulder joining your neck. Jasmine heady in his nose as he feels your pussy clench down hungrily and drench his fingers. His thumb on your clit remained a gentle assault until you physically had to stop him moving - a hand clasped around his wrist as the pleasure tipped along a razors edge into mean. Too much.

You urged him to slow his movements. Gasping to get your breath back. Letting the pleasure bleed slowly and lazy through your limbs. Like ink dropped into water. He withdrew his hand from you. Leaving a sticky warm brush of wetness along the inside of your thigh.

You sigh onto his tongue when he kisses you again. Happily. Curling up and around his wide body. Arms yanking at his chain mail to pull him in. Hard metal under your fingers. Scraping your nails up the back of his neck. He pets your skirts to fall around your legs once more.

“Walking around bare arsed under that shift. Can’t be blamed for coming after you can I…” He leers.

“Come after me whenever you like. I won’t say no. Not if you’re that good with your fingers.” You grin.

His hand slips inside your dress. He longingly plucks and pinches your nipple in his big fingers. Cupping the weight of your breast in his palm. Swallows it up whole with touch. “Brazen maid.” He scorns at you.

You leave his hand stuffed down your dress. Yank him in to kiss again. Soft pressing lips and the taste of you on his tongue. Salt and tang amongst the wine.

It crosses your mind that you’ve not partaken of him yet. A crime.

You speak the words against a muggy mouth as you drag your teeth slow over his bottom lip. All wine and heat.

“Enough focus on me. Hound. I think I need to see to you.”

You smile as you take to your knees in your pretty skirts. Your hands finding the fastenings of his breeches. Taking a moment to undo them. He looks like he can’t fucking believe you as he’s the one whose suddenly pressed bodily back to the wall.

You take him in your hand. Huge and thick as you remember. Pump him proudly a couple of times. Watch the way he spurts precum. Just as needy and turned on as you were. His mouth hangs slack.

When you lean in and swallow him down, the grunt that comes from deep at the back of his throat, would leave you wet for hours.

“Fuck- Red. You- Shit.” He growls. Low and dredged out of his chest all granite deep. Rumbling. He tastes like sweat and salt. All male. Warm skin.

He can’t recall the last time someone let him use their warm, wet mouth to get him off. The whores that didn’t scatter screaming at the sight of him, or spit at his feet, usually took his coin and turned to face away. Preferring a hard quick fuck from behind. Or to use their mouth or hand, shuffled as far as they can away from him. They’d rather keep distance than get up close and see that grizzled face.

You’re so lucky southern girls are all fools.

You on the other hand. You fucking gaze up at him with glittering eyes as you throat him deep as you can. Jaw aching already. You’ll work through the pain. He’s worth it. A glimmer of pride in your body when he can’t even form words.

You let him glide against the roof of your mouth. Making sure you’re getting him all good and wet. Letting him slip to the back of your mouth all sloppy. Letting the spit collect so you could use all of it on him. Treating the unloved hound to a warm wet mouth. Your mind makes a sour little joke about throwing him a bone.

You brace your hands on his huge thighs. Hands splayed. Lovingly patting the tense muscles of his meaty thighs.

Take the time to bob your head and swallow and suck him. The loudness of the slick noises and wet sounds spring off the walls around you.

You withdraw him for a second. Thick spit strings from your lips to him as you stroke him, from base to tip, circling your hand tight to jerk him for a few moments. Revelling in the huge chuff of breath that comes when you slip the head of him back in your mouth. Swirl your tongue around the swelling tip of him.

“Shit.” He pants. Big chest rising and falling. “I-“ He hesitated. Wanting to sink his hand into your hair. Unsure whether it was right. Whether he’d hurt you. “I don’t want to hurt you, Red.”

You answer him wordlessly.

I won’t break. Clegane. Touch me.

You take his hand and put in to your hair. Let him grab it in a fist. Something to hold onto as you choked him down with a sloppy gargle. One that made his body buck like a curling autumn leaf. You feel the tensions shivering in his thighs. Like he was trying too hard to hold himself back - or up.

You slide your hand up his mail. To his armour clad stomach. His hand quickly comes to cover yours. Finding and tangling with your fingers.

You can’t help the moans that throb along his cock stuffed in your mouth. The little ones that slip out your throat as he does. Between your thighs you feel yourself growing wet again. Cunt becoming a full throb that you’ll all but begging him to use later. For now, you lay all focus on him.

He can’t help the way his hips thrust a little. Seeking the pleasure of your side tongue. You swirl and suck. Hand squeezing around the fat base of him. He makes clunky noises that seem to signal he’s close. His hand tightens slightly on your hair. He would be lying if he said seeing the copper locks twirled around his fingers didn’t help get him there quicker. Fucking arousing, that.

Pretty maid letting him use her mouth to get him off.

He’s inching closer and closer to his orgasm with each swirl and suck. You move your hand on him. Use the other to sneak under his sac and cup him as you urge him on.

“Red.” He gasps. Nails near digging into your scalp. That’s all the warning he can give. You feel the minute thrusts of his hips and then the warm salty spurt of him is jerking over your tongue in a warm flood.

You swallow him down.

Only stopping when his noises grow so intense. His hand finally going slack in your hair. The sudden clack of his plated back sagging to the wall. The click and shift of metal.

You take your mouth off him. Smile as you leave your hands on his thighs as you rise to your feet.

He looks flushed. Sweaty and rumpled. Hair hanging in his face. Gazing at you like you were some great wonder of the seven kingdoms. You use your fingers to wipe away some drools of thick spit.

When you coyly lick the corner of your mouth to remove spit and the white sheen of him. He growls. Yanks you right in by your upper arm. Seals your mouth to his.

Ravaged you with a kiss that was all battle and harsh. Yet you break away gently - to breathe. And smile at him. Hand in the centre of his chest.

“Why didn’t you Tell me about landar?” You seek.

“Fuckin hells. That’s what you’re thinking right now? Gods, woman.” He states. Panting for breath. Incredulous.

He offers you the wine skin clasped to his belt to take the taste of him out your mouth.

You take it with thanks. Tip a mouthful of the rich red stuff back. Flows down your throat like fine velvet.

He idly thumbed a lock of your hair off your shoulder. Watched the flaming sway of it trail down your shoulder. His thumb trailed down the hill of your shoulder too. Likes the way his bite mark sunk its stain and indents into your neck. That most likely hard scuff of beard burn.

He grunts as he clasps his trouser falls. Readjusts his clothing. Tucking his soft cock away. Huge even when flaccid. You still eye him hungrily like you hadn’t just sucked his damn soul out through his cock. Like you wanted to get him hard again, and have him take you against the wall. Fill this turret with your moans. The sound of his hips clapping to yours.

Fucking Wildling. He’d heard they shagged like rabbits. Huge appetites to fight the cold. Now you both looked like you’d fucking mauled each other in this corridor.

He wipes the damp beading sweat off his forehead. You reach up and pluck his soft dark hair off his scarred cheek. His hair was so much softer than yours.

He speaks again when he can finally take a breath. Addresses your remark about Landar.

“Saw that cunt grab you last night on the stairs. Didn’t sit well with me.” His voice slipped into a dangerous tone. One that sounds like knives being unsheathed. He jerks his hand to the side as he refastens his belt.

He lays his hand over your hip. A big gentle bracket over your dress.

“I can defend myself. Don’t get yourself in more fucking trouble with those Lannister’s.” You remind him. Eyes turning sharp and serious. Cutting into him like frosted diamonds. Your hand lay in the centre of his chest. Body close to his. Catting up to him.

“Aye. I fucking well know you can defend yourself. Just hate that he was bothering you after you told him to sod off. Slobbering over you. Pawing at you.” He grunts. Miserly as ever.

He palms your ass. Makes you bite your lip and sway bodily to his front. All mean metal edges of him crushed to your soft dress and curves. If he looked down he can see down your dress. See the hard brush of your nipples clasped against the fabric. He wanted them in his mouth tonight. Maybe he’d let you take a seat on his ruined scarred face to thank you for getting on your knees. Though by the look on your face - he’d say you’d done it on its own merit. And gladly.

You beam. Trace your fingers playfully around his gorget.

“Only one guard I want pawing at me. Clegane.”

He barks laughter. “You really aren’t like all those southern bitches are you? Pretty ladies like that would never admit to liking what we just did.” He explains as he pinches your arse.

“Sounds stupid.” You remark. “Who can not like fucking?” You frown deeply.

Ladies who haven’t been fucked by a man like him.

Pulls you longingly into another deep kiss. His favourite wine and the faint hint of his cum on your tongue. He finds he doesn’t mind it really-

When you pull back, your smile is still filthy. Hair mussed. Eyes all bright and ferocious as flames. Like trying to grasp fire in his bare hands. It’s only dangerous and it’s going to hurt. But he finds more and more that he needs it.

“Fuck me proper. Tonight?” You ask merrily. Bold. You want to get on your knees in his bed and feel that magnificent cock pound you into the sheets as hard as he’s able. Make your eyes cross with how hard he can go with that wild strength.

He growls. Open handed slaps your ass again.

“Shit. Red. The way you keep after me. I’ll be amazed If I still have the stamina.” His good eye glares out at you.

But his curl of a smile tells you he might just try, yet.

He sags against the wall, watching for a moment of respite, as you right your dress straps and skirts before you step away.

“Find you after dinner.”

“I’ll have a bath waiting. Red.” He assures. Probably wine too. That sounded like heaven to your poor tired feet and arms after your various toils.

You’re down three steps before his speech brings you back.

“You never gave me that name.” He suddenly announced. The one he demanded in his room. The one who left the rapidly disappearing bruise on your ribs.

You turn back on the stair. Consider his words with a tilt of your head and a placid smile.

“The bastard who put the bruise on your belly.” He reaffirms.

“If I gave you the name of every cunting knight in this castle who’d bruised me or offered me insult, Clegane, there’d be none left but you.”

“Suits me.” He grumped.

You hop back up the step to come to the landing where he is. You lean up and tiptoes and yank his gorget strap down to kiss him.

He bends at the waist. Surprised. But goes where you lead him. Let’s your lips sink softly to his. Already misses the way Jasmine perfume twines around him when you’re near.

“Grumpy fucker.” You mutter lovingly against his lips in a grin. Before stepping away.

He watches you go with something close to a smile. The shadows wrap and curl around his huge back as he heads off the other way. Thread themselves in his shaggy hair. Heavy steps clicking with metal and the rustle of chainmail.

Footsteps skitter high above in the turret. Slip away across the stones like woodsmoke. A piece of shadow breaking away from the rest. Running back to their masters side. Secrets clutched in their small hands like flowers, plucked for offering.

They like to keep their web invisible. Silent and strong. Bridging everywhere. After all, not much happens in this Keep that they don’t know about. This news would be another welcome string to their bow.

Tagging some hound peeps; in the hopes this finds the right people;

@konigslittleliebling @first-edition @catsteeth @castieltrash1 @terry2227 @justagirlwholikesadam @auxmodi @proseandpretrichor @novaursa @jxckerbxtch @mydearviserra @slut4thehound @yeyinde @jaimesrighthand @daydream818 @poisonousrain222 @slowlikehoney-stronglikemusic @itisjustwhatitis @hauerhoetime @siredskies @broadsdrinkwhisky @melmightwrite

#ficrecs #sandor clegane x reader

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