Sansa pressed her thighs against Sandor's hips and wrapped her arms securely around his chest. She held on tightly as he navigated turns on his motorcycle, heading north through the city. He cut through side streets of the business district, many she was unfamiliar with as he avoided the bulk of the rush hour traffic. Although the route he was taking was surely a bit out of the way and ultimately wouldn't save them much time, Sansa found herself enjoying the ride anyhow. It was a pleasant end to a day that had been god awful so far.
The breeze whipped through her hair, sending strands of it to whirl around them from underneath the helmet she wore. Had she anticipated riding on the back of a motorcycle today, she would have brought a heavy jacket. The wind was chilly and she shivered as she pressed herself close to him, absorbing his warmth the best she could. She wondered if he noticed how firmly she clung to him, less shy than she had been the last time she was on the back of his bike.
Earlier, Sansa demanded an apology from him. He had been rude and she wanted him to show her some respect. He hadn't apologized to her, though. In fact, not only did he not apologize, she could have sworn he meant to kiss her. The space between them had been mere inches as his body hovered close to hers. She had anticipated a kiss and in the frantic moments before the kiss, or rather, unkiss, Sansa had battled with herself over what to do. Her mind was practically screaming that she should, of course, be offended that he'd be so presumptuous; her body, though.
Her body had reacted to him in ways she hadn't expected, in ways that betrayed and taunted the prudish misgivings of her mind. Her heart had pounded in her chest and butterflies fluttered in her stomach only to settle as a sweet, dull ache between her legs. It was troubling. It was exhilarating.
With her body against his, she could feel the solid mass of muscle that covered Sandor's frame. She had seen him on stage without his shirt, his jeans slung low on his hips as his fingers worked the neck of his guitar. Now, she could feel how muscular he was as her fingers gripped ever so slightly against his sides.
She picked up the scent of leather, sweat, and something unique, something wholly masculine as her cheek momentarily rested against his shoulder. Despite his grotesque scars and the crude manner in which he spoke, Sansa had to admit there was something entirely enticing about him. He was rugged and hard in a way she hadn't seen in any of the boys she hung around with. Maybe that was it; the boys she hung around with were just that. Boys.
Boys parading around as men, thinking that the crux of masculinity was how much money they could make when they finally broke into a Wall Street job, where they got their Armani suits tailored, which country club they belonged to. By comparison, Sansa could see Sandor was a different breed. He didn't seem to care much for appearances. He was simple, hard working, and, although he spoke to her in ways no other guy dared, he was at least honest.
They ended up in a working-class neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. The houses were small and quaint in their own right, populated by workers from the steel mill a few miles away. Sansa knew of the neighborhood. Gendry lived somewhere nearby. A smile crept across her lips with thoughts of both her and Arya ending up in the same neighborhood with men their parents would positively loathe and detest.
Sandor pulled into the parking lot of Rosy's Diner at the corner of a quiet intersection. The outside was kitschy: neon lights and glass tiles set amongst red and white painted brick, all to be expected from a retro-style diner. After climbing off the bike, Sansa pulled off her helmet and, as discreetly as possible, tried to smooth down the tangled mess that was undoubtedly her hair right now. Sandor must have noticed her attempts at vanity. He let out a low rumble of laughter before taking the helmet from her and stowing it away in the seat compartment.
When they approached the diner's entrance, Sansa reached for the door, but her motions were stilled as Sandor's hand got there first. Holding the door open for her, he shot her a bemused smirk as she walked through. It was a small gesture, but Joffrey had never offered her such courtesies. Sansa was used to opening her own doors, pulling out her own chairs, easing in to her own jacket, being dropped off at the end of her driveway as he sped off without so much as a peck on the cheek. The realization was jarring.
The inside of the diner was just as cheesy as the outside. The black and white checkered floor was slightly sticky beneath her feet. A long counter extended almost the full length of the establishment with metal stools dotted along the way, every other one occupied with a patron clutching a cup of coffee or polishing off the last bit of their meal.
Sansa followed Sandor towards the back of the seating area and slipped off her book bag. She slid into the red vinyl booth across from him as a waitress tossed down two laminated menus.
"Hey doll," the middle-aged woman greeted Sandor with an exhausted sigh, tresses of her straw-like blonde hair coming loose from the bun on her head. "You want the regular?" she asked with her pen already scribbling her pad.
"Yep." He handed her back the untouched menu.
"And for you, sweetheart?" the woman asked with a dull, coffee-stained smile. It seemed this was the type of establishment that thrived on being a relic of neighborhood nostalgia rather than exceptional service.
"What's the regular?" Sansa asked, options limited considering she'd hardly even glanced at the menu.
"A stack of pancakes with a side of bacon and a large orange juice," the waitress rattled off, her chain-smoking tendencies entirely evident as her voice rasped from her lips.
"I'll do the same," Sansa responded with a polite smile. "A short stack, though, and a small orange juice, please."
The waitress nodded as she scribbled down the order and took the menu from Sansa's hands.
"It'll be right up." The waitress quickly shifted her eyes between the two of them and gave a knowing smirk before shuffling away.
No sooner had the waitress left than Sandor's eyes were on Sansa. She could feel him looking at her even as her gaze roamed over the restaurant, studying the pie case, the cheap plastic vases holding artificial red roses on each table, the second shift workers seemingly loathing the night ahead of them. The tell-tale heaviness was on her the entire time, and when her eyes finally settled on him, Sandor was staring back at her, his face impassible.
"You must come here a lot," Sansa remarked as she shifted beneath his gaze. Why must he stare at her like that? The butterflies emerged once more and her cheeks felt warm.
Sandor settled back in his seat and stared out the window with a shrug. For that, Sansa was grateful. The last thing she needed was him seeing how easily he made her blush; surely, it would only egg him on more.
"I live around here," he replied and returned his eyes to her. "The food's cheap and not bad. Good hangover food too," he added with a small chuckle.
"Where do you live?" Sansa asked, not knowing what else to say. It seemed if it were up to Sandor, they would just stare at one another from across the table, talking with their eyes and nothing more.
"Why do you ask?" His interest was obviously piqued. He seemed alight with curiosity.
"Why do you think?" It seemed obvious to her. She was trying to get to know him better. It was a normal component to polite conversation, something he was entirely unschooled in, apparently.
Sandor settled in his seat and propped his hands behind his head. He evaluated her through a narrowed gaze and a devious smile played about his lips.
"Hmm. If I had to guess, you want me to take you to my place after this so we can make good on all this talk of you taking a ride."
Clearly pleased with his answer, Sandor quirked an eyebrow at her.
"Don't be ridiculous," Sansa groaned as she rolled her eyes. She had set herself up for that one and was surprised she hadn't seen it coming. It seemed these sort of lewd innuendos were par for the course with him.
Wholly amused by her response, Sandor let out a loud laugh before unwittingly licking his bottom lip.
"What? You don't put out on a first date?" he japed with a wink, his grin widening with delight.
Sansa rolled her eyes once more. At this rate, they were going to roll right out of her head because it seemed Sandor enjoyed regarding her with such vulgarity.
"This isn't a date," she deadpanned, keeping a straight face the best she could. It wasn't funny, really. A true gentleman wouldn't speak to her this way. Then again, Joffrey had been all sappy declarations of affection and polished manners when they first started dating and that had quickly vanished to reveal the horrid little monster underneath.
"Well excuse me, then," Sandor responded, pulling his arms free from behind his head and crossing them about his chest as he feigned affront. Assuming that was the end of it, Sansa watched as Sandor quieted. He stared out the window again as if studying some feature of the parking lot.
Sansa felt a tug of guilt. He meant no harm, that much she could tell. It wasn't as if he truly thought he could take her back to wherever he lived and she would jump into bed with him. Just as she was about to say something, a small smile tugged at the corner of Sandor's mouth once more. His gaze returned to her, this time with an impish smirk, and he leaned forward, murmuring his words with a low rasp and his eyes steady on her.
"Do you put out on a non-date?" His smile faded, although his eyes still gleamed with mischief.
"No, I most certainly do not!" Sansa's chin tipped up with an irritated sigh and a shake of her head. It was a snooty response. She didn't care. If he was allowed to be vulgar, she was allowed to be a snob.
"My mistake," Sandor chuckled and held his hands up in the air. After a cadence of silence, Sandor shrugged and appeared nonplussed as he casually regarded her once more. "It just seemed to me you that enjoyed having your thighs wrapped around me on the back of my bike, pushing those perky tits of yours against my back, nuzzling up against me."
The waitress appeared at the end of their table with her tray and carefully slid the plates onto the table. She tossed down a pair of straws and a pile of napkins. Neither Sansa nor Sandor paid the woman much attention as they matched eyes from across the table. It was a deadlock as neither of them broke the stare.
"Don't think I didn't notice that," Sandor continued on a low, sultry voice. "I did. And you better believe I liked it just as much as you."
Despite her mouth hung open, Sansa didn't know what to say or how to respond. Once more, her mind was demanding that she deny it, that she tell him he was insane if he thought she was intentionally doing any of those things, and that she wasn't remotely interested in him. That wasn't the truth, though. And of what little she knew of him, she figured out he could sniff out lies better than most.
On the other hand, she wasn't about to admit that there had been something oddly tantalizing about being so close to him, that instead of being repulsed by all the sexual suggestions he was making, she found herself doting on them more and more, the visuals clear and eliciting her mind to wander to places it hadn't quite been before. She was a good girl, a nice girl. And nice girls didn't entertain the thought of men such as Sandor doing those types of things to them.
The waitress had asked a question. Sansa barely heard her. Without breaking their gaze, Sandor offered a one-word reply that sent the waitress flittering away with a sigh.
Sansa drew in a breath, but said nothing and instead turned her attention to the food in front of her. After slathering her pancakes in the appropriate accoutrements and cutting them into bite-sized pieces, she ate slowly, despite the fact that her stomach had been growling and grumbling all day.
"You never answered my question about what you're studying in school," Sandor finally broke in between bites of bacon that he had been dipping in syrup.
After a delicate dab at the corners of her mouth, Sansa placed her napkin back on her lap and cleared her throat.
"I'm in the pre-vet program," she said, happy that the conversation had returned to being civil. "I want to go to veterinary school."
Sandor shook his head and sipped his orange juice. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at her with a faint smile.
"The little bird wants to save the animals," he commented before taking an oversized bite of pancake. "Now, that's fucking adorable."
Sansa said nothing in response. She didn't offer a polite smile or acquiesce with a quiet sigh. Instead, she picked up her fork and, in deliberate motions, piled pieces of pancake onto the tines. She squeezed her fist around the utensil and rested the bottom against the table as she pulled back on the prongs with her index finger.
Pokerfaced, she matched his eyes, the threat looming should he have more to say, more jokes to make, more mocking to dish out. She may not have crude quips to fire back with, but she had learned a thing or two from Arya. Flinging food was one of them.
Equal parts taken aback and impressed with her call to arms, Sandor relented, his head nodding ever so slightly with what seemed to be approval. Two can play at this game, she thought with a ghost of a smug smile.
"I was kidding," Sandor said. "I respect that. I really like dogs. I've thought about getting one, but being on the road sort of kills the possibility."
Nibbling on the pancake bits still on her fork, Sansa cocked her head to the side with curiosity. He hadn't spoken much about his band. He didn't claim his musicianship like his band mates, parading around as he collected accolades and reveled in the lime light.
"How is it that you're able to be both a mechanic and a guitarist in a metal band?" Sansa asked. She settled back in her seat with a smile and began to relax.
"I'm between tours right now," Sandor explained as he munched on another piece of bacon. "I don't like doing nothing in our downtime, so I work at the shop." He gave a brief pause. "Besides, that's my job. It was what I was doing before Cannibal Star and it's what I'll do after, I'm sure."
"You don't think you'll continue being a musician?" Sansa asked, intrigued now at how he handled his fame. While metal was certainly not the type of music she listened to, Sansa knew enough to know that Cannibal Star wasn't some garage band playing hole-in-the-wall gigs. They had a large fan base that extended well outside Chicago and the Midwest.
"Not forever, no. Music is a young man's game. Unless you're the Rolling Stones, most musicians fade out eventually."
Sansa nodded and bit her bottom lip. She wanted to ask how old he was, but couldn't quite conjure up a way to inquire without sounding rude, at least in her own mind. He was older than her, she knew that for sure, in his early thirties, perhaps. His eyes had drifted to her lips and Sansa realized now that she was staring at him.
"Are you from Chicago?" she asked. Her cheeks flushed again with a familiar burn.
"No, I grew up out West, in California. I moved here after my dad died." Sandor seemed to tense. His jaw set firmly.
Sansa's brows pulled together and she frowned into her juice cup. "I'm so sorry to hear about your dad. What about the rest of your family? Are they still in California?"
Sandor exhaled a mirthless laugh and shook his head. He pushed a lone piece of pancake around his plate, trailing it through a puddle of syrup and melted butter.
"My mom died a few years before my dad. My sister died when she was a little girl. She fell into a storm drain during a heavy rain and drowned. And my brother…"
Sandor gave pause as his features seemed to darken, his eyes hardening as he stared blankly down at his plate.
"Last I heard, he OD'd on heroin a few years ago," Sandor finished, but abruptly dropped his fork to his plate and ran his hand through his hair.
Words fled and Sansa scrambled for something to say, but anything she might offer was poor consolation to what he'd endured.
"Sandor, that's terrible," she finally managed and reached across the table where she rested her hand on top of his. "I don't even know what to say. Sorry hardly seems enough."
"Save it," Sandor cut in sharply. "I could give a fuck about my brother. My parents have been dead a long time. My sister…well…I don't know." His voice trailed off and he shook his head as if driving away unsavory thoughts.
She pulled her hand away and settled it gently in her lap, but Sansa felt a twinge of guilt for having brought up the subject. It was unimaginable to her that anyone would be without a family.
"The food is really good," she commented with a bright smile, deciding it best to change the subject altogether. "I've never had a hangover, but I'll take your word that it's good for that too."
Sandor stared across the table with an incredulous smile forming on his lips.
"Wait. Hold the phone. You're a sorority girl and you've never been drunk before?" He laughed hard and crossed his arms over his chest with his eyes narrowed in disbelief.
"No," Sansa giggled and shook her head. "Not all sorority girls are vapid, drunken morons. Besides, I don't like the taste of most alcohol. My older brothers have made me mixed drinks before, but they're always too strong."
"You've got older brothers too." Sandor sucked in a breath. "Fuck me. I better be on my best behavior then. No more talk of you riding me. At least not around them."
Sansa couldn't help the smile that formed on her lips, no more than she could help herself from laughing along with him now.
"You're unbelievable." She gazed up at him through her lashes.
"If you put out on non-dates, I'd show you how unbelievable I can be," he countered with a wicked grin.
Sansa shot him a chiding look, although it hardly stopped another smile. She was blushing again, she knew, and once more her imagination produced fleeting thoughts and momentary visions of them together: naked, panting, a fine sheen of sweat over their bodies as she straddled him, head thrown back and moaning his name. She had long wondered how pleasurable sex could be. When she would reach between her legs and delicately dip two fingers into herself, she would envision the man she would eventually give herself to and he had always gone faceless. Unexpectedly and against all control, Sandor seemed to have taken this faceless man's place.
"Exactly how many siblings do you have?" Sandor asked, rousing her from her silent musings and Sansa hoped like mad that he couldn't puzzle out her thoughts, although it hardly mattered. He was more than likely thinking the same about her. Now, they were both guilty as charged where that was concerned.
"Umm…I…well," she stammered and pulled in a breath to calm herself. Her skin was hot beneath her sweater. "There's Robb, he's the oldest. He's in law school at Yale. Then there's Jon who is finishing up officer training in the Army. There's Theon who is basically my adopted brother. He's studying at Miami University in Ohio. And when I say studying, I mean partying. You've met Arya. She's two years younger than me and in her senior year of high school. Bran is thirteen and too smart for his own good. Rickon is seven and completely wild but a sweetheart."
When Sansa finished, she took a long pull of her orange juice through her straw.
"Big family," Sandor noted with a slow bob of the head.
"Yes, I'm very fortunate."
"You're from up North, aren't you?" he asked, but seemed to already know the answer.
"I'm from Duluth. I moved here when I was eleven."
"You still have the accent," Sandor remarked with a smirk.
"I know. I hate it," she groaned. Although she knew her Minnesotan accent wasn't as awful as it used to be, she was still self-conscious of the way her vowels rolled off her tongue.
Sandor exhaled a quiet laugh as she lifted her eyes to him. His gaze flickered up and down her form, but this wasn't a leering stare. Instead, there was something almost admiring in the way he regarded her now.
"It's fucking cute," he said and upended the rest of his orange juice. "You wear it well."
The waitress appeared again and pressed the check to the table. She cleared the plates out of the way. Reaching behind to his back pocket, Sandor opened his wallet and handed the waitress a few bills and instructed her to keep the change.
"Thank you. For this and for everything." Sansa offered him a smile and chewed the end of her straw, but let her eyes linger on him. The way he approached her was unorthodox, his blatant innuendos and crude jokes certainly foreign to her. However, beneath all of that, there seemed to be something unconventionally appealing about him, though she couldn't quite place it.
"It's all part of being a gentleman." He shoved his wallet into his back pocket.
Unbidden, Sansa let out an uncouth snort. "I didn't know those existed anymore." Her response came quiet and perhaps even a tad bitter.
"Are the frat boys not proper gentlemen?" Sandor prodded. It sounded like another one of his jokes, his way of mocking her as if she were some sort of caricature of a college sorority girl. When she lifted her eyes to him, though, she found him staring at her with genuine curiosity.
"Not the ones I know. They're more interested in sports and drinking and partying." Now that she thought about it, she didn't quite understand why Margaery and all the other girls were so gaga over the frat boys anyway. Their only redeeming qualities were superficial and had to do with either their looks or how wealthy their families were.
"So the sorority girl isn't interested in the frat boys. Say it ain't so." Amused by Sansa's response, Sandor let out a rumbling laugh.
"I dated a guy from a fraternity. I thought we were perfect together and he was everything I wanted," she confided, although she couldn't quite say why. She didn't speak much of Joffrey and avoided the topic wherever she could. "I couldn't have been more wrong."
Sandor's smile faded as he studied her face intently. "Sometimes people aren't always who they seem to be," he said after a short silence had settled between them.
She couldn't say for sure who exactly he was referring to but Sansa held his stare.
"No, they certainly aren't," she agreed with a small smile gracing her lips. "When we were on the phone, did you really not remember who I was?"
The question came from nowhere. It had lingered in the back of her mind, and she hadn't planned on asking him. It didn't seem to matter to her until now.
Sandor furrowed his brow and stared down into the empty contents of his juice glass, upholding a stoic façade for many long moments before finally breaking with a smile as he lifted his eyes to her.
"You did remember!" Sansa laughed and tossed her wadded up straw wrapper at him and missing him by a good few inches. "You're so rude!"
"And you're so gullible," Sandor countered with a laugh. "Of course, I remembered."
A flush of giddiness came over Sansa at his admission, something she hadn't felt in quite awhile. She had convinced herself and her sorority sisters that she was too busy with school to venture into the dating world. That was only a half-truth, really. The other half was that she had been chasing after a feeling—this feeling—and had turned up empty handed with all the boys who had shown interest in her. It seemed she had found what she was looking for in the most unlikely of places.
"Alright. Let's get you home," Sandor said and scooted out of the booth. Sansa followed and snatched up her book bag before they headed for the parking lot.
Sandor retrieved the extra helmet and placed it on her head. Before she could thank him, though, he pulled the helmet down over her eyes and shot her a playful grin as she pushed it back up, feigning a pout as she buckled the strap underneath her chin.
He settled on the bike and scooted forward to make room for her. She remembered now the remark he made about her pressing herself against him, the way he too acknowledged their close proximity and admitted he enjoyed it.
Despite a subtle chill to the air, Sansa found her sweater was stifling once more and her heart was a steady thrum in her chest. She climbed on the back of the bike and her hands gripped Sandor's shoulders for purchase.
Perhaps out of curiosity or maybe her own brand of deviance, Sansa slowly rolled her hips forward against him. Her legs spread behind him and her thighs pressed against his hips. She let her hands trail from his shoulders down his chest as she wrapped her arms around him. Easing herself forward, Sansa pressed her breasts against his back, writhing a bit as she situated herself comfortably against him.
As soon as her movements stilled, Sandor turned his head to look over his shoulder as he lifted an brow at her in an accusatory stare.
"What? I don't want to fall off!" Sansa protested with an innocent shrug.
"You're a cock tease," Sandor groaned with a frustrated sigh and a shake of his head.
"No, I'm not." Sansa had been called many things in her life, but a cock tease was hardly one of them.
"Well, you're teasing mine."
"Stop it. I am not." Sansa gently swatted his arm and dropped her gaze.
"Don't believe me? Reach down and find out." Sandor flashed a devilish grin before turning around.
He released the kick stand and backed out of the parking spot before firing up the engine.
A small smile crept across Sansa's lips, a secret smile she made sure he didn't see. Surely, she would never be so bold as to grope him, the thought was absurd. Enraptured once more, she pressed ever so slightly against him, clinging onto Sandor as he navigated turns. When they came to stoplights, he would settle back against her, perhaps expecting Sansa to pull away and maintain a modest distance. Instead, she held her place behind him, their bodies flush and warm against one another.
As Sandor pulled in front of her house, Sansa could see her dad was already home, his car parked in the driveway beside her mother's vehicle. Sandor cut the engine and pushed down the kickstand as Sansa slowly maneuvered off the bike.
Sandor turned to sit side saddle and removed his helmet. He wiped at the sweat beading on his brow. Unbuckling her own helmet, Sansa handed it back to him and watched as he replaced it to the seat compartment.
"Nice running into you again, little bird. I'll let you know about your car."
"Thanks," Sansa breathed quietly and shifted from side to side.
For many moments, neither of them said anything. The space between them grew heavy as they exchanged lingering stares with one another. Sandor looked as if he was about to say something and Sansa took a small step towards him. She didn't know how she found the words to broke the silence or what possessed her to blurt them out. Either way, she heard herself saying them before she had a chance to think them over.
"Are we going to keep improvising run-ins or are you going to take me on a proper date?"
She could only fleetingly look him in the eye as she asked. She stared at her shoes and waited for him to speak. When he said nothing, she felt an embarrassed flush hit her cheeks. Before she could backpedal, Sandor settled his hands on her hips and coaxed her towards him.
The flutters in her stomach morphed once more into a sweet ache between her legs now accompanied with a sudden flush of wetness. He gripped her hips as she stood between his legs on either side of her. His fingers brushed beneath her chin and he tipped her head up ever so slightly so that she could meet his eyes.
"There's nothing proper about me, babe," he said on a deep, throaty chuckle. "Yeah, I can arrange something," he nodded with a half-smile. "I have a gig tomorrow night, but Saturday I'm free. I'll pick you up at seven. How's that?"
Sansa bit her lip hard to conceal her delight and nodded. With a groan that seemed to originate in the back of his throat, Sandor's eyes fixated on her lips.
"Goddammit, girl," he breathed with a shake of his head. "Fuck it," she heard him murmur, more to himself than to her. She gave a tiny squeal as he pulled her closer to him, his lips brushing against hers. No sooner had their lips touched than Sansa heard the front door of her house swing open.
Sansa stood up, back abruptly straightening and her eyes widening as a slow panic set in.
"Sansa," her father hollered and dashed onto the porch. She turned over her shoulder as her father's eyes shifted between her and Sandor. Her mother wasn't far behind, falling in next to her dad's side as she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle and stared at Sandor Clegane perched on his bike. Sandor's hands retreated from her hips, but by the look on parents's faces, it appeared his gesture towards discretion was too late.