Chapter Text
Yes, she wants to say. Yes, she’s bloody sure. Yes, because she wants to go home more than she wants her next breath, and a child - his child - is the only way to get there.
“My lady?” Tyrion says, drawing back from her a little. She realizes that her gaping at him in shock over his repeating the question yet again has been taken as not quite a refusal, but close enough. He begins to shift away from her, and her hand grabs at his wrist.
“No!” she hisses. “You can’t leave before you do your duty!”
“My duty?” he repeats, staring at her as if dumbfounded. “Lady Sansa, if you think it is for duty that I wish to bed you…”
She blushes furiously and glares at him. “My lord,” she says stiffly, “I do not care why you wish to, I only care that you do.” Before she can lose her nerve completely, she leans forward and kisses him, bringing a hand to the side of his face, to hold him to her, to make sure he does not escape her lips. She cannot think of anything else to do; she is not bold enough to do anything more daring than kissing him, and she cannot let him get out of this bed.
Only a moment of hesitation holds him back, and then he is kissing her back, more furiously than before, hands in her hair, leaning over her, making her fall back to the bed, his lips firmly attached to hers. “Lady Sansa-”
“Just do it,” she snarls, dragging his lips back to hers, both of her hands now firmly lodged in his hair. He makes a sad laughing sound and kisses down her neck. In only moments, he is dragging his lips away from hers to divest himself of the rest of his clothes, and when he draws back to her, his lips attack her collarbones. His tongue slides across the skin of her chest; his teeth graze lightly across her left nipple, making her shudder and cry out, a wordless, inarticulate sound.
“I am sorry if this hurts you, my lady,” he murmurs into the skin of her breast, just as he thrusts into her and breaks her maidenhead. She makes a choked, pained noise, and he murmurs, into her ear, “I am so sorry, my lady.”
“Just move,” she moans. “Just-” She grimaces. “Please, Tyrion.” Even with her obvious pain, hearing her moan his name in his ear like that makes him snap his hips into her again - and again, at the soft grunt she makes.
“Gods, Sansa,” he mutters, “Gods, you’re so tight-” He sets a hand to the back of her left thigh, bringing her knee higher up, hooking her leg behind him, making her quiet noises of pain turn to a pleasured gasp.
“Oh,” she breathes, “oh, oh, oh!” Without any prompting from him, she brings her other leg around his back, too, making her head fall back in pleasure as his hand reaches between them and rubs circles into her center. “Tyrion!” she cries as she peaks again, vaguely hearing him grunt as he thrusts into her over and over until he stills, forehead pressed into her chest.
Long moments later, when they have both stopped panting, he makes to roll off of her, but she tightens her legs around him and buries a hand in his hair, a smile drifting across her lips as she feels the light kiss he presses to her breastbone.
In the morning, he wakes to find Sansa’s hand pressing into his chest as she shifts back and forth, moaning, brow creased even in sleep.
“My lady?” he says, touching her shoulder lightly. “Sansa?”
“Mmm,” she mumbles. “Yes…” He smiles, thinking she is having a dream about what they did last night, but such thoughts are drowned by her next words: “Father,” she sighs, curling her body further around his. “Mmm… yes… kind… and gentle… ‘nd strong…”
He sighs, hoping that the dream fades from her mind when she wakes, for while he will gladly console her again over her father’s death, it is not exactly how he had imagined spending his first day of marriage, and he would rather spare her the pain. “Oh, Sansa,” he murmurs, sitting up and taking her hand in his, stroking his other hand over her silky red hair.
“Father, he… good… not like…Joffrey…” Her brow is crinkled deeper now, and his heart aches at how much pain she has already gone through in her short life. “Like… him…” his wife mumbles, “keep… go home…”
Leaning down to kiss her forehead, he brings his hand from her hair to her cheek, stroking her cheekbone as his lips touch her forehead.
Her eyes flutter open and she blinks up at him, face still relaxed with slumber for several long moments - and then she blinks twice, very fast, and her expression closes, becoming guarded and tense. “Lo- Tyrion?” she says softly, bringing a hand up to his cheek, smiling a little tremulously, tilting her chin up in a clear invitation; he leans down and presses his lips to hers. The kiss is gentle, soft, and she seems almost nervous, which confuses him at first, until he remembers that this is all new to her.
“Are you… sore at all, my lady?” he asks carefully, watching as confusion passes over her face before she blushes bright red and looks away from him. “Sansa, I need you to tell me.” He tries to make his voice firm but still gentle, though how well he succeeds… based on the way she flinches a little, his voice did not cooperate. Squeezing her hand, he adds, “Please, Sansa. If you are still sore from last night, I won’t touch you again this morning. I don’t want to harm you, ever.”
Her expression shutters, and she looks away from him. “I feel fine, Tyrion,” she says, looking back up at him and taking a deep breath. “Please, I-” Words seem to fail her, and she mouths wordlessly for a moment before sighing in defeat. Instead of words, she chooses action, and reaches up again, sliding her fingers into his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and tries to pull him down to her. He only resists for a moment before giving in and kissing her deeply, licking at her bottom lip.
She makes a small noise of surprise, and he pauses, stilling, but then she parts her lips and allows him entry. Her head tilts back as he slides a hand up her side, brushing against the side of her breast.
As he kisses her and strokes gentle fingers across her breasts, barely touching her skin, she brings her other hand to his chest, then slides it down his side to his hip, where she pauses for a moment before grasping his cock. He groans into her mouth, cannot help the little thrust he makes, though he winces, hoping it will not put her off.
“Please,” she whispers, “Tyrion…” She parts her legs just a little, but enough for him to recognize the invitation; he moves to kneel between her legs.
Groaning into the soft skin of her breast as she wraps one leg, then both, around his hips and tries to pull him closer to her, he brings a hand down to check how wet she is. Rather less than he had hoped, given how seemingly enthusiastic she is acting. He would prefer that she be far more aroused than she is, so he circles his thumb around her clit and takes one of her nipples between his teeth, remembering that she had enjoyed that the night before. She gasps, and he raises his head to see that she has tilted her own back nearly as far as it can go and is making little broken moaning noises.
When he judges that she is aroused enough for him to enter her, he brings his hand away from her center - she lifts her head and frowns at him - to guide his cock into her. She looks up at him, meeting his eyes as he slides home. Her ankles cross behind his back, and she tightens her legs around him, bringing a hand to his head and combing her fingers through his hair.
The intensity in her eyes is too much for him; he groans and drops his forehead to her breastbone, presses his lips against her skin. She makes little breathy noises with each of his thrusts, and too soon he feels his peak approaching.
Stilling inside her, he brings his hand back to her center and strums his fingers across her clit. “My- Tyrion?” she says, sounding confused. “Why did you stop?”
Lifting his head, he replies, “Because this would be over rather faster than I think either of us would prefer if I had not.” She still looks confused, though, so he punctuates his words with a little thrust of his hips — that he cannot really help — that presses him even deeper inside her. Circling his thumb around her clit again makes her take in a sharp breath and give him a little whimpering sound. He groans, pressing his forehead against her chest, in response to the sound, which has brought him even closer to the edge than before; he does not want to come until she has peaked around him again. It felt utterly divine last night, and he is eager to repeat the experience.
He redoubles his efforts, concentrating on the tight circles his thumb is making around her clit. “Oh- mmm- oh!” she cries as she clenches around him. Her toes curl against the back of his thigh. “Mm- Tyrion, why aren’t you moving?” she complains. “Please, I need-” Her voice falls away with a choked sound as he begins thrusting inside her again, encouraged by both her words and the faint fluttering sensation around his cock. She only moans quietly as she comes, and he looks up to see that she is biting down on her lower lip, stifling herself. The sight of her face, screwed up with pleasure, tips him over the edge, and he spends inside her with a loud, low grunt.
When his head stops spinning with to pleasure, he groans and kisses Sansa’s breastbone; her fingers are combing through his hair, nails scratching his scalp lightly.
Pushing up on his elbows, he murmurs, “I thought I told you I want to hear the lovely noises you make,” his voice mild.
Before she can reply, the door opens without any warning. Sansa squeaks with fright, and he glares harshly at the maid who is now gaping at them.
“Out!” he roars. “Get out!” The girl, now looking terrified, nods and turns quickly, shutting the door behind her. He can hear muttering from the other side of it, however, so clearly she is reporting on what she saw to whoever is in the hall. He would not put it past his father to have the maid burst in, and the thought of it makes him glare at the door.
When he looks back at Sansa, brow still furrowed with displeasure, she flinches a little, and he makes an effort to smooth out his face. “Tyrion, I’m sure she didn’t mean to… interrupt us,” she says, voice a little tremulous.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he replies. “Either way, I am sorry that she startled you.”
Sansa stifles a snort. “It’s hardly your fault,” she mutters. “It’s not like you asked for her to come in — it’s not like she knocked!” She huffs with annoyance. “Really, Tyrion, she should have knocked. It’s the morning after our wedding night. Shouldn’t she have known that something like this might be happening?”
She shifts underneath him, and he realizes that he is still inside her, that he was still inside her when he yelled for the maid to get out of their room. However, taking her again just now, even though he could, would not be mannerly. She must be sore, he thinks; she was certainly a maiden before last night. He really should have a hot bath called for. If only that dratted maid had entered the room two minutes later!
Pulling back from her, he notices a glimmer of a grimace flicker across her face and kicks himself for being such a lust-filled little beast. She was sore from last night, and he should have held off from fucking her this morning.