Chapter 7: Epilogue
Sansa peeked through the backstage curtains of Olenna Tyrell’s Late Night Talk Show, doing her best to get a sense for the studio crowd. It was a standing room only kind of situation. Those who had gotten tickets early were cozy in their plush seats. Those who had come late were standing in the back and all through the aisles. They were a mixed lot, Sansa could see it already from the clothing that they wore and the way they carried themselves. ‘A different sort of audience to be sure,’ the young model grinned.
Olenna had been a fascite of late night shows since before Sansa was born. In fact few could remember a time when the Queen of Thorns had not been beamed to their TV screens. Smirking to herself, Sansa found it interesting that a loyal contingent of old ladies was there to support their favorite talk show host. ‘They surely have no idea what the topic of discussion is going to be tonight,’ she paused at this thought. ‘And if they do, then those are some pretty randy grannies.’ The very idea made her giggle to herself.
Interspersed between the elderly women were a huge amount of metalheads. Their dark makeup, long hair, and black painted nails surely bristling against the social norms of the other 40% of the crowd. Sansa stifled a laugh to see a fat, curly, white haired lady sitting next to a rather large, dark haired young man with a pentical on his shirt and “FUCK THE KING” written in bold gothic letters across it. Certainly there were several worlds colliding in the studio tonight, and that would make their interview all the more interesting.
So much had happened since the release of Playgirl six months ago, that Sansa felt a lifetime had flashed before her eyes. She and Sandor were the hottest couple in Westeros, their desire to live outside of the public eye made them even more sought after. It was difficult to run to the store for bread or go to a low key restaurant without being overrun with paparazzi. As a child, Sansa had dreamed of that sort of fame. Looking glamorous and constantly being in the public eye had been her measure of ‘making it’ in her industry. The reality of living ‘that life’, however, had changed her views on the subject dramatically.
As predicted, Sansa’s bold move to feature in Playgirl had changed her career trajectory fundamentally. No longer “that pretty redhead at the back of the shoot,” she had her pick of jobs quickly developing a discerning taste for what she wanted to do. The newest, freshest face on the island was being called upon for everything from high fashion shoots to selling healthy cereal. It was an overwhelming experience and she was relieved that she didn’t have to go through it alone.
A gentle squeeze on her hand made Sansa look back over her shoulder and smile. Sandor stood there anxiously revving himself up as he did before all his live interviews. Despite his confident, at ease stage persona the gigantic frontman often battled his inner demons before submitting himself to the public eye. If there was one thing Sansa had learned through becoming famous herself, it was that people took as much as you gave them. For a man like Sandor, who would not be happy with anything less than bearing his entire soul on stage, interviews and performances took their toll.
The burned side of his mouth twitched a bit, one of the few signs of his insecurity. There was a beauty in his meekness, a tenderness that he gave willingly to those close to him. Few knew this more sensitive side of Sandor Clegane. Though he did not look it, the Mad Dog of Metal was an artist at heart. The uncertainty that plagued him was the fuel he used to perfect his craft. The detail oriented, hardworking musician who worked tirelessly with the band to fulfill his masterful vision was not part of his aggressive, anarchist stage persona.
Most saw the tougher, harder exterior of the Heavy Metal singer. He was the total embodiment of his musical genre. A man who’d lived a hard life and captured those defining experiences in relatable, against the social norm type of songs. On stage and in public he was the most confident version of himself, unafraid of what others said or thought about him. It was an alluring persona, one that attracted those who would want to feed from it. Hence it wasn’t difficult for Sansa to understand why he did his best to shut others out. His dry and penetrating sense of humor was often misunderstood, or purposefully misconstrued to fit the media’s idea of him. The outspoken, imposing frontman welcomed such things, spat in the face of the system.
But it all had a price. Fame had a price, and both of them were well aware of the costs. Though that didn’t make it easy all the time.
Sansa leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, “I’ll do most of the talking.”
Sandor smirked, his finger stroked the side of her face. They were alone back there, no stage hands around to bother them, no fans clawing for an autograph. There was no doubt in her mind that he reveled in these quiet times, particularly when they could be stolen in this way--right before they were about to expose themselves to their adoring fans.
An idol finger ran over her knuckles and Sansa’s heart swelled. There was no other way to describe Sandor Clegane other than full on 150% of the time. While that may have frightened some girls, or possibly scared them off, she had matched his vigor with a passion of her own. Some friends had told her something that burned so hot was destined to fizzle out quickly. But they did not know him, and even then, they could not comprehend this wicked crazy love they shared.
Sansa heard their que, “Now, introducing the hottest couple in Westeros. The ones we’ve all seen but barely heard a word from since their record smashing spread in Playgirl. Let’s welcome...well can I say that on a late night talk show?” The crowd laughed as Olenna stoked their need to see the pair, “Let’s hear it for Fuck the King’s Sandor Clegane and super model Sansa Stark.”
The audience went wild with wolf whistles, claps, cheers, all of it. Inhaling, Sansa guided Sandor by the hand from between the curtains, her signature smile plastered on her face. A pair of high heels, reminiscent of those she had worn at the shoot adorned her feet. Her jeans were ripped and she wore a low cut tank top with ‘Starsera’, a rival band, splashed across her chest. Sansa’s hair was long and flowy, her face dolled up.
They were not more than six steps across the stage when she felt Sandor pull her toward him, smoothly jerking her backwards. Their bodies met roughly, and he dipped her back into an old Hollywood style, penetrating kiss. Her fingers tangled themselves immediately into his long dark hair, returning his passionate attack on her lips with one of her own. This was the frontman in him. That part of her partner that was happy to perform for the crowd--albeit at a distance.
The room erupted at their long, drawn out, breathless little show. Sandor nipped at her bottom lip, happy to smudge her lipstick across his own teeth. He had a wicked grin on his face. Sansa smirked sheepishly in response, nearly able to read his mind. Finally sitting down on the couch next to Olenna’s desk, Sansa felt the heat in her cheeks. Interviews always made her nervous, and such a public display of affection only upped the ante.
Settling into their seats, Sansa was pleased that they did not have to break their physical connection. Her right hand was still in his, their fingers laced together. It was a nervous habit of Sandor’s, as if her closeness gave him the energy he needed to face the often very personal questions that made him the most uncomfortable. In truth, they both leaned on one another, even if it wasn’t obvious to the crowd.
Turning her attention to Olenna, the young model could sense the late night talk show host wasn’t thrilled at being upstaged. Yet, when the audience did finally calm itself, she put on her best front, “Well, you two young pups know how to make an entrance.”
Sandor adjusted himself in his seat, ankle over his knee leaning back effortlessly on the studio’s low backed couch. “Just wanted to remind all those little pricks wanking to my girl out there who daddy is.” His voice low and gravily, a self-satisfied grin spread across his iconic face.
Sansa laughed at his joke, along with their supporters in the crowd. If there was one thing her lover enjoyed doing, it was getting under the skin of the people around him. Watching them pique at his little masquerade just to see who truly knew him and who did not.
Olenna didn’t get it, clearly. Though she hid the horror on her face well, Sansa could see judgement in her eyes.
“So,” the older late night talk show host began, “before we get to the real reason you’re here, let’s talk about what’s been going on since the infamous shoot. Sansa, you’ve really catapulted to the head of the modeling industry,” Sansa could detect the slight jealousy in Olenna, if not solely based on the fact she’d toppled her granddaughter from her pedestal. Sandor noticed it too, his hand squeezing hers, his eyes darting to the old lady aggressively.
Sansa answered the question with grace, “Yeah well, I’ve been on the cover of Rollingstone and Vogue.” There was clapping, “Done a couple of fashion shows…”
“That’s right you’re the new face of Lady Ros’ Latex,” the old woman pried.
The Queen of Thrones was trying to maneuver Sansa in a corner. Doing her best to pull the model off guard by saying something racy about her career. As if walking the runway for a high fashion fetish label lessened her career after a full nude shoot in Playgirl. Sansa stopped herself from shaking her head outright, and took a breath to steady her flash of anger.
“Yes,” Sansa answered calmly, but that would not be enough for Sandor.
The dark frontman piped up, “And why aren’t we all in latex? Shit I ain’t got a problem with assless pants for all.” That got a laugh from the crowd, and Sandor waited until they calmed down to continue. “But seriously, since Sansa became the face of Lady Ros, artists like Lady Gaga started calling Ros up for fittings, even some of the royal family.”
It was true, Sansa had increased brand awareness and made it ok for good girls to go out in or perform in latex. In choosing to work with Ros Sansa had balked against the grain and it had paid off big again. Of course there was criticism of her choices, you couldn’t be in the public eye without negativity. Yet the very idea of being ambushed on a late night talk show, on a subject you weren’t really there to speak about, made the young model flush red in her cheeks.
Doing her best to pick up the conversation and not give their hostile host an edge, ““I’ll be in the Pirelli calendar next year AND I’ve been doing some work for free to up and coming Heavy Metal groups who need a face for their album covers or music videos. If I can help them make their break, I’m happy to do it.” Sansa could feel Sandor’s breath on her knuckles, and she turned to meet his eyes. He loved the work that she did for younger bands, even if he feigned jealousy at the racy covers they sometimes wanted for their albums. Another part of his uber masculine stage persona.
“Is it true you passed up the Lannister’s offer to have you as the face of their beauty brand?” Olenna asked, a scandalized sound to her voice. It was unheard of to deny a Lannister anything, their family name and business were legendary in Westeros.
“Yes,” Sansa said, leaving the crowd to imagine the rest of the story.
Sandor lifted his lips from the back of her hand, “The whole lot of’em are cunts.” The frontman’s contingent in the audience howled in approval of his words. Ever since the Playgirl interview, the singer had not kept his disdain for Tyrion Lannister a secret. Likewise, Sansa’s experience with Cersei and Jamie had left her loath to fall prey to their offers.
Being quite surprised by his colorful language, the host moved to Sandor. “And you, Sandor, your band is doing a huge part of the soundtrack to one of Guy Richie’s new movies?” The host’s tone of voice implied surprise that a Heavy Metal band would be the music of choice for such a high end production.
At that the hulking singer nodded, “Yeah. I approached him a couple of months ago with some ideas for fight sequence music, because I’d heard he was making a movie on Duncan the Tall. The guys and I wanted to be in on it.”
“Well you definitely look like a mixture of Duncan the Tall and the Warrior,” there were some female howls that emanated from the audience at the host’s remarks. Sansa could sense Sandor’s annoyance at the refocus from his music to his body. It was the way he wiggled his nose in frustration but smiled and chuckled anyway.
“There’s also a new album on the horizon,” Sansa threw out there, trying to draw the conversation back to the topic that would make her dark lover more comfortable. The surprise of the crowd was pretty clear, Sandor had never written an album so quickly in all his life. A testament to her abilities as a muse he would always say, snuggling her neck as he did so in their cozy lakeside home.
Sandor chuckled, while Olenna played shocked. Surely the late night talkshow host had never listened to a proper Fuck the King song in her life. “It’s been four years since your, uh, band released an album. Tell us more.”
‘At least she’s done her research,’ Sansa thought squeezing Sandor’s hand as if her thoughts could be transmitted through the act.
“The album’s called, ‘Oh Maiden May I?’ and it’s gonna come out at the end of the year.” There was a huge applause, while the older women looked dismayed. It was a line taken right from the Maiden’s Prayer, the way a young woman might ask the goddess for guidance and protection. For the most pious among them, a man even the uttering of such words would be seen as sacrilegious. Combine that with Sandor’s reputation and he might as well have just told the gods to fuck off.
“Well that’s quite a title for an album. The High Septon, in all his wisdom,” her voice was sarcastic, “would probably take issue with that one.”
Sandor let her words sink in for the crowd a bit, “Well...the High Septon,” he pointed out with his free hand to the crowd as he might while performing with his band. The crowd filled in all together, “and the King can fuck right off.” Sansa threw her head back in a huge smile, while Sandor nodded confidently, proud of his fans.
“Well, young man, I’m sure his excellency will have something to say on the matter. Which will inevitably drive up your record sales,” the slight by the Queen of Thorns was quick, but she had not reckoned that Sandor was in his element.
“Whether that old son of a bitch listens to the song or not, that isn’t the point. Rather, it’s capturing that fact that some of us find our true sexuality in goddess worship,” Sandor’s voice held back his anger, but only just.
Olenna laughed, “Are you telling me the Mad Dog of Metal has become a pious man?”
Sandor nodded, “Uh, huh.”
Grinning to herself Sansa nestled in, knowing good and well Sandor had planned to make the old talk show hostess as uncomfortable as possible.
“I do my prayers morning, noon, and evening when I’m home. I’m a pious motherfucker if there ever was one.” That devil’s grin meant Sansa wasn’t going to like what came out of his mouth next. And yet, she couldn’t wait to see the expression on the Queen of Thorns' face either.
“Explain, young man.”
“I wake up before dawn to watch the sunrise over my goddess,” Sandor kissed Sansa’s fingertips as he did so. “Then I get her her coffee and her fruits, make sure she’s comfortable.”
He was referring to a very known ritual, giving offerings to the gods. Often drinks and fruits were given in the morning, bread in the afternoon, and sweets in the evening. If one had an alter in their own home that is. Olenna didn’t seem to understand it wasn’t a statue at their home, but rather Sansa herself. The young model could feel her cheeks heat up red, not from embarrassment but because Sandor’s gaze was that of a man who wanted nothing more than to make love to her as often as he could.
Lips brushed past her fingertips, his breath warm on her knuckles. “Then before lunch, I get on my knees in front of her and pray again.” Sansa smiled big as Sandor’s lips met the underside of her wrists. If the talk show host had not gotten the double meaning of his words by now, a few of their followers in the crowd certainly had. Sandor had such a feral look in his eyes as he replayed their countless sexual encounters in his mind. He’d long stopped focusing on their hostess, his grey eyes looking only into Sansa’s.
There was a long pause, one might even call it a dramatic one before he shifted his gaze back to Olenna, then said in a very deadpan way, “ Maybe for an hour, maybe more. Red-heads are so fuckin’ demanding.”
An audience member whistled and Sandor pointed to him, “He knows what I’m talking about.” There were some claps from their contingent in the studio and their talk show host finally seemed to have made the parallel.
“I see,” Olenna said, trying to make light of the topic whilst trying to figure out Sandor’s dirty and dry sense of humor. “So let’s talk about the infamous shoot.” A subject change, a clear indication that they had successfully dodged the prying questions into their private life.
“For those of you who haven’t seen it,” the cover photo of Playgirl magazine came up on a big screen so the audience could see it, “then you’ve had your head in the sand.”
There was clapping and both she and Sandor smiled. This by no means meant the interview was over and would be easy, but they had a better idea of where they would be questioned. Neither she nor Sandor had talked much to the press since their status as a couple had been established. They largely shunned the public eye, but also their final agreement with Tyrion had tied their hands with regard to talking about certain aspects of what had taken place on that fateful day.
Sansa grinned to herself. Oberyn’s slip up had given them the leverage to demand more money based on the pictures they controlled. She and Sandor chose the pictures, and demanded a cut of the profits. Both sides benefitted, the racier the photos the more likely the profits from the usage of these pictures would be higher. However they were not allowed to talk about the deal, the magazine’s indiscretions, and only until now about the shoot at all. It had been worth it, the mystery that had surrounded the shoot and the sexual intensity of the photos had only made more copies of the failing magazine fly off the shelf.
“Let’s get right to the good stuff,” the old lady had recovered some of her stage presence as the next picture flashed on the screen. It was a picture of Sandor in the old cadillac, laying down in the front seat, jeans over his hips and a raging erection in his hand. “These photos, young man, have given me feelings I haven’t had in decades. Does anybody else feel that way?” That elicited a laugh from the crowd on all sides. Sansa looked around through the bright hot glow of the lights and couldn’t tell exactly who was laughing, she was just happy it took the tension out of their discussion.
“I mean, look at this body ladies and gentleman, he’s the Warrior in the flesh.” Olenna knew the comparison to the god of war was something that was often said about Sandor, and it was one he hated. While he wasn’t afraid to mosh with the best of them, or use his size to intimidate, he preferred the comparison to no god at all. Sandor exhaled annoyed.
The screen began to flash a few photos of Sansa on her own from the shoot. A close-up of her dousing herself in vodka, lips parted in that classic “party girl” manner. Then another of her body on the bed, finally ending with the famous close up of Sandor’s fingers buried in her pussy. The shot was cropped close, only the heart shape of her bum and the back of her legs taking up the majority of the frame. Sandor’s iconic tattooed forearm snaked around from the side, two large digits buried in her wetness. Her lips were spread wide for the camera, Sansa’s body obviously straining to contain him. The lens picked up everything, almost in micro fashion. The smoothness of her skin, the hairs on his arm, the wetness of her aching sex. It was certianly erotic, not to mention akward to be sitting at an interview with that plastered and left on the big screen.
“Is it true that Sandor picked you out from a catalogue of models? Or was there a closed audition? Or both?” The question nearly knocked Sansa off her chair. There was a piercing way to how the Queen of Thorns asked her question. Any way you answered you lost.
Before Sansa could gain her composure, Sandor had begun to speak. He sat up to his full height and turned his face directly to their host. “Now hold on. That’s a fuckin’ sexist way to say it.”
“Oh really?” The old lady shot back, tasting blood.
“You make it sound like I picked from a menu of girls until I found the one that turned me on the most. And that’s just not fuckin’ right.” The God of Metal made no efforts to hide his anger. As such Sansa could feel how his mere tone made the hairs on her neck stand on end.
More photos of them flashed on the big screen. Sexual and nearly explicit in nature. All of them had been agreed upon by Sansa, Sandor, and the magazine -- but they were played at the most uncomfortable moment. A carefully staged dance choreographed to make Sandor look worse than he was. It made her angry, which meant her lover was livid.
“I heard you went through quite a lot of look books before you found a girl who turned you…” the old woman began.
“...no, you let me finish.” Sandor raised his finger as if to shush her like a child. It so took the old woman aback that she actually did stop talking long enough for Sandor to continue unimpeded.
“If you want to levy judgement on the modeling industry, of which your granddaughter is a part...a big part, be my guest. It basically trades young women and men for some made up value based on culturally derived beauty standards.” There were some whistles of support from the in studio crowd. “I did find Sansa in one of these agency look books, it’s true. Shit, I’d never seen a woman so beautiful and was too chicken-shit to call her myself.”
Sansa leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. In their time together Sandor had never recounted this side of the story to her. There was a sweetness to it that was so characteristically him that it had not surprised her. He continued after the crowd settled down, “Even then, I could have just shown up to the shoot, taken my clothes off and waited to see what happened. But I didn’t. I took the time to get to know Sansa first. I wanted her to be comfortable. I mean...my beautiful mug isn’t for everybody.”
At that the crowd clapped, some whistled their support. One chick even yelled out, “You’re a fuckin’ sexy man!” from the audience. Sansa smiled because she hated when he was so negative about his looks. He was sexy from the way he looked to many musical talents, Sandor Clegane was the full package.
Olenna, seeing she would get nowhere, tried to regain a bit of control. “And was there a connection?” She asked.
“I bloody fell in love with her,” Sandor kissed Sansa’s hand, while she blushed.
The talk show host let the crowd have their moment, but then she struck again. “So it’s true what the rumors say, that you were intimate on set?”
Some of their more explicit shots graced the screen. The one that stayed up was of her riding Sandor, back arched back at a nearly impossible angle as she came. There was no visible penetration, but the look in his eyes and the passion etched on her face had inspired some very interesting internet memes. Aside from that, it had become one of the most iconic, raw, nude shots between two celebrities.
“Does it really matter whether we were or not? It’s about these feelings these photos inspire.” Sansa answered, feeling more confident the stronger Sandor gripped her hand. “When I look at them, it’s like we’re writing a love letter to one another from beginning to end. Instead of words it's written in eye contact, in a smile shared between two budding lovers. If we had wanted to sell this magazine based on pure sex, it would not have been as popular. What I don’t see up there is the last photo in the set,” the model pointed out.
A few seconds passed, and then finally the final shot of the magazine ermerged. It was by far one of her favorites, and graced a prominent wall in their home. A wide shot in black and white, Sansa was wrapped in a blanket sitting across Sandor’s lap. His legs were in different positions, one straight and the other bent to the side, Sansa’s bum nestled in between them covering his manhood from view. The musculature of the singer’s arms looked amazing, particularly because he was holding her so lovingly. The contrast of tough masculinity and a man in love with his partner was so well communicated, that it always gave Sansa tears of joy in her eyes. They nuzzled one another so affectionately here that there was no reason to doubt they had fallen hard for one another.
“True,” the old woman agreed. “What did your parents think of this whole thing?” The question was not unexpected.
“Fuck the King is playing at my mother’s benefit concert in Winterfell this year. The tickets go on sale next Sunday. Sandor and I will be there to meet and greet you, then sit back for a kick ass concert with some songs from the new album.” Sansa had been ready for this question, and adeptly avoided having to discuss the tension between Sandor and her parents. They were warming up to him, but slowly.
When the crowd erupted, Sandor leaned into Sansa’s ear. “I love you,” he whispered.
Sansa kissed him, not caring for Olenna’s outro. “And that’s all the time we have. You heard it yourself, buy the reprint of Playgirl magazine and see these two in person in Winterfell. Thank you and good night!” The stage lights dimmed and Sansa felt Sandor relax, their lips still locked in an endless, wonderful kiss.
“Ohhhhhhh, YES!” Sansa’s screams of pleasure permeated the small dressing room that had been hastily put together on the field in front of Winterfell Castle. In the late summer and early autumn, there were always music festivals and benefit concerts held on its endless green grasses. Tonight Fuck the King would play for her mother’s chairty to improve the life of Wildlings. While it seemed reasonable to do such an event given their relationship status, it had been a long road to acceptance in Sansa’s family for the tall, dark, and controversial Sandor Clegane.
In truth Sansa had stopped counting the number of times she and her mother had fought over what was right in her life. Arguments like, “You’re both too different,” and, “Can you trust him to be faithful?” had fallen on deaf, angry ears. Unlike her sister, Sansa had always been the good girl, doing what she could to please her parents at every turn. While this way of being had paid her dividends as a child, it had not helped her into adulthood. The Playgirl photoshoot had been her first, and extremely public, act of defiance. A step toward a mental and emotional independence she never realized she needed. It had felt great, better than great.
“FUCK ME!,” she found herself yelling loud enough for anybody passing by the door to hear. Sansa was bent over the makeup counter, her thighs tight against its edge, her hand bracing against the lightbulb infused mirror. There were few things she liked more than watching Sandor express his passion for her through sex. The way he bit his bottom lip while taking her from behind, his massive hands gripping her hips tightly, his gorgeous hair sliding over his shoulders with each thrust.
He’s so incredibly beautiful and he doesn’t even know it.
Her free hand reached behind her, gripping his bare ass. The Heavy Metal singer’s jeans had slipped half way down his bum in all the excitement allowing her to feel the warmth of his skin on her hands. Sensing her intense need for more, Sandor leaned over and whispered in her ear,”I love it when you talk dirty to me, you wild bitch.” His growl made her giggle, his knees forced her legs open wider, his hands landed on either side of the makeup counter next to her. Their eyes locked on one another’s in the mirror. The intimacy between them was so strong and powerful that it made her moan all the more. Sansa loved him. It was a deep burning kind of love that she knew came once in a lifetime if you were lucky.
The frontman used his height difference to thrust deep inside of her, teasing Sansa’s womb every chance he got. He knew very well what she liked, and was loath to deny her anything -- especially when they made love. There was a knock on the door, “Clegane, it’s showtime.”
“I’ll come when I’m good and damn ready to,” he shouted back, never breaking stride. Sansa looked over her shoulder and grinned at the obvious double meaning of his words.
Sandor stole a kiss, and Sansa melted into him. Moans, gasps, the pulsating of her hungry pussy. It was all so much to take in at once. “They’re calling my name,” he gasped into her ear. It was true, she could hear the chanting of the crowd over the sound of her body smacking into the makeup counter. The band had already setup and were waiting for him. That was the only reason such calls would be made.
I’ve made him more than late, Sansa realized.
The Heavy Metal singer leaned in again, nipping at her ear, “But all I wanna do is hear you come,” he emphasized the last couple of words with some rather pointed thrusts. Then he slowed allowing her to feel every bit of his throbbing manhood. It would be the death of her.
“Oh, Sandor by the gods, by the….” with that Sansa tipped her head back the sound of her release filling the small room. Her body felt suddenly light, her legs weak, his cock nearly pushed out by the strength of her release. The young model found herself gasping for air, her body at the height of its sensitivity. Sandor could play her better than his guitar, and that was saying something.
A satisfied growl escaped her lips, Sansa knew he’d follow quickly behind her, He loves it when I let go for him, give him everything.
Suddenly Sansa felt the weight of her partner while he lurched forward, finding his release. Both of Sandor’s arms wrapped around her body, while her pussy milked him dry. She could feel his burnt cheek on her shoulder, and warm kisses on her skin. They could take only a few short moments to enjoy the afterglow of their spontaneous sex session. The crowd was growing more impatient and Tormund had begun banging his drum in frustration. Reluctantly Sandor removed himself from her heat, making her feel empty. It didn’t matter how often they coupled, her body always stretched deliciously tight around him.
Allowing him a moment to find his feet Sansa turned, her bum resting against the edge of the destroyed makeup counter. The sated model dragged her skinny jeans up from around her ankles and pulled them over her hips. By the time she looked up from pants, Sandor had already zipped himself up and was fidgeting with his belt.
Those scratch marks are going to be visible from the back row, Sansa lifted an eyebrow as Sandor turned in search of his shirt. Her nails had broken skin, but her man revelled in such things. He wore their love marks as a badge of honor, particularly when he threw his T-shirt into the crowd.
“You’ll be in the wings with your sister, right?” He asked, pulling his T-Shirt over his head and straightened his pants, a half erection still visible against the tight fabric.
There was a twinge of nervousness to his voice Sansa had not expected. Yet, when she considered what it could mean, she didn’t blame him either. Tonight Fuck the King were playing some songs from their new album for the first time, and on top of that they had a new bassist. Being the perfectionist he was, Sansa could only imagine the pressure he felt to get it right.
“Of course,” she smiled, bouncing over to where he stood. “You’ll be wonderful as always,” she smiled and kissed him on the cheek, doing what she could to reassure him.
There was a flicker of something she didn’t quite recognize in the frontman’s eyes, but it vanished quickly. “Mother and father will be listening from their box atop the battlements,” she said, then thought better of it. Sandor’s sarcastic grin reminded her of the tension he felt with her mother. “Sorry,” she muttered, her cheeks flushing more than she would have liked.
Sandor drew an idol finger down her face with a conciliatory grin. Then he abruptly turned to exit the room and make his way on stage. As she quickly fixed her makeup and hair Sansa could hear his deep, distinctive voice rumble over the sound system, “Winterfel!! Are you ready?!”
Sansa smiled, having him play a benefit concert for her mother’s charity had been his idea, a way to offset her mother’s less than warm welcome to the family. It had taken some time but her parents had slowly accepted him, which was more than she could ask for. Her brothers all got on well with Sandor and had found some common ground. It was Arya and Sandor, however, who got on like a house on fire. Her sister had even managed to finagle guitar lessons out of him, giving the two of them even more reasons to share their quick wit and dirty sense of humor.
Sansa finished straightening her makeup and made her way to stage left. “It took you two long enough. Did you ever think about waiting until after the show?” Arya huffed, rolling her eyes at her sister playfully and turning them back to Fuck the King.
All the young model could do was grin, “Some things just can’t wait.”
Arya only shook her head and laughed, raising her arm at just the right moment in the chorus of the song Sandor was singing. Sansa put her arm around her sister and held her close. It was nice to share this with her, Sandor and a love for his music had brought them together after a long time adrift. He’s the gift that keeps on giving, Sansa knew this even if it wasn’t immediately obvious to her parents .
“This song is from the new album,” Sandor’s voice was sure and steady. Sansa couldn’t stop smiling just looking at him, illuminated by the hot stage lights. “It’s called ‘Maiden May I?’ It’s about a pubescent girl who realizes, while worshipping the goddess of innocence and beauty, that her love goes far beyond pure piety.” A lascivious grin flashed across the notorious frontman’s face.
The crowd roared at the very idea of the song, which surprised Sansa little. The Old Gods were the proper deities here, few cared for what the New Gods had to say. That was why the more sacrilegious a song was, the better. The song kicked off with a killer drum solo and the moshers went to work throwing themselves at one another to the hectic beat.
“This album is already so good, it might even be better than the last one!” Arya yelled over the booming sound of the music and the cheers of the crowd.
“You think?” Sansa yelled back, thrashing her hair to the music.
Her sister merely nodded, her eyes alight with the excitement of being even more VIP than the VIPs. Their position on stage was a coveted one, and it brought Sansa back to the evening she first met the Mad Dog of Metal. A smile crept across her lips while she watched Sandor doing what he did best, giving himself to the crowd. Long dark hair whipped around his neck and shoulders, his hands moved like lightning across his favorite guitar. His masterful guitar playing didn’t go unnoticed by the crowd, which cheered in adoration.
They are so entertaining, she smiled to herself. The deep growl of their music, the band’s meticulous attention to detail, the smoke and pyrotechnics on stage. It was no accident Fuck the King was so popular in the metal scene and beyond. Their stage presence captured your attention and didn’t let go. The icing on the cake, as the song hit its crescendo, were the thousands of flower petals that fell from above on the band and the moshers. They fluttered down like feathers, blanketing everything in view.
White roses were the sacrificial flower of the Maiden -- a show of her piety. It was a beautiful addition to the show and a total middle finger to the High Septon. Sansa had been the one to suggest such a touch to Sandor, admitting in the dead of night that she would take great joy in watching him covered in white rose petals. He had nibbled her neck then, and thanked her thoroughly for the fantastic idea. Now, as if to tease her further, the hulking frontman tore his shirt off, and held his arms out to welcome the shower of white petals. It was a photo worthy sight, one that merged the Maiden with the dark frontman on stage. Turning his head to where he knew Sansa to be, Sandor winked then threw the sweaty piece of cotton into the crowd. The sound of women screaming became louder against the Heavy Metal music, and a small shoving contest broke out where the famed singer’s shirt had landed.
He’s gorgeous, a thousand times better than the Warrior ever could be, Sansa grinned, appreciating his ripped body in the strong light of the stage.
The song ended and the whole outdoor arena went black. From where they stood Arya and Sansa could see the mass of chaos of stage hands ensuring the lighting was in the right position and that everybody was in their place. The rose petals had introduced an additional difficulty to the change of sets, many cursing and slipping around in their rush to keep the show going.
When the lights did come on again, the crowd erupted. She could see Sandor flash a quick smile of relief while looking back at his bandmates. His naked chest heaved and all the veins stood out on his neck. There had been so much speculation in the media as to whether Fuck the King could continue its reign as one of the top bands in the industry. Some tabloids had suggested the famed Playgirl photoshoot had been the last act of a man who didn’t have any more to give to the music industry.
They were wrong, Sansa thought, feeling Sandor’s excitement. They were all so terribly wrong.
That was when something unexpected happened. The entire band, except for Sandor, put their instruments down and left the stage. Arya and Sansa exchanged glances a moment, unsure what was going on. A stage hand then jogged up to the Heavy Metal singer, taking his electric guitar and exchanging it for an acoustic one. A guitar Sansa knew well, because he often composed on it at home. Another young man ran up and quickly placed a stool behind Sandor, then both hurriedly ran into the backstage.
The crowd noticed something was off too, because it was easy to hear murmurs and whispers emanate from it. Sandor looked up from the towel he was using to wipe the sweat from his brow, making a point to turn slowly then brought his lips back to the microphone. “Finally those twats are gone.”
His fans laughed and Sandor couldn’t help but chuckle at his own joke. His deep voice filled the outdoor venue, “There’s another song from our new album I’d like to share with you tonight. It, uh, almost didn’t make it--for obvious reasons.” He was referring to the fact that he was holding an acoustic guitar and not an electric one.
“It’s very important to me that you hear it, but I can’t do it alone. I’m gonna need the help of a, uh, hometown girl…” he turned his head to where he knew she would be and held out his hand.
Already knowing who he was referring to, the audience went bonkers. Its roar swept over the stage nearly making the sisters cover their already protected ears. There’s no chance I’m going out there, Sansa said to herself. Being in front of the cameras was one thing, but live on stage was still something she had to get used to. It was Sandor’s thing, not hers.
She shook her head in defiance, arms crossed over her chest, eyes narrowed in warning to the Heavy Metal singer. A dark chuckle emanated through the microphone, “If you don’t get that sweet ass of yours out here, Sansa Stark, I promise you I will tan it in front of all these people.”
As if to make his playful threat more obvious, he pointed to his knee and made a slight spanking motion with his free hand. The crowd whistled and called for her, one voice even screaming, “Spank her anyway!”
Sansa kept her arms crossed like a child not wanting to move from her place. It was only when he raised an eyebrow and took a step toward her, stage left that she decided to change her mind. Tentatively the young model took a few steps toward her dark lover. The lights were nearly blinding, her stomach was full of butterflies.
“Some of you might not recognize her with her clothes on....” the crowd chuckled, and Sansa laughed at his joke while giving him a very clear middle finger. The audience hollered at her antics and, as usual, Sandor always had an answer. “I love it when you talk dirty to me, baby. Give it up for the amazing Sansa Stark!”
Of course she waved to the crowd, Sansa wasn’t paralized on stage. She was just not as witty and charming as the irresistible man who stood before her. Rolling up on her toes, Sansa kissed him enjoying the taste of his lips. “I’m going to kill you for this,” she whispered in his ear.
“Trust me,” Sandor whispered back, a wry grin on his face. When their eyes met again, she knew he had something planned. Sansa threw him a suspicious look.
“This song,” he started, fingers wrapped around the neck of the guitar. “Shit what to say about it? I mean how do you capture the essence and will of a northern woman in words? Am I right?” Of course the crowd loved it, and all she could do was blush wildly. There were few men on this earth who would keep thousands of people on the edge of their seats with mere words and the sound of their voice, but Sandor was certainly one.
“Maybe you don’t know but I fell in love with Sansa the first night I met her.” A few wolf whistles emanated from the audience, causing the huge front man to cock his head to the side. “Get your mind out of the fuckin’ gutter, man!” Sandor laughed, “She layed out that ass hole Trant with a clean headbutt to the nose, fuckin’ blood everywhere.”
There was a gasp from the crowd, then a cheer. “Yeah shit, I know right? A fuckin’ goddess if you ask me. But...but...something she said that night still haunts me.” Sandor let the tension mount, while Sansa wondered to herself what he could possibly mean.
“This amazing woman had the, uh lady balls, to tell me that she didn’t like my singing voice.” Sandor had a mischievous grin on his face, when he said it. His delivery spot on teasing and appalled that she could have ever said such a thing to him.
At that revelation there was a collective inhale of surprise from all the people in the venue. Sansa felt her face immediately flush. It seemed like ages ago that she had said those words to him. In that moment she had instantly regretted it, now that she better understood his music, she regretted it even more.
“So, I’m about to change your mind,” Sansa knew he was dead serious as he spoke. Her eyes went wide and she smirked, wondering how long he’d been planning to tease her in front of her hometown crowd. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, Sandor loosened the mic stand and sat down on the stool, bringing it down so he could still speak while seated. She was standing off to the side of him, not more than an arm’s length away.
“This is called, When Fire and Metal Collide and it’s for the love of my life,” his voice scratched when he said it, and Sansa immediately felt her chest get heavy.
When Sandor started the intro, all Sansa could do was open her mouth wide in surprise. It was a riff she knew well. It was the one he had created on the very night they met. She’d fallen asleep to that sound then, and many nights thereafter. His acoustic guitar had a deep tone, the metal strings well tuned. It was a beautiful, soulful melody, one she had only ever heard the beginning of.
It was when he opened his mouth, and she heard that deep voice push through his diaphragm that she couldn’t control the tears in her eyes. The musical style of Fuck the King was much better for screaming, which Sandor did to perfection. Somehow, in the back of her mind, Sansa had always known he’d have a great singing voice. His deep tones and clear articulation were made for his line of work. Yet it had never been clear to her why he didn’t write songs that showed his full range of talents. Now she knew. This voice, his voice, could make anyone drop to their knees. It was so beautiful that no one man dared hold that kind of power over a crowd.
The world is lucky that he only uses his power for good, Sansa thought, tears flowing down her face.
“I was just a man
One adrift and alone in a sea
Then you came along
And showed me what my life could be”
Sansa brought her fingers to her face in a vain attempt to stop herself from crying. There were no words to describe how touching it was, or how insane it was to be standing here listening to Sandor Clegane sing unplugged for her in front of thousands of fans.
“I was just a boy
Too weak to know, too young to care
You saved me
Did something with a smile that few ever dared
Because it’s all about when, fire and metal collide
It gets down in your soul, so deep inside
It forges a love, stronger than the tide
You make me a better man, my lover, my guide”
Time stood still as Sansa watched him pour out his love and respect for her in front of her family and a ton of strangers. It was all the young model could do to not collapse on stage where she was. He sang the verses with an emotion that made her breathless.
When he finished, the crowd was silent for a moment, taking in what had just happened. The notorious frontman put his guitar in its stand, reaching in his pocket he pulled out the most beautiful eclectic engagement ring she had ever seen. “Marry me, Sansa Stark. Give this old metalhead everything he’s ever wanted.”
Her legs bent underneath her, but Sandor quickly rose to his feet catching her, pressing her body close to his own. “I love you,” she whispered in his ear unable to move, so humbled by his words.
Sandor slipped the ring on her finger, to the deafening screams of an enraptured crowd. Then he wrapped his arms around her and they kissed. Sansa’s feet dangled above the floor as they kissed one another, and it was so natural, so right. Tormund must have made his way back on stage, because the drums started playing in the background. Despite a very public engagement, Sansa knew this moment was for them and there was something intimate about sharing this experience with him here. The place they had first met, a melody she had inspired him to write before he even knew a relationship would grow between them. All of it. They had changed one another in ways she had not yet begun to understand.
One thing was clear, fire and metal came together to build something stronger, something that would stand the test of time. Sansa knew that in her heart of hearts. There was no man in this world she would rather be with.
“We’re getting the fuck out of here,” Sandor said into the microphone when they did finally get some air. “Good night Winterfell.”