I'm so sorry for how long it took to get back to this. I think as you read, you'll see why I had so much trouble writing this out (besides the lack of inspiration.) I had so many ideas on how to end it, that nothing cohesive seemed to form in my mind. Until now. I hope you enjoy it, besides it, hopefully, being a great ending to the story.

Do I really need to warn anyone? I think anyone still reading by this point likes lemonade... but this IS rated "M", that is the final warning ;)

And to make sure it is clear; this chapter takes place directly after the end of the previous chapter.

"No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and how dear to his heart and eye the morning can be." -Johnathan Harker: Dracula.

Seven Hours Later

Sandor stood outside on Sansa's apartment balcony, a grey terry cloth towel around his waist, his washed hair dripping around his shoulders, beard tolerably trimmed for the moment, and, content as a dragon, soaking the rays of the sun. He held his hand before his face, watching as nothing happened, pleased as punch that his pale skin, taught over corded muscle, was not burning, was not crisping, nor even tingling in agony.

With the same hand, he reached and touched the scarred half of his face, remembering the age old depressing thought that the sun was his enemy, but now reveling that he is allowed in its presence once more. As he had not been in over five hundred years. Almost as giddy as he had been as a child, a genuine smile bloomed over his features, pulling pleasantly on the leathery scars.

Who knew such would be his rewards after accepting the affection of a willing prey? He had only dreamed of a few years to enjoy of each other, and perhaps embracing the sun in a true death once Sansa had gone before him. Who knew that love, the truest between soul mates, was such a powerful force? One that erased one's past, sins, and damnation? Certainly not he, he who did not even dare to hope for such after running into the Elder Brother, even as the old man made sweet suggestions...

But here he is, working on a tan.

He heard the balcony door swish open, but didn't turn away from the sun. As he hoped she would, Sansa joined him, kissing between his shoulder blades before placing her head there. Arms clothed in a fluffy grey robe wrapped around his waist, her hands lightly scratching at his bare chest. He grabbed at them, twining their fingers together. His content sigh echoed hers, and both stood in the morning sunlight, not in any hurry to do anything.

Seven Days Later

Sandor held a blank postcard, from Torrhen's Square visitor center, in his hands. He was seated in Sansa's tiny kitchenette, staring at her fridge with a smirk on his features. Littered over her fridge were all the postcards he had sent her (plus some her sister, Arya, sent as she traveled the globe as a slayer). A casual viewer would not be able to tell what color the fridge is...

Sansa had commented that she would like to see the places he sent postcards from. He promised her they would, even to the run down Sept in Dorne. Perhaps, especially visiting there? In any event, as much as Sandor was loath to admit, he had been wrong. Which meant the Elder Brother deserved to know; Sandor was grateful to the man, though he would admit it only once. Hopefully the paper trail would disappear...

He turns the image of the cobblestone square filled with colorful shops, awnings, and diverse people shopping around, picking up a pen and writing swiftly:

"I blame you for my sunburn. Thanks for nothing."

Hearing Sansa giggle behind him, he turned around to see her returned from work, still in her nurse scrubs and with a bottle of aloe vera in her hands. Leaning over his bare and sun burnt shoulder; she reads his note, a smile permanent on her face, her long red hair brushing his skin. Not annoyed at her snooping in the least, he reached for her chin, and gave her a kiss.

Seven Weeks Later

"Should have gotten a postcard from bloody Winterfell Castle." Sandor thought as he stood in the ancient stone building's yard, being greeted by his girlfriend's family. "Girlfriend? Bugger me, it's real..."

They had waited for an opportune time to present him to her parents, and what better time than when her siblings and their families were there too? It was a perfect situation when all six siblings were in town from their various lives and jobs. If he was not five hundred years old, he might have cared a little more about the very shitty situation he found himself in; but old age, and the glow of happiness, his own and hers were something of which no imposing family could diminish.

He forgot nearly everyone's name, but he mentally promised he would make the effort to learn her family, from Sansa's father to her youngest niece. Her father had shook his hand, stern of face and firm of shake; "You were the man to rescue Sansa from Joffrey, all those years ago?" Sandor nodded. "Then I can finally thank you. Welcome."

None mentioned his scars, or his age, or the fact that he was also the cause of Sansa's loneliness and depression. He did not know if they knew he once was a vampire or not. "Time for the turkey dinner!" Announced Mrs. Stark sometime later, when he found himself seated beside Sansa's older brothers, cheering and high-fiving over a football game as if it were a normal thing for an ex-vampire to do. He was thankful that Sansa's family had been open enough to accept his presence, to want to take the time, (all the natural time!), to learn his flaws; for now all that mattered was the honest happiness the man brought to Sansa.

Seven Months Later

Heat and humidity beat upon Sandor, sweat slicking his body, plain white tee-shirt sticking to him because of it. The sun didn't help. Taking a moment, he smiled up at the ball of fire as if to say, "Do your worst."

After ineffectively wiping his brow, he hefted the last box from the moving truck, and made towards their, his and Sansa's, new home. It was not a "forever home", as she described things, but it was definitely larger than her one bedroom apartment she had been living in when he returned to her. As an added bonus, it was closer to the hospital where she worked.

The place was a little boring with white walls, beige carpeting, and a distinct cigarette smell the previous tenants left behind; however, he looked forward to painting, ripping up the carpet for wooden flooring, setting a bar between the kitchen and dining room... things he had been learning about at his new job working in general handy-man shit. He loved it. He loved that their combined efforts created this opportunity, this... home...

He had never had such before, and it is a hundred times better than being a monster of the night. He loved honest work for honest rewards. Of course, nothing would be worth it without Sansa to share it with. He hated his absence, bemoaning lost time, but perhaps things happened as they needed too. Sansa kept her job she was passionate about, the job that helped the girl find her calling while he was gone; would she have found such independence and spark otherwise? Who knew, and it was in the past, no longer able to affect them. Speaking of Sansa...

"Here." She offered him a glass of iced water after he deposited the box in the blessedly air conditioned living room. He smirked at her, purposely allowing water to dribble down his chin, neck, and chest as he nearly drank the whole contents. Her breathing deepened, as he hoped it would; breasts heaving underneath her tank top, leaving her squirming in short shorts. Thank the Seven for modern clothing; it could make any man a believer.

Stepping closer, she placed her hands on his chest, exploring the wet shirt that highlighted his physique to her wandering eye. Licking her lips, she looked up at him with "bedroom eyes", cheeks heated, and not from the temperature.

He kissed her, nibbling her lips and savoring her flavor, once more thankful his bites were not harmful anymore. Her moans in his mouth pushed his past away, as they usually did: there was only them, now.

Hands found their way underneath shirts, exploring her softness, his hardness. He palmed her breast, and she brought her hips to his; both groaned as spikes of arousal flared. Her legs were around his waist; his legs moved them to their bedroom. Hot kisses trailed her breasts, torso, licking her salty sweat and smooth skin, blunt teeth biting and scrapping where his hands led, leaving trails of bruises or scratches, but no blood; while her fingernails teased his scalp and her moans floated to his ears.

She felt his hot hands explore her, his hot breath exciting her skin and causing spikes of pleasure to lick at her core. When he finally explored her canal, stretching, filling, completing; it was all she could do to remain cognizant. His fingers, long, calloused and experienced, went deep and fast, mouth kissing her clit. It was too much too fast; she died a little death.

She awoke, sated and lazy a few minutes later, to Sandor hovering besides her, an ice cube being trailed between the valley of her breasts. It reminded her of his undead days, when his iced hands had brought her to pleasure more than once. Moaning, fast becoming ready for more, she raised her hands to bring his head closer, finding her taste upon his lips.

He kept her attention on his kisses, but the ice cube did strange things to her nerves, igniting them in a blazing trail. She was hot all over, except where the ice glided over sensitive skin: dipping into her navel, stinging one nipple, stinging the other, teasing her neck where he used to bite, and then finally melting into nothingness over the long trail down to her bundle of nerves. Despite its temperature, it had done nothing to cool her off, quite the opposite actually.

Pulling at Sandor's shoulders, she guided him over her, between her legs; it was almost a relief when his hot cock lay against her chilled vaginal lips, but he didn't enter her right away. "Sansa," he whispered, "look at me." She did, her breath hitching; he was beautiful, half in shadow, half in the afternoon summer sunlight, a genuine smile on his usually smirking or blank face, and it is for her, because of her. "I love you, Sansa." He said.

Tears stung even as she smiled, "And I love you."

He entered her slowly. Moans filled their new room, both relishing their joining. She closed her eyes upon his second delicious thrust, scratching nails along his chest. Wrapping her legs around his waist by his third, moving her hips to meet his, she silently begged him to go faster.

He leaned closer, both sets of arms reaching around shoulders to grasp lifelines. He sped up a bit, biting her neck out of habit, and she arched hard, pleased with his actions. Grunting, he kissed her neck, one hand gliding down her back, grasping her ass, the other tangling within her hair, pulling her head around to kiss.

Scratches were made on his back, and he grunts into her mouth, going faster. She holds on for dear life, and their kisses become merely mouths open to one another, moans joining the sounds of their bodies melding together.

Sandor grits his teeth, pounding even faster, going towards his finish. Then Sansa's neck arches beautifully, throat exposed and releasing her joyous rapture. Her sheath constricts his cock, finishing him, milking his essence, causing the man to close his eyes in release.

Long seconds later, he opens his eyes to Sansa beneath him, the sunset burnishing her hair a fiery red halo, her skin flushed and utterly beautiful in her blissful happiness. Flopping down by her side, he chastely kisses her, pulling her pliant body towards his as they lowered eyelids in an impromptu nap.

Awakening from their afternoon nap, Sansa found herself in Sandor's arms, and him staring at her. She smiled, and he mirrored her. He kissed her nose, squeezing her closer.

"Marry me." He whispered.

Eyes misting, she replied: "Yes."

Seven Years Later

Two giggling red haired children played upon a beach; the younger toddler, barely able to walk, chasing after his older sister.

"They grow so fast..." murmured a pregnant red head. The man she was sitting against, resting upon his sturdy chest, hummed in a non-committal way. "Soon our girl will be entering Kindergarten..."

A tan hand, strong and already changed with scars that he was never able to receive as a vampire, cupped her jaw, his thumb wiping at errant tears from her face. "Damn hormonal woman; next thing I know, you'll never want the new baby to be born, to stay within you forever."

Sansa giggled, looking at her husband's tanned face and grabbing at his hand, "I already think that..."

Sandor sighed as if he suffered from her strange ways, but his smirk belied his mirth. "Just think of the next baby I'll put in you once the new one is out." And he tickled her sides to further tease her.

Shrieking with laughter, she slapped him, "Stop! Stop! Unless you want the birth here, on the beach, in Dorne, miles away from home!" She laughed some more, hearing his baritone chuckles joining her. When they had calmed down, they shared a look of contentment. New lines graced both their faces, showing the time and laughter that blessed their lives; they stared at each other for long moments, relishing the gift.

DVD Extra: I don't think I ever smiled so much writing a chapter in my life...