In this, the red wedding has already happened when Tyrion and Sansa married. My first GOT fic, so please be kind and let me know what you think. Thank you

Tyrion

As soon as he walked through the door, Tyrion closed the door and barred it as quickly as he was able to. This evil castle had eyes and ears everywhere, and whatever else happened tonight, he wanted privacy. He wanted to know that no one could barge in to his private chambers. He turned to face his new wife, and saw her watching him, eyes wide and clearly terrified. He realised that the way he locked the door could be interpreted two ways. Maybe that he would pounce on her, which was clearly what she's afraid of.

"No," he said. "I want privacy. I want to know that none of my treacherous relatives will come and stab me in my sleep. I'm sure it's occurred to one or two of them."

Sansa's eyes relaxed, but she still looked scared, probably about what's to come. He sighed heavily and felt a wave of disgust roll through him. At what she must be thinking of him, the monster she'd been forced to marry. At the revulsion she must feel. Sansa was young, beautiful and high born lady, trained to be married off from a very early age. She'd do her duty, she knew perfectly well what was expected of her, but she wouldn't be happy about it. Her arms were crossed in front of her and she stood completely still.

He walked to the wine decanter, close to her and she backed up a step. He pretended not to notice as he poured two glasses. He wasn't nearly as drunk as everyone thought him, but he'd wanted to get out of that feast as quickly as possible. Drunkenness was merely his excuse to escape, otherwise they might have had to endure a few more hours of that slow torture.

He handed her the glass of wine and she took a gulp of it. "I don't know what you think of me," Tyrion said. "I'm sure I could imagine, but it could be worse. I could be Joffrey right now." Her lips twitched in something that might be a smile.

"That's true," she said.

"I'm aware of how cruel he's been to you," he continued. "I'm not going to hurt you. I know I'm a Lannister," Tyrion added. "And I can't help that but I'm not like my nephew or my sister."

"I know," she said. "I… do know that."

"Look, I'm not going to touch you tonight." He finished his wine and poured some more before continuing. "Whatever else I may be, I'm not a rapist, and I'm not intending to start with my wife."

She'd relaxed slightly at his words, but still bit her bottom lip in worry. "But… everyone says that we have to…"

"Unfortunately, I fear that we will have to consummate this marriage at some point. But not today. Not when you're so clearly terrified of me. You need time… to get used to me." He sighed heavily, hating that he was in this situation. "I daresay we will be expected to have children at some point. I'm sorry," he added. She looked like she might cry, but he was grateful he didn't. He liked women, but crying women always disconcerted him.

"I know that we have to…" Sansa started. "Have children." She swallowed uncomfortably. "After all, there's no Stark's left to rule Winterfell. My brothers are all either dead or lost. There needs to be more, doesn't there? Who better than a new Lannister Stark child." Young she might be, but she had grasped the point of this marriage. The fact that Tywin Lannister wanted a claim on the North, and she was the key.

"I'm going to sleep here," Tyrion said, sitting down heavily on the couch. "Take the bed for yourself."

"I… um…" Sansa looked from the bed to Tyrion, plucking at her dress slightly. "I need help," she said. "This dress… It's impossible for me to get out of it on my own. Can you… with the buttons?"

"Of course," he said. She knelt down without another word, her back towards him and he saw maybe a hundred tiny buttons, running from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine. Sansa took her hair in her hand, away from the dress as Tyrion started to undo the buttons. He'd undone about seven by the time he started cursing whoever had chosen this dress for Sansa to wear. It must have been Cersei. He was sure that she'd get some kind of perverse pleasure, knowing that his new bride had to kneel in front of him before he could undress her and the embarrassment it could cause them both. Not to mention, choosing a dress that she couldn't remove on her own. He tried to touch her skin as little as possible, but even so he couldn't help the small little touches of soft skin every so often. And her skin was beautifully soft and creamy white, even under the candlelight. He couldn't fail to notice, especially when the row of buttons revealed her narrow hips and seeing the tempting wideness of her buttocks below, still covered by the white material.

"There," he said.

"Thank you," she said, turning around and clutching the gown to her breasts.

"Goodnight Sansa," he said, falling onto the sofa and pretending to be asleep to give her some privacy. That, and the fact that he did want her, badly. He wasn't sure how long he could resist, especially with the echo of her skins softness still on his fingertips. This marriage was going to be challenging, especially resisting his wife, who it so happened he desired very much indeed.

Sansa

The sound of Tyrion's snores filled the room, but she wasn't entirely sure he was actually sleeping. Maybe feigning it to leave her alone. If that was the case, she was glad. It had been a long time since she'd been alone, or it felt like it anyway. She went behind the screen and stepped out of the remnants of her wedding dress, quickly changing into her night shift. Then she climbed into bed, wide awake and trying to sift through the mix of her emotions. It had been a massive day for her, one she'd been thinking about for years. She'd had dreams for her wedding day and night, none of which had actually happened. But her new husband was right in one thing, it was better to be married to him than Joffrey. He'd have already beaten and raped her by now. Maybe twice.

Yes, Tyrion was vastly preferable to the king. She actually believed him when he said he wouldn't force himself on her. But there was the unavoidable fact that they'd have to have sex sooner or later, and they both knew it. A part of her thought it might be better to have done it now. At least she'd get it over with. But she couldn't pretend to feel anything but relief that her husband was sleeping on the other side of the room. It might be cowardly, but she was happy to delay sleeping with her dwarf husband for a few more hours or days. Even though his touch on her back hadn't felt as unwelcome as it might have done.

Would love to know what you think, good or bad. More?