Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and elements from A Song of Ice and Fire belong to George R.R. Martin. No copyright infringement is intended.

His attention should be on potential threats to King Joffrey, but Sandor finds himself captivated by Sansa Stark's hair. It's a brilliant red where the sun kisses it and dark where his shadow falls across her, and he wonders what it feels like. He casually rests his hand on the back of her chair so it looks like an accident when his fingers caress her hair. She doesn't react and that's good really, but it makes him want to grab a handful of those auburn tresses and twist until she cries out and turns to look at him.

Lately she's been frequenting his thoughts, especially at night when he's finished drinking and he stumbles to a brothel. He's oddly ashamed for thinking of her like that, but it doesn't stop her face from coming to mind when he's fucking some whore in the dark. She's always so courteous and soft-spoken. He wonders what she'd sound like being fucked. But he'll find out, won't he, when Joff weds her and Sandor stands guard outside their bed chamber on their wedding night.

Moon Boy finishes his impersonation of Stannis Baratheon and Joffrey rises to leave. Ser Meryn is there to relieve Sandor so he's free to linger behind, and when the king is gone, he takes Sansa's arm to lead her back to her room. He doesn't have to; his time is his own at the moment. But there's nothing else he'd rather do.

She doesn't look at him as they walk. But she talks to him. She offers her opinion on the fool's performance and asks his. Even his rude reply doesn't deter her from chirping about the favorable weather. Her hair is so pretty in the light of the setting sun. There's no one to see when he brushes a tendril away from her face and twirls it around his finger.

Her lips part but no sound comes out. He touches her full lower lip with his fingertip, imagining what she would do if he kissed her. Scream probably. Except that she doesn't look repulsed. He presses his finger more firmly against her lips and it slips between them. Her little pink tongue flits against him; then she bites. Sandor goes rock hard inside his breeches.

He lets go of her before he gives in to the temptation to do something that will get him executed. When they reach her bedroom, she looks at him for a moment but he does nothing so she goes inside. He doesn't hear her bar the door though. He hurriedly unlaces his breeches and gives himself a few quick strokes, thinking how he could push her down onto her bed and lift her skirts and she'd not object.

Standing there with his seed on his hands, he's disgusted with himself. He's such a bloody coward. He no more has the courage to go to the little bird's bed than he has the balls to take her away from here. Joffrey's dog knows his place.