Despite the plush cushions of the floral-printed couch he was sitting on, Sandor shifted uncomfortably. His elbows rested on his knees and his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His teenage years had been spent drifting between friend's couches, in and out of jobs as he scrounged his money to put himself through trade school. He was spared the stern lectures and silent stare downs from his parents. It seemed, though, that Ned Stark was content to provide him the experience he had missed out on. Sansa sat on the the other end of the couch with an empty cushion between them. In the recliner across the room sat her father. He stroked the salt and pepper whiskers of his neatly trimmed beard.
Ned rocked ever so slightly in the chair as his eyes drifted between his daughter staring down at her hands in what appeared to be shame and Sandor who stared right back at him.
Ned Stark was a hard man to read. His eyes were a cold grey and the thin line of his lips was downturned in what appeared to be something between a scowl and a frown. Sandor didn't quite understand what rules Ned and his wife, Catelyn, imposed on their daughter, but they sure as fuck didn't apply to him. He was a grown man and Sansa, for all intents and purposes, was a grown woman making her own way in the world, albeit underneath their roof for the time being.
An uncomfortable silence wore on and Sandor played it all back in his mind. Undoubtedly, Sansa's parents heard the buffeting of his motorcycle engine when he pulled up to the house. He would bet the barn on the fact that they saw the exchange between the two of them: the way Sandor had rested his hands on Sansa's hips and how she had been standing between his legs. Whether or not they saw the way he had pulled her into him, eagerly seeking out her lips, he didn't know for certain. By the way Ned was silently boring through him with a steely gaze, Sandor imagined the man had seen it all transpire.
To think about it now, it probably wasn't his best laid plan to claim that pretty little mouth of hers right then and there. Since the day he met Sansa, she had been driving him crazy with the whole lip biting thing and he had to find out for himself what it was like to nibble on those perfectly full and pink lips. To call it a kiss, though, was ridiculous. He barely had the opportunity to lavish the attention on her that he wanted. Instead, he felt her pulling away and turned around to find her parents standing on the front porch—concern, relief, confusion, and horror plastered on their faces.
After an awkward introduction and Sansa haphazardly explaining what had happened to her car, Ned offered Sandor a firm handshake and invited him inside. That didn't stop the man from eying Sandor warily as they went. Sansa's mother had given a terse nod and a weak smile as Sandor introduced himself to her as well. She was a refined woman, decked head to toe in some Colors of Benetton getup. She possessed the same graceful features, auburn hair, and deep blue eyes as her eldest daughter and despite the warmth she tried to invoke with her smile, Sandor could tell damn well that the woman wasn't pleased with whatever she had seen.
"So, Sandor," Ned finally spoke on a deep voice. His brow folded in thought. "Explain what the issue with the Volvo is again."
"My best guess is a spark plug, the transmission, or the battery." Sandor leveled his eyes at Ned who stared back unwavering as the battle of wills wore on. "I didn't get a good enough look to say for sure."
As soon as he finished, Catelyn fluttered into the room carrying a tray with glasses of iced tea, one of which she handed to him.
"And where is it you work?" she asked as settled into a love seat adjacent to him. Her eyes momentarily flickered over his scars before discreetly fluttering away.
Sandor suddenly felt every bit the greasy mechanic he was. "Selmy's Auto Shop."
Had he known he was going to be meeting Sansa's parents, he would have made at least a half ass effort to appear somewhat put together. Although, he imagined it wouldn't quite matter. Catelyn Stark, pleasant as she may be, stared down her nose at him with sideways glances and aloof smiles. On the other end of the couch, Sansa shifted, uncrossing and then recrossing her legs as her foot bobbed up and down with obvious discomfort.
"I know Barristan," Ned nodded with a faint smile tracing his lips. "He's a good buddy of my friend Robert."
Silence settled over them once again and Sandor took a sip of his iced tea before setting it on the end table next to him, careful the bottom of the glass ended up on a coaster. It wasn't as if he hadn't been around this sort of luxury before—oversized, solid mahogany furniture, elaborately woven area rugs, old as fuck antiques serving as upscale knick knacks. He had been to plenty of album release parties held at some label exec's mansion, he had spent the night in fancy hotel rooms, eaten at restaurants that were too snooty for their own damn good and certainly not for the likes of him or his band mates.
Of course, it all made him feel uncomfortable and invariably out of place, but this was a different sort of discomfort and one he wasn't used to. Record execs were all cocksuckers and douche bags, flaunting their wealth at every turn. Despite their own apparent wealth, there was something humble about the Starks.
"Well, in any event, Ned and I are grateful for your help and for bringing Sansa home," Catelyn spoke with a slight southern accent, clearly not a native Minnesotan like her husband. "We were worried sick." She glanced at Sansa with something between disapproval and tepid relief.
"You act as if I was out all night and you were about to send out a search party," Sansa responded with fleeting annoyance.
By the way Catelyn's mouth hung open ever so slightly before she gathered her composure, Sandor could tell that it wasn't often Sansa talked this way to her parents.
"How were we supposed to know, Sansa? Petyr said you weren't in chemistry lab this afternoon," Catelyn fired back with blue eyes piercing through her daughter.
Ned squeezed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes softly as he shook his head.
"Was he checking up on me or something?" Sansa huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. From their conversation today, Sandor knew she had had a relationship with a frat boy; one that had gone sour. As Sansa grew increasingly irritated, Sandor wondered if Petyr was her ex.
"You left your notebook in his class and, when he went to your lab to return it to you, you weren't there," Catelyn countered in defense of this Petyr character. It seemed to him that Catelyn had a soft spot for the guy, whoever he was.
"He also said you had a run-in with—"
"Cat, please. We'll talk about this later," Ned intoned with finality and pulled his hand away from his face and held it out to his wife.
Catelyn relented with a sigh and pressed her lips together, obviously displeased with the turn of the conversation. The awkwardness filling the room had little to do with him now, Sandor could tell; he was no longer the elephant they were all clumsily maneuvering around.
"Sandor, would you stay for dinner?"
The question caught him off guard, especially given that Ned was asking. Sandor lifted his eyes to Ned staring at him once more, seemingly evaluating him still, although some of the tension had eased.
"Yes, please stay for dinner. We have plenty of pot roast," Catelyn added softly and not insincerely, but still with a bit of icy reserve.
Sandor had had his fill of both food and awkward conversation, but when he cast a furtive glance towards Sansa, he saw she was already looking back at him, a small smile playing on her lips and hopeful eyes peering at him.
"Thank you. That'd be great," Sandor said, not knowing why the words were rolling off his tongue. He had meant to decline, the string of "thanks, but no thanks" statements on the tip of his tongue. Somewhere along the line he was becoming a slave to those sweet smiles Sansa gave him. It both confounded and exhilarated him.
Before much more could be said, the front door swung open and the little wisp of a girl came bounding through. Her headphones blared an all-too-familiar tune and Sansa's sister, Arya, bobbed her head to the music as she shucked out of her backpack and let it fall to the floor with a heavy thud.
As she head banged away and cut through the riff of an air guitar solo—a solo Sandor himself had written and played many times with Cannibal Star—the girl was unaware that she had an audience. When she caught sight of them all sitting in the living room, Arya froze, the mop of hair on her head tousled and jaw dropping as she tore her head phones off.
"Holy shit!" she cried. Her wide eyes ran a circuit around the room before ultimately landing on Sandor.
"Arya Stark!" her mother snapped and wagged a chiding finger. "You watch your mouth, young lady."
Ned huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head, his frigid reserve now on the thaw.
"Mom, do you know who this is?" Arya screeched and bolted into the room. She shoved her finger a few inches from Sandor's face. Cateyln followed Arya's finger and once again surveyed Sandor who was wholly out of place in her living room. The woman seemed to fret over her words, quietly puzzling out exactly what Sandor was to her daughter.
"He's Sansa's...friend, Sandor. Have you two met?" Concern flooded Catelyn's face probably at the thought of not one, but both of her daughters being mixed up with him.
"Mom! You don't understand! This is Sandor, the Hound, Clegane." Arya paused as if the mention of his stage persona would inspire a sudden epiphany in her mother. When Catelyn stared back at Arya blankly, the girl continued. "You know? From Cannibal Star?"
"That's that metal band I keep hearing about," Ned broke in with a toothy smile, the first real smile Sandor had seen from the man.
Arya gave an emphatic nod and turned to her dad now as Catelyn continued to study Sandor through sideways glances and toiled over this new information. He couldn't tell if it set her at ease or perplexed her further, but imagined it had to be the latter.
"Why is the Hound in my living room right now?" Arya darted over to Ned and sat on the armrest of the recliner.
Ned rocked back and forth in the chair. "He gave your sister a ride home."
All eyes in the room turned to Sandor once more. Arya and Ned stared at him from the recliner, Catelyn cut subtle glances in between sips of iced tea, and Sansa gazed up at him through her eye lashes and with a delicate smile on her lips.
Sandor cleared his throat and studied the grandfather clock to his left, certain that if he looked anywhere else a pair of Stark eyes would be watching him. This fucking family was like a pack of wolves.
Catelyn finally broke the silence as she stood with a soft sigh. "Well, I need to finish a few things for dinner."
Arya jumped up from the recliner and dashed across the room to Sandor in a few quick steps. She wrapped both of her small hands around one of his and tugged on him to get up, digging her heels in the carpet and letting out a low grunt to get him to move.
"I have to show you my tape collection! And my Garbage Pail Kids collection!" With another yank, Sandor stood.
"He's a musician, Arya," Ned chuckled and stood up from the recliner. "The man's probably more interested in my vinyl collection."
Ned patted Sandor on the back and shook his head. "I don't understand the appeal of cassette tapes. And now these compact discs. It's a shame. Unfortunately, you'll have to humor her." He motioned his head towards Arya.
"Aren't you a little old to be collecting Garbage Pail Kids still?"
The sing-song timbre of Sansa's voice sounded to his right and she quietly manifesting by his side as Arya continued to tug him towards the staircase.
"Bite me, Sansa." Arya shot Sansa a mocking smile and her head slightly cocked to the side. "Shouldn't you be at the mall or something with your bimbo friends?"
Sansa's mouth hung open with an offended gasp and her cheeks flushed red. Her brow furrowed and she pouted her bottom lip. A rumble of laughter eased from Sandor's lips. Sansa wasn't exactly intimidating when angry, but she sure as hell was fucking cute.
Before they could continue on, a boy—one of Sansa's brothers—descended the stairs with a Rubik's Cube in hand. With fast movements, the boy, who took after his mother with auburn hair and blue eyes but his father's stern and solemn countenance, twisted the block. The colored squares rotated at great speed as his eyes remained focused on the task.
When he reached the staircase landing, the kid looked up, apparently startled when his eyes landed on Sandor.
"This is my brother Bran," Sansa introduced. "Bran, this is Sandor Clegane."
With a small smile, the boy held out his hand, looking up at Sandor as he mouthed an almost silent "hello," before resuming his focus on the Rubik's Cube and continuing on towards the kitchen.
Arya tugged his arm again and led Sandor upstairs, chattering along the way about all her favorite metal bands: her preference for Ronnie James Dio over Ozzie Osbourne, her love of Iron Maiden, her distaste of Motorhead. By the time they had made their way to the bedroom at the end of the hall, Arya had given him a complete run down of her musical tastes. Sansa quietly trailed behind them.
No sooner had they stepped foot into what appeared to be a shared bedroom between Sansa and Arya than another boy appeared in the doorway dressed in a He-Man costume, the mask of which was propped up on the kid's head. A mop of auburn curls spilled out from underneath the mask as he stared up at Arya with wide blue eyes. Sandor chuckled to himself. Stark children were fucking crawling out of the woodwork. Any second now, he'd be faced with the myriad of older brothers Sansa had.
"I can't get past this level on Paperboy," the little boy whined as he yanked insistently on Arya's arm.
Ary shook her little brother off and pulled out a large plastic bin of cassette tapes from under her bed. "Have Bran help you, Rickon. Can't you see I'm busy right now?"
"He doesn't play anymore," the kid insisted and stuck out his bottom lip. "Please."
Arya released a heavy sigh and her gaze shifted between Sansa and Sandor. In the corner of his vision, Sandor saw Sansa shrug her shoulders at her sister.
"Fine! But that's it!" Arya conceded.
Rickon pulled Arya out of the room by her hand. When the two left, Sandor and Sansa came to the simultaneous realization that they were alone in her room. Sansa stood to his left and fumbled mindlessly with the ends of her sleeves.
Walking to the center of the room, Sandor took in the sight of what appeared to be Sansa's side—pastel pink bedding with a few stuffed animals set against the pillows, a poster of The Breakfast Club hanging on the wall next to her bed, a pink radio perched on her desk. The stark contrast of the other half of the room was almost laughable. Among the disarray on Arya's side, there was also a scattered collection of Garbage Pail Kids cards, a Gremlins lunchbox as well as other collectibles, and on the wall Sandor spotted a row of posters, starting with Lita Ford and ending with Cannibal Star.
"What's that?" He flashed a smug smile and tipped his head to the poster.
"Oh. That's Arya's," Sansa informed almost immediately, as if to clarify any wild ideas he might have. Clearly, it wasn't her idea to hang a Cannibal Star poster in her bedroom, but her cheeks flushed all the same.
Sandor grumbled a laugh and strode to her bed where he plopped down, careful to leave his feet dangling off the side of the bed. He reclined back with his hands behind his head. Her pillow held the sweet scent he now associated with her.
"You've got a pretty clear view from here," he spoke through a wicked grin and glanced towards Arya's side of the room and the poster hanging next to her bed.
Sansa averted her eyes from the poster, looking down at her feet as she shifted from side to side.
"I'm not gonna lie," he chuckled and steadied his eyes on Sansa, who was now looking up at him through her lashes, biting her bottom lip in some sort of conspiracy to drive him fucking mad. "It's kind of hot to think about you staring at me while you're in your bed."
"You would think that," she giggled. "It's not as if I fall asleep staring at your picture like some adoring fan."
"Oh, I wasn't talking about you falling asleep while looking at my picture," Sandor replied on a deep, husky voice. He sat up slowly. "I was thinking of other activities you might do alone in your bed while looking at my picture."
Sansa's eyes widened and a blush emerged across her cheeks. As Sandor pushed himself up from the bed and walked towards her in slow, deliberate steps, her chest began to steadily rise and fall.
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Her reply came haughty, but weak.
"Playing coy now, are we?" Sandor's eyes raked up and down her body. "Shut your door, take your clothes off, and I'll show you what I'm talking about."
Sansa stood unmoving where she was as he approached her, the space between them mere inches as he stared down at her. Pulling in a deep breath, she met his eyes, her face placid despite the deep red of her cheeks. In careful movements, she walked backwards to the door and pushed it shut. With her back against the door, she reached for the bottom hem of her sweater, pulling it up slowly as she held his eyes.
When the hem of her sweater moved above the top of her leggings, she stilled her movements, a small sliver of her midriff still visible.
Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. "You calling my bluff?"
"What if I am?" Sansa released her hold on the sweater and let it fall back in place over her leggings.
"You'd only be half right," Sandor said and began traversing the distance between them once more.
She'd surely deny it, but Sansa Stark was a fucking minx—pressing her full tits against his back, slowly grinding against him as she straddled behind him on the bike. His cock had been half-hard the entire drive to her place and was fully erect now as he moved closer to her. She had come out of left field by asking him if he planned on taking her out.
The truth of the matter was that he had thought about it but didn't quite think to ask in that moment. The girl was on top of her shit, though. Sandor would have undoubtedly drove off, only later realizing he had missed the opportunity to solidify their next rendezvous while he had the chance. It was brilliant on her part.
His hands engulfed the sides of her hips now and Sandor couldn't help the thoughts that flooded his mind: her hips bucking against him, just like they had on the back of his bike, how she surely wasn't as innocent as she made herself out to be. True enough, he believed that she wasn't some hussy, but he sensed a curiosity in her, a willingness to explore her wild side if the right person came around. He hoped he was that right person.
"I'd be full on right," Sansa corrected on a sighing breath. "For all your talk, you won't do anything with my parents around."
His hands moved from her hips and pressed against the door on either side of her head. Sandor bent forward slightly so that he was eye level with her. For the second time today, he let his mouth hover just over hers as he spoke. And just like earlier, she craned her neck ever so slightly towards him, her anticipation clear as she stared back at him.
"You've got me on that, yes. But you're missing the other part of it," he murmured, his eyes fixated on her lips as he watched them part.
"What's the other part of it?" she whispered and moved closer to him as if to close the distance. Sandor pulled away from slightly and exhaled a low chuckle as she gave a pout. He made it up to her by brushing his lips along the length of her neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses there, interspersed with gentle licks.
"I plan on making good on all my talk," he murmured in her ear. He was close enough now that with each frantic intake of breath, Sansa's breasts swept against his chest. He felt her arms wrap tentatively around his middle, her nails softly scratching at his back.
"I'm going to give you a ride and make you say please," he continued. Shifting to the other side of her neck, he lavished attention there too, each kiss terminating so that he could speak and then beginning again after every other word.
"I'm going to show you all the things I want you to do to yourself while you're alone in your bed, staring at my picture. And I'll have you moaning my name while I'm on top of you or you're on top of me. It doesn't quite matter to me. Either way, you're going to be taught a lesson about what happens when you try to call my bluff."
When Sandor shifted away from Sansa, he could see the desire accumulating behind her wide-eyed gaze. She was scandalized, to be sure, but exhilarated, it would seem. Her breathing came ragged, her lips moist from licking them, her fingers insistently pressing into his waist as she gently fisted the fabric of his shirt. Leaning in, Sandor placed a soft kiss to her lips and gave a quick, exploratory lick there before pulling way.
"But none of this while we're underneath your parents' roof," he declared with a smirk of delight at the sight of Sansa's apparent disappointment.
Sandor reached down his pants and tucked the hardened length of his cock against the waistband of his boxers. Sansa watched his movements, but her eyes flickered away in embarrassment when he winked at her, having caught her in the act of staring as he adjusted himself.
"There will be plenty of time for show and tell later," he intoned devilishly. "Right now, though, your parents are probably wondering what we're doing up here."
With a vacant nod, Sansa opened the door and smoothed down the front of her sweater and the length of her hair before stepping out in the hallway. Arya and the littlest Stark, Rickon, fell in after them and emerged in the kitchen with Sansa and Sandor, their time alone in Sansa's bedroom hardly apparent.
Ned offered Sandor a seat next to him and Sansa went about helping her mother divvy out dishes and silverware around the table.
"I'm He-Man!"
A muffled little grunt sounded next to Sandor and came with a firm tug on his arm. Swiveling his gaze over his shoulder to the seat beside him, Sandor was met with the masked face of He-Man as Rickon flexed his muscles.
"I can see that," Sandor chuckled as the kid claimed the spot next to him by scooting his chair closer to the table and dipping a finger into the water glass at his place setting.
"I think you've got a friend," Sansa laughed through a beaming smile and handed a napkin to her father and then to Sandor.
"What happened to your face?" Rickon questioned with curiosity as he pushed his mask onto the top of his head.
"Rickon!" Sansa shrieked, obviously horrified by her little brother's question. Sandor let a wry smirk settle on his lips.
"I had a run in with Skeletor," he spoke gravely.
Rickon's face was awash with wonderment and delight as he bounced in his seat, staring up at Sandor in apparent awe.
"Don't worry, I beat him," Sandor added with a wink.
In the kitchen, Catelyn gave a warm laugh, the tension she had earlier held having disappeared now as she carried over bowls and platters of food and set them at the center of the table.
Catelyn took a seat to Ned's left with Arya beside her and Bran at the opposite end of the table. The kid still fiddled with his Rubik's Cube as food was being passed around. Sansa sat on the other side of Rickon and helped put food on his plate. Sandor couldn't help stealing a glance at her, one which she returned with a sweet smile. Across the table, Arya evaluated both of them through narrowed eyes as she shoveled food into her mouth.
Having stuffed himself full of bacon and pancakes not even few hours ago, Sandor couldn't quite summon his appetite. Sansa must have been in the same boat. The food on her plate was scarce.
"Sansa, you're not eating much," Catelyn commented between dainty bites of potato. "I thought you loved my pot roast."
Sansa took a sip of water and lowered her eyes.
"I do. I'm just not very hungry."
Arya stared at Sandor's plate similarly sparse and the girl seemed to be putting two and two together; by his size alone, Sandor appeared to be the type of man who could eat anyone out of house and home. And normally, he would be.
Not much else was said on Catelyn's part, and the meal proceeded with light conversation. Ned and Catelyn took turns asking their children about school or discussing the events the family had planned for the upcoming week.
Intrigued by their dinner guest, Sandor was asked a myriad of questions: where he was from, how long he'd been a mechanic, if he thought he'd continue his career as a musician. When asked about his own family, he skirted around the issue much like he always did. Sansa had shifted a sympathetic look to him then and immediately changed the subject to spare him the discomfort of talking about his family or lack thereof.
"You know, I used to play in a band. A long, long time ago," Ned informed after a lull in conversation.
From across the table, Arya snorted a laugh and sopped up the gravy on her plate with half a dinner roll. "Yeah right! What did you play? The triangle?"
Leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Ned sported a nostalgic smile, apparently happy that one of his children was engaging him in conversations of his good ole' days.
"I played the guitar." He glanced at Catelyn shuffling about the kitchen as she cleared the table. "That's how I met your mother. She came to one of my shows and the rest, as they say, is history."
Catelyn returned his smile and scooped leftover food into Tupperware containers. Sansa had removed herself from the table and helped her mother.
"That's not quite how it happened, my love," the woman corrected dotingly. "I originally had eyes for your brother and came to see him."
"Was your band any good?" Sansa asked.
Ned shrugged and cast his eyes to the ceiling in thought, unaware that his wife had just mouthed the word "no" with an adamant shake of the head.
"Oh, sure. We had a few songs that went over well and even had our own little following around town. Robert wasn't so great at keeping a tune, but he was in it for the girls mostly. Your Uncle Brandon quit the band and Jon Arryn decided he was getting a bit too old to be rocking out with us."
All at once, the Stark children snickered in laughter, even Rickon, who hadn't been following the conversation and couldn't know what his siblings found so amusing.
From across the kitchen, Sandor felt a pair of eyes on him. Lifting his gaze, Sansa stared at him, her lips curled up ever so slightly at the corners. Discreetly, Sandor returned her smile before she looked away and continued helping her mother. Once more, Arya seemed to notice; her head shifted between Sansa and Sandor and she gave an exaggerated eye roll.
Delighted to have another musician to talk to, Ned regaled Sandor of his days in a band—how he had had hair down to the middle of his back, how he and his band mates traveled to gigs in a carpeted Volkswagen van, how his front man, Robert, had almost convinced Ned to light his guitar on fire just like Hendrix had.
In return, Sandor shared his own experiences in the music business. The evening ended with Ned showing Sandor his guitar, a dusty old Les Paul that he had stored away in the closet of the den. Sandor offered the name of a guy in town he knew who could fix it up on the cheap, which Ned gratefully accepted.
After thanking Ned and Catelyn for dinner and signing Arya's Cannibal Star poster after she begged him to, Sandor made his way out to his bike parked in the driveway. With her hands tucked gently in front of her, Sansa followed him and settled in front of him as he sat sidesaddle on the bike with his back to the house.
"Thank you again for everything," Sansa spoke sweetly and matched his gaze. "I know my family is a lot to handle in one sitting. And you didn't even meet the older brothers."
"Your family is great," Sandor chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn't known what to expect from Sansa's family beyond her little sister, who was the polar opposite of her. Despite operating on a different wavelength than him, Sandor was happily surprised to find that the Starks were down to earth and easy to talk to.
Sansa shifted closer with eyes down turned as she chewed her bottom lip. He tucked one hand under her chin and tilted her head up to look at him.
"Until Saturday then," he rasped and brushed his thumb along her bottom lip.
"Yes. Saturday. A proper date." Sansa smiled and leaned into his touch as he now swept his thumb across her cheek.
"A proper kiss too," Sandor said with a half smile with eyes steady on her. Sansa held his stare, her chest beginning to rise and fall now in a quickened tempo.
"You better believe I'd finish what we started right now, but I'm almost certain we have an audience."
Sansa shifted her gaze to the house behind him with a knowing smile.
"Yup. We sure do. Arya and Bran are watching from my bedroom." Sansa waved towards the window and let out a soft giggle. "Saturday then."
Taking slow steps, Sansa backed away from his bike, watching as Sandor strapped on his helmet and began backing out of the driveway.
"Goodnight, Sandor," she spoke quietly through a smile.
"Goodnight, Sansa," he replied before starting the engine and riding out of her neighborhood.
Perched against an "out of order" Donkey Kong machine, Sansa watched Arya navigate her frog across the screen of the arcade game she was playing. She had never taken an interest in what Arya and Gendry did on weekends, but decided to join them for their Friday night ritual of pizza at the arcade.
Between bites of greasy pepperoni pizza, Gendry and Arya had debated whether or not to attend the Cannibal Star gig that was going on across town. Sansa had felt the steady increase of her heart beat as the two of them playfully bickered over the pros and cons of trying to make the show. Sansa had listened to them go back and forth, feeling a slow heat move through her as she kept quiet.
Ultimately, Gendry had reasoned that by the time they drove across town, parked, and waited to get into the venue, the band would be almost finished with their first set. And that wasn't even factoring in the issue of it being a twenty-one and up show. Arya had begrudgingly admitted that Gendry was right and that they would catch the next show.
Occupied for now with Frogger as Gendry tried to beat the top score of Tron, Arya continued her frantic movements of the joystick as she bit her bottom lip in concentration. When her last frog was squashed by a zooming taxi cab, she cursed beneath her breath and turned a defeated stare towards Sansa.
"What's your damage?"Arya grumbled as the two of them walked back to their table and sat down.
"What do you mean?" Sansa replied, but already knew she had been a downer for the majority of the evening—stewing over her thoughts rather than actively engaging her sister and Gendry.
"You said you wanted to tag along to play Mrs. Pacman." Arya took a hard gulp of her root beer. "Mrs. Pacman is yours for the taking." She motioned her head to the game devoid of anyone playing it.
Sansa would have to give up the ghost. After getting over the initial giddiness of her date with Sandor, she quickly remembered that the Hardyng's were coming over on Saturday for dinner. Her father had told her in passing when she stopped by his office, and she had completely forgotten when she agreed to a date with Sandor.
Even if she wanted to reschedule with him, Sansa realized she didn't have his number. All she had was his business card with his work number. She had thought to call the shop and explain the situation, but found that when she picked up the phone, her fingers refused to dial the number. She decided that she would have to come up with some way to ditch the Hardyng's on Saturday. Besides, the thought of canceling with Sandor left her awash with disappointment.
Sansa had answered a million and one questions from her little sister about her run-in with Sandor. It seemed Arya was content to bug her until Sansa confessed the secret Arya was sure she was hiding. Her little sister was irritatingly observant; she conjured up evidence of lengthy eye contact and the fact that neither Sansa nor Sandor ate much during dinner as the basis of her accusation that something had happened between the two of them.
Sansa had held onto her secret, refusing to indulge her sister. Her parents had asked her a million questions too, but their questions revolved mostly around her run-in with Joffrey. Her father was particularly concerned and almost hurt that she hadn't confided in him when she stopped by his office.
While she certainly wasn't going to tell her parents about her date with Sandor, Sansa wanted to tell her sister, if nothing more than to get her advice on what to do about the scheduling issue.
"Can I tell you something?" Sansa chewed on her soda straw and stared at Arya from across the table.
"Is this going to be a sister heart-to-heart?" Arya whined on a pained sigh.
"Arya, please," Sansa pleaded and cocked her head to the side.
"Fine. Spill it."
"I'm going on a date tomorrow night."
Sansa gauged her sister's reaction and waited for Arya to make some sort of flippant statement. Instead, Arya looked entirely bored with the information and responded with a disinterested shrug.
"And you thought I'd give a shit about that?" Arya groaned. "It's Harry, isn't it?"
"Harry? Why would you think it's Harry?"
"He's coming over for dinner tomorrow night and you have a thing for rich assholes," Arya commented.
Despite her sister's curiosity about Sansa's interaction with Sandor, Arya wasn't connecting the dots. If anything, Sansa imagined that Arya never in a million years expected her to go on a date with a guy from a metal band.
"It's not Harry," Sansa corrected quietly.
"Who is it?" Arya demanded.
Sansa felt a smile creep across her lips as she held her sister's impatient and curious stare. She watched as understanding bloomed across Arya's face and her sister's eyes went wide as saucers.
"You can't be serious!" Arya shrieked and elicited stares from the people around them. "Gendry! Sansa is going on a date with the fucking Hound!" Arya screamed across the arcade at Gendry who turned around with eyes wide in disbelief.
"Arya! Keep your voice down!" Sansa pleaded. Not listening or paying her any mind, Arya jumped in her seat, arms outstretched as she bellowed at the top of her lungs.
"My sister is going on a date with the fucking Hound from Cannibal Star!"
After giving a tiny bow, Arya plopped back down in her seat. Gendry jogged over with a million-watt grin plastered to his face and sat down next to Arya. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders.
"There's a problem though," Sansa said. "He's picking me up at seven tomorrow night, and I can almost guarantee the Hardyng's will still be over."
She chewed her bottom lip and toiled over the situation, trying to puzzle out what to do.
Arya lowered her voice. "We need a plan. When seven rolls around, I'll create a distraction and you can sneak out."
"That's a terrible plan," Gendry snorted with a laugh and a shake of his head. "It's not going to work."
Arya shot her boyfriend an offended look. "How do you know? I'm great at shit like this!"
"Oh, really? Is that how you got caught sneaking out to see me then?"
Arya ignored Gendry for now and settled her eyes on Sansa once more.
"Seriously. When seven rolls around, I'll figure out a way to distract everyone. Have your purse or whatever crap you plan on bringing ready to go by the door. That way you can just bolt. I'll tell Mom and Dad you had something you had to do for that bimbo cult you're a part of."
"It's called a sorority," Sansa corrected with a roll of the eyes.
"It's a cult of bimbos."
Disappointment welled in Sansa once more. She doubted she could actually pull off ditching dinner with the Hardyngs. Maybe Sandor would understand. She hoped he would and wouldn't take her request to reschedule as a cheap ploy to get out of their date.
"I don't know," Sansa began dejectedly. "Maybe I can reschedule."
"No!" Arya shouted and leveled an intense stare at Sansa. "Come hell or high water, you will go on a date with the Hound."